ATTENTION PEOPLE OF JACQUI'S ROOM

We have your "Jacqui." We have been tracking her for several weeks but she refuses to write our chapters. Sure, she wrote character sketches for us and has written thousands, THOUSANDS of words for this book, but WE do not yet appear. Nobody even knows who WE are. Jacqui knows, but she ain't talking. Or writing. How can we perpetrate our evil, dastardly, very lucrative, somewhat ridiculous plans if we don't yet EXIST???

So we took her. She made a valiant effort at escape this weekend -- even hopped a train to Chicago and ran 26.2 miles. This was clearly to avoid us (why else would anyone run that far?!), but it was misguided since she ran it in a big circle. We let her stop to take this photo for proof. But then we got her.

Now you may not have her back until we have finished with her. Oh, we'll give her the essentials, like food and water and access to Facebook. But other than that, she writes only for us until OUR book is written to OUR satisfaction so the world can know of our greatness.

Yes, World! YOU SHALL KNOW OUR NAMES. You know, once we have names.

Sincerely,

The Bad Guys in Jacqui's New Book

I, robot

We did it! Or, rather, you did it and I suffered the consequences (explanation here).

YOU donated almost $1,000 to help kids learn to write at 826michigan. I ran the Big House Big Heart 5K dressed like this:

Yes, faithful readers, those ARE dryer vents on my arms. They are surprisingly warm and inflexible. And yes, that button does say "Disco" and yes, I did disco whenever someone pressed it. Fortunately, only Tink thought to press it. Unfortunately, she did so about a million times.

And yes, I did appear in front of a gabillion people, up on the Jumbotron, but no, I could not take a picture because race officials would not let me stop in the race chute. But I gave a little dance anyway, because I am a woman of my word.

NOW, some of you are kicking yourselves because you forgot to click HERE and then on my name and donate. Good news! You can still do it. PLUS, someone has donated a free massage to the fundraiser who raises the most money and I have a chance of winning. But there is stiff competition, so get there by the final count Friday at noon! Donate now! I WANT MY MASSAGE, people.

But most of all, thank you. Thank you thank you thank you, from me and 826michigan and a ton of happily writing children. Thank you.

Take a different path

In which I discuss running, writing, and goose attacks.

So I am training for this marathon, which is partially to blame for my lack of regular blogging. Friday, I set out for an 11 mile run. I charted myself a course along trails, down near the mighty Huron River. I had my little belt full of water bottles and my half a size too big shoes and yes, I was seriously dorkalicious.

At mile 5, the trail narrowed to about 6 feet wide as it ran between the river and a little pond. As I came around a bend, I heard the flapping and honking of Canada geese. I had scared a gaggle of about 20 of them (with my feather-light footsteps and delicate breathwork). They were heading from the pond to the river, so I jogged in place to let them by. Then they stopped. The babies sat down, right in the middle of the trail. I could not pass.

"Excuse me!" I called pleasantly and started jogging around them. The mama geese hissed and snapped at me. When I got closer, they tried to whap me with their wings.

"Okay, okay!" I called and ran back down the trail. I stood and watched them for a minute, sure they would move on. The babies put their heads down and the adults stood guard, watching me.

"Move!" I yelled. I hid behind the bushes and screamed, "Vroom! Vroom! Big truck coming!" I tossed small rocks and sticks at the trail just in front of the geese.

Nothing. No movement. And every time I got close, the mamas started hissing.

I stood there, like an idiot, waiting for someone smarter or braver to come along. Nobody came. I hunted for a side route around them. I tried to cut through the campus of a factory and got stuck behind a barbed wire fence. I circled back in front of the factory and ended up crossing a loading dock in front of 17 unloading truck drivers (again, remember the little belt with the water bottles and did I mention the pigtails?).

And here is where it relates to writing: I could have taken a different road. A road that could go anywhere in Ann Arbor was 300 yards away, but it would have lead me on a different route. So instead of turning around and taking it, I considered scaling a 20 foot high fence. I was so stuck on the idea of getting back to MY path, and so unable to stop thinking about the geese, that I wore myself out stubbornly trying to get back to the original plan. The original outline. Are you seeing the metaphor?

I admire perseverance and doggedness and effort. But sometimes the reason a scene or a chapter or a whole book is hard is simply because it's never going to work. We have to turn around and let the failure take us on a whole new path.

