Tuesday, March 4, 2025

Tuesday's Note

Dear Folks,

I began The Muse Newsletter about a year ago but didn’t think anyone was interested and thus stopped. However, last month someone sent $12 for 12 issues. I am happy she somehow found me, and for her and anyone else who agrees to join us, I will write the next 12 issues.

I wrote two FREE samples (on in February, one in March) so readers could have a taste. 

Steven Pressfield motivated me when he wrote about sweeping the house, so the Muse doesn’t soil her gown when she enters. That was such a beautiful picture that I began the Newsletter about The Muse. And I was impressed when after rattling around for years in his VW bus, ruining his marriage, and resisting the very thing he knew he must do, Pressfield finally set down to the typewriter and pecked out a few pages. After that, he whistled as he washed a sink full of dishes. The writing was terrible, he said. But he had found his calling.

Wasn’t that the Muse who visited Pressfield? She visited even though he said his writing was terrible.

She visits when you feel creative and enter a no-time zone, where thoughts are popping and you feel inspired. You are in a happy place.

But my work stinks, you might say. No, remember how you felt when making it? That’s yours whether anyone likes it or not, and she visited whether your skill was up to par or not.

Skill is learned.

And art is subjective.

Think about being in the 1800’s and seeing an ear deformed painter selling his wares on the street. Would you have liked Vincent Van Gogh’s paintings? Would you have appreciated his Irises, Sunflowers, or a strange starry night? They are valuable now because of their perceived value. Would you want them on your wall if they only cost a few dollars? Myth says that Van Gogh only sold one painting during his lifetime, The Red Vineyard. Some think there was another one sold but not recorded. Still, that first painting sold for only a couple of dollars. On the last sale, Sunflowers sold for over 39 million.

Van Gogh’s life paints a picture of the tragic starving artist and another that encourages parental advice “to get a real job.”

You might wonder why we felt so good while producing yet are rejected. Hey, people like different things. Don’t expect to reach everybody. Plus, we are limited by our skills.

We work to improve our skills, so we have something of value to offer when the Muse visits.

I liken it to those people who call themselves "channels.” Channels say they get a download of information. Yet, for audiences to listen to them, they must articulate that information artfully or dramatically. Our data is filtered through our own skill and belief system.

I follow Steven Pressfield’s Writing Wednesdays, (he doesn't post every Wednesday) and was saddened when I first saw a picture of him in his backyard. Such a pretty well-kept backyard. Then I learned that he had lost his home in the LA fires and was on GoFundMe.

He plans to rebuild.

Live well. Find a happy place.

Jo

P.S. Please keep scrolling to read the March issue. The first February issue was posted on January 30, 2025.


 

 

Sunday, March 2, 2025

The Muse Newsletter # 2

 Dear Folks,

I am honored to see you here. Actually, I don't see you, but then we don't see the Muse either, but we can hear her whispers. This Newsletter is a search to find her, to invite her, to clear away the cobwebs so she can enter our abode.

We all have a creative spark, here, with this newsletter, we're hoping to fan it a little.

This is the second Free "The Muse Newsletter." Please look it over to see if it is something you wish to see continue.

I appreciate your involvement.

Love, Jo

 
 
 





 

Saturday, February 15, 2025

Calling all Artists and Animal lovers—this breaks my heart

"If art is to nourish the roots of our culture, society must set the artist free to follow his vision wherever it takes him.”—John F Kennedy

 

The long arm of our present Administration knows no bounds—food, health defense, media, books, Medicare, grants, and now art and animals. Is this really what we wanted folks? I guess voters really didn’t want FREEDOM.

 

Why is Our President chairing the John F. Kennedy Performing Arts Center in Washington, D.C?

Oh yeah. He wants to control everything. What we listen to, what we watch, what we read, what we eat. Do you think he and his cohort are cutting back on any of their luxuries?

Why is this happening? We, the people, are more than him. He showed his colors before the election, and people voted for him anyway. Long ago, I heard that when an organization interferes with your food, they are a cult. Watch them, no matter how good they sound.

"In 1958, former President Eisenhower signed bipartisan legislation to create a national arts center in Washington. Kennedy and his wife, Jacqueline, raised $30 million for the project. The building was dedicated to Kennedy two months after his assassination in 1963.”

Fast forward to 2025:

"Several entertainers have announced that they are severing ties with the John F. Kennedy Performing Arts Center in Washington, D.C., now that President Trump has assumed the chairmanship of the organization."

Screenwriter Shonda Rhimes known for her work on shows such as Grey's Anatomy and How to Get Away with Murder. Actress and producer Issa Rae, who created and starred in HBO's Insecure, announced on Instagram that she was canceling her upcoming sold-out appearance. When visiting the Kennedy Center's website for her event, users encounter a 404 error message.

"Hey D.C. Fam," she wrote, "Thank you so much for selling out the Kennedy Center for 'An Evening With [Me]'. Unfortunately, due to what I believe to be an infringement on the values of an institution that has faithfully celebrated artists of all backgrounds through all mediums, I've decided to cancel my appearance at this venue."

Singer and songwriter Ben Folds announced on Facebook that he is resigning as an advisor to the National Symphony Orchestra.

"Not for me," he said. He thanked his colleagues, and added, "Mostly, and above all, I will miss the musicians of our nation's symphony orchestra – just the best!"

The rock band Low Cut Connie also pulled out of their scheduled performance: "I was very excited to perform as part of this wonderful institution's Social Impact series, which emphasizes community, joy, justice and equity through the arts. Upon learning that this institution that has run non-partisan for 54 years is now chaired by President Trump himself and his regime, I decided I will not perform there."

If that wasn't enough, now he is going after The US Fish and Wildlife Service, the nation's only government agency dedicated to conserving plants and animals.

 


*Vox has learned that the agency has frozen its vast portfolio of international conservation grants. The agency, which supports wildlife protection in the US and overseas, ordered many organizations it funds to stop work related to their grants and cut its communication with them. According to USFWS's internal communication, which was shared anonymously with Vox, the agency has frozen grants for international projects that amount to tens of millions of dollars.

The freeze jeopardizes dozens of projects to conserve wildlife worldwide, from imperiled sea turtles in Central America to elephants in Africa. Grant programs from the federal government protect species whose habitats straddle borders, and they also benefit Americans by reducing the risk of pathogens like coronaviruses from spilling into human populations.

How can we stop this human train wreck?

 

*We live in a world of too much information and too little context. Too much noise and too little insight. That’s where Vox’s explainers come in.

 

Friday, February 7, 2025

I walked into The Bathroom Today, and What Did I Find?

 

The tub was occupied.

He is living his life on his terms.
 

Amazon notified me today that the upgraded version of  Where Tiger's Belch is available on Amazon today--still free on Kindle Unlimited for as long as they decide.


Click on the cover to link to Amazon Kindle.


Tuesday, January 28, 2025


I'm just a little writer, a five-foot nine writer, sitting behind my computer punching keys. I didn’t come over on the boat, but my ancestors did.

I write, not because a ton of people read me, but with writing perhaps I will gain some understanding. For as Isaac Asimov said “Writing, to me, is simply thinking through my fingers.”

After the Republican nominee was selected in 2024, I went into mourning for a month. My daughter and I were railing against the possibility that that nominee could be elected.

Then, when Kamala Harris spoke at the Democratic Convention, I leaped for joy. For a moment the heaviness lifted. I believed in possibilities. Joy could again ring throughout our land.

I was wrong.

I thought women would rise up in mass, "No way." They would say. "You are not disrespecting us again. You are not taking away our rights to medical help in times of need. You are not allowing our little girls to be impregnated and then allow them no choice. How many of those pro-lifers have had teenage sex? How many single mothers raised their children alone? How many old farts have gone to sex parties where they were served underage girls?"

I was wrong. Not enough women said that.

After the election, I figured I wouldn't read about what was happening or write about it.

I was wrong about that, too.

But the rattling sounds came to me from the Midwest to the West Coast—it was of democracy being attacked, of freedoms being dismantled, of people being frightened and shipped off. Like a train wreck, it was impossible to ignore.

And then a lady Bishop, like David standing up to Goliath, spoke out to the giant to be merciful to vulnerable people.

That took courage.

Now she is being attacked for disrespect, for speaking from the pulpit, her turf, the church.

If she had called out the President in private, it would not have caused a ripple.

Yes, we have separation of Church and state, but this was a person-to-person comment and having an assemblage of governmental people waltz into a church under the guise of tradition certainly brings the image of the state into the church.

And the complainers probably don't know that in 2022, this Bishop, while ministering to a group of protestors—bringing masks and such, were dispersed, (security brought Billy clubs and tear gas), so that the nominee could walk safely to the front of the church, the very church where Bishop Budde officiates, and hype his Bible for sale.

Didn't the Christ of the Christian Bible throw the money changers out of the synagogue?

I understand that many thought politics was corrupt, money was running the government, our administration was funding the wars, that the rich were getting richer and the poor poorer. They saw that the middle class was melting away.

We were told we were living in garbage cans, our cities were insulted, lies were flying, data couldn't be believed, people were being demonized, science couldn't be trusted, and there were differences of opinion regarding Earth Warming. Yet, probably lurking in the backs of many minds was the probability that the earth would not survive, and thus, neither would they.

We Homo sapiens can handle fear and stress in small doses, but when it is continual, it wears down the spirit.

Without HOPE, the spirit dies.

Our still small voice, our intuition, our spirituality was drowned out by the blooming of rhetoric.

Time was ripe for a despot to step in and tell us he could "Make America Great Again.”

Americas didn't see that America was great already.

Our country is like a living individual; it makes us ashamed sometimes, does wonders other times, it grows, evolves, and sometimes takes one step back while taking two ahead. But underneath it all, we know it beats with a proud heart, and that it is step by step, inch by inch, moving forward.

But Americans wanted a quick fix.

We, the people, were peddling as fast as possible to keep our family together, raise our kids properly, keep them safe, manage our finances, make ends meet, and worry about the media's effect on us personally and the country in general. It was bombarding us at every turn.

When a pandemic hit, it brought on an entirely new set of problems—deaths in our family, fear for our lives, our elders at risk, and when inoculations came, many railed against them saying they were not safe that they would damage us, they weren't tested sufficiently. We were sick because of additives in our food, we didn't eat properly, and we needed someone to save us.

We lost jobs. We lost businesses. We lost our support systems. There was a rift between friends, spouses, and lovers. All the while, the media kept fear in front of us.

We knew that Russia had influenced the earlier election, but I guess not many believed that they would do it again. Keep those Americans off-kilter, and they are easily manipulated.

One side said we were being lied to. The other side said the same. We knew we were being lied to. One man was clear with it. We could see lies coming directly from his mouth. At least we knew what he was about.

Was it an entropy (a gradual decline into disorder) that happened? Was our system wearing down? Did we allow our morals, truth-telling, and respect for our fellow man to be eroded? Didn't we hear the bashers coming and didn't stop them? Did we feel powerless and, therefore, needed someone to save us? Couldn't we tell the difference between a despot and a Messiah? Did our belief systems totally blind us to other ways of thinking?

Did we not see that opposing forces were beating on our doors while we were allowing the media to tell us what to think?

Looking at it, it's no wonder we are in a mess.

It's time to put on our big girl panties and get to work.

Will we let a group of big-money people tell us what to do? We are Americans. We built this country with our bare hands. We tilled the soil, moved west, championed women's rights, and put Unions in place so people would be paid a living wage, and be treated properly. We freed the slaves, brought about Civil Rights, and had our lives saved by the black, white, red, and yellow physicians, chemists, and researchers.

We've been inspired by all races and sexual persuasions —writers, songwriters, entertainers, motivational speakers, ministers. We gave women the right of choice with their bodies, we saved cancer patients, we eradicated Polio, and we gave new body parts to people who had faulty ones. We have seen children born with defects live their lives through science, research, and innovation. I once held a little baby with leukemia. They knew he would soon die, and he did. Now, children with leukemia are being saved, living out their lives through the advances in medicine. My sister-in-law died of breast cancer in her 40s, and now women are living beyond it. I lost my mother to cancer when she was 48. Now, although not eradicated, there are many cancer survivors—my husband being one. The present administration is attacking cancer research, too.

Don't tell me America isn't great. We brought water to people who needed it. We brought food to those who were starving. We are Americans. It's time we looked at what's good instead of what we don't like. We have the power to change and to advance; we've done it before. We will do it again.

Remember Grassroots?

They changed our culture, our medical field, and our nutrition.

We were all immigrants at one time. We came here to be FREE.

We ought War Bonds, we gave pots and pans to help defeat Hitler. We protested wars we felt were wrong. We won't be brought down by someone who does not understand all this—a man who has no empathy and has never walked in our shoes. We have mercy. We care for our neighbors. What in the heck are we doing folks? We forgot for a moment, but now we remember.

We're Americans.

And we were once smart enough to chase the fox out of the hen house and to fortify that structure, so he never got in again.


 

Sunday, January 26, 2025

The Fantastic Human Being

 

 

Hello fellow Homo sapiens,

Imagine yourself like those two kids. You have it in you.

Throughout the ages, there have been controllers who put their fellow humans in boxes, huts, chains, on gallows, crosses, electric chairs, or made to drink poison.

Controllers have used manipulation, coercion, blackmail, belittlement, ostracizing, ignoring, blaming, threatening, propaganda, lies, excommunication, and deportation to control people and thus gain power. And we use such tactics to attempt to change people's thinking.

Yet look at those faces above. Feel their joy.

You know that Homo sapiens are hard to control.

Toddlers rebel against control. As parents, we tried to control them, schools tried, and governments tried—often with extreme tactics, yet out of this came individuals who fought for peace, advancement, freedoms, liberty of thought, and expression.

These people were artists, adventurers, philosophers, scientists, and ministers. Many had no desire to change the world, but they worked on their passions and passed them on.

They inspired and motivated others to action.

Think of the Buddha, Krishna, Plato, Socrates, Aristotle, Pythagoras, Jesus, Abraham Lincoln, Susan B. Antony, John F. Kennedy, Robert Kennedy, Martin Luther King Jr, and John Lennon. All were peacemakers. Most lost their lives to controllers who believed in violence, not discussion, and yet…

The Peacemakers changed the world.

I read that the actor Steve Martin became popular at the end of the Vietnam War when a "Wild and Crazy Man" made people laugh. He came at the perfect time and place. We needed absurdity. 

We need laughter now. Laughter is a little heart massage--or maybe it's a big one.

And cream rises to the top.

And individuals will improve on a phone until it is a hand-held computer resembling a Star Trek communicator.

I heard this story (Twilight Zone music here) that in space, there are spaceships built on the same design they have used for thousands of years. Yet if you gave one of those ships to a Homo sapiens, he would try to improve it.

That desire to Make Better is built into us.

We can't help it.

Perhaps that is one of our strengths as Homo sapiens. If we are lost in the jungle, we would try to protect ourselves by making a weapon. At night, we would build a hut. If that hut fell on us that night, we would make a better one the next night. We would search for landmarks to get back home. We would look to the sky and say," I think that star was over there the first night I was lost, maybe I'm going in the wrong direction."

Put restrictions on people, and some young whippersnapper will poke his head up and find a way around it. (Or a not so young person.)

Take the individual who worked for the government and believed that certain secrets should be shared with the world.  It was not an attempt to give them to an enemy.

He downloaded them on a microchip and placed it inside a Rubik's Cube. He had constantly fiddled with that Rubik's Cube; thus, the people he worked for and with were accustomed to seeing him with it. On the day of the microchip escape, he threw the Rubik's Cube to the guard as a sort of joke, that way he got past the detector.

"I define a hero," exclaimed actress Shailene Woodley, "as somebody who against the judgment of other people, if they believe something will positively impact the world and they choose to do it and honor their integrity, that's what I (sort of) consider a hero, no matter how big or small a feat they create."

Take Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde, who asked the President to be merciful to scared people. Yes, she called him out in a Church Service, she embarrassed him, yet if she had said it in private, it would not have caused a ripple.

People get ready

There’s a train a-coming

You don’t need no baggage

You just get on board

All you need is faith

To hear the diesels humming

Don’t need no ticket

You just thank the Lord

Songwriter: Curtis Mayfield

 

“It has always been a coalition of the faithful that have brought about change.”—Bishop Mariann Edgar Buddes

 You know we want to be FREE. Being controlled isn't in our genetics. We're a lively bunch, a faithful bunch, we're tired of lies and mayhem. Let's get on that train.

Listen on YouTube to the Bishop Mariann Edgar Buddes’ 2022 sermon on her epiphany that challenged her courage. “Finding Courage in the Face of Injustice.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ne6SQH4qMYU


Sunday, January 19, 2025

Oracles of the Day



“One of the hardest things to make a child understand is, that down underneath your feet, if you go far enough, you come to blue sky and stars again; that there really is no “down” for the world, but only in every direction an “up.” And that this is an all-embracing truth.”

…It is also what “we grown children find it hardest to realize, too.”—Anne Gilchrist

 

Occasionally, I randomly open a book to see what it offers for the day. After the above I found this morning, I opened Natalie Goldberg’s book Writing Down the Bones, (1986) page 48 (30th Anniversary Edition), and this spoke to me.

“A writer must say yes to life, to all of life, the water glasses, the Kemp’s half and half, the ketchup on the counter. It is not a writer’s task to say, “It is dumb to live in a small town or to eat in a café’ when you can eat macrobiotics at home.”

Our task is to say a holy yes to the real things of our life as they exist—the absolute truth of who we are—several pounds overweight, the gray, cold street outside, the Christmas tinsel in the showcase, the Jewish writer in the orange booth across from her blond friend who has black children. We must become writers who accept things as they are, come to love the details, and step forward with a yes on our lips so there can be no more noes in the world, noes that invalidate life and stop those details from becoming.”—Natalie Goldberg.


At first I wasn't going to blog this week--declare Tuesday a day of mourning, but then I wrote my apologies, and now I can't help myself--well, I could, but I don't want to. In times of trouble, I turn to my computer and books for solace. I am passing on what I found this morning for the artists out there (all of you are) and those suffering for what they fear to come.

Before my last post, titled “I Apologize,” I began writing about writing and on being an artist, then decided it wasn’t addressing what I felt was important. I’ve changed my mind. Becoming an artist is important.

 Once, a prominent psychiatrist told me that writing is self-aggrandizement.

What an idiot.

I don’t care how many credentials he had, he still missed the point, traumatized me, and besmirched all literature.

If you have decided that you are imposing your great wisdom on someone, then you might be accused of aggrandizement, but if you want to become an artist—that’s a different story. (The psychiatrist disagreed with the writer of a book I was reading.)

An artist wants to express himself, which takes many forms—artistry is creative expression.

Art is where your heart is.

And HOPE is right beside it. We have to believe there is hope for the future. We have to HOPE that we aren’t all tied up in Plato’s dark cave, only seeing shadows, not the real things.

A scientist HOPES his theory is correct. A singer HOPES her audience likes her song. A songwriter, HOPES his lyrics ring true.

Every artist who sits down to his work begins the hero’s journey. Every time. Over and over. He leaves his comfortable ground to set out, not knowing what pitfalls will befall him. He or she HOPES they live to reach their destination, and they HOPE they have something to offer the tribe. 

The writer-artist doesn’t write to impart wisdom; he writes to find himself, and through that self-discovery, he HOPES to motivate others to do the same.

Who was it, Issac Asimov, who said “I write to find out what I am thinking?” Maybe it was Joan Didion who wrote a book with that title.

That is something my friend, the psychiatrist, did not understand, for if you follow Natalie Goldberg’s way of thinking that writing