I finished my 11 miles and it was a lovely run, minus the geese. Sure, I was bummed to leave my pretty path through the woods and run on the pavement in the exhaust. But the real tragedy would have been if I'd never let it go and kept running.

Your Personal Trainer

So, I'm training for this marathon. Thor bought me this chip that you tie to your shoe. It sends messages to your iPod and computer voice comes on and tells you how far you've gone and how fast you are going: "You have been running for THREE minutes. You have gone POINT FOUR miles." It also came with this running coaching mix, complete with the voice of many-marathon-winner Alberto Salazar telling you when to speed up and when to take a break and how fabulous you are for running at all.

I love this voice. Alberto (whom I saw win the New York Marathon in the 80s, so he knows his stuff) starts with a motivational speech about getting out the door. Then he says, "Ready? Go!" and great warm up music comes on. I'm running along, and suddenly, there's Alberto telling me, "You're doing great. Now I want you to speed up. Picture your opponent running ahead of you. Ready? Sprint!" Appropriately upbeat music comes on and I sprint, encouraged by Alberto, "You are so fast!"

I want this for writing. I want a writing coaching mix. I want to put on my headphones and hear, say, Salman Rushdie: "You are going to have a great writing day. You are a brilliant and prolific writer. Ready? Open your laptop. Go!" and then hear good writing music. I type and type and on comes, "You're doing great. Only thirty minutes left. Keep writing!" When I'm done, I want him to say, "Wow. Doesn't that feel good? Take a break. Go get some coffee and I'll meet you back here in ten minutes. Don't be late!" and then play "Praise You" by Fatboy Slim, like Alberto does at the end of the sprints.

I want a chip like I have for my shoe, but for the computer, so I can press a button and hear the computer voice: "You have been writing for THIRTY-FIVE minutes. You have written ONE THOUSAND words. You have updated your status ZERO times. Good job!"

Who will write invent me this book thingamajig?

Writing on empty

I love to run, most of the time. Lately, I am training for a half-marathon. In three weeks, I will try to run to Canada and back. Very exciting. The long runs for this, though, have been less fun. Yesterday, for example, I ran 12 miles that seemed uphill the whole way, with rainy wind in my face, and while fasting for Yom Kippur.

While I was running, I was thinking about writing. I do this a lot, especially since reading Haruki Murakami's memoir What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. I love Murakami's fiction and I love his parallels between running and writing (which you can read about here).

So yesterday, I was thinking, "How come it's so easy to make myself go running, even when I know it's going to be hard? How come I don't think about a day of running that isn't a race as lost time, but I think of a day of writing that I don't eventually use as a failure? How come I can't treat writing more like running?"

And this morning, it hit me, along with a pulled muscle and a bad case of chills. The reason is this: I ran 12 miles yesterday. It's over. Done. Nobody cares how well I did it. I don't have to look at a video tape and go back and run the bad parts over again. I don't have to re-run chapter three the third mile fifteen more times until I get it right. And I don't have to spend this whole morning staring at three or four words steps of the run, totally unable to figure out how to make them work.

Of course, on the other hand, nobody yesterday told me her daughter actually sleeps with a copy of one of my runs.

Decembrrr

In which I talk a lot about running, so if it bores you, see you tomorrow for a special December installment of No, Seriously. Just Try It.

Today we are celebrating fleece-lined running tights, hot soup, and legs.

I ran the Jingle Bells 5K race at 9am this morning to benefit the Arthritis Foundation. It was 17 degrees outside; even with the fleece-lined running tights, I ran about 30 seconds per mile faster than I usually do, because I spent the whole time chanting, "The faster you run, the sooner you're done."

The best part is that The Mighty Thor accidentally got registered as a woman. He is thrilled to announce that he won the "female ages 35-39" group. I came in 7th.*

The thing is, Thor actually has arthritis. Not crippling, can't run arthritis, but enough that his knees ache pretty constantly all winter long. So today we are celebrating having the luxury of deciding to run a 5K in 17 degree weather and having strong legs to take us through it. And while I'm at it, I'll celebrate having arthritis-free hands and wrists; writing is hard enough without associated physical pain.

And lastly, we are celebrating hot noodle soup, steaming in a big ceramic bowl that warms your hands while you slurp it.

* Yes, there were more than 7 of us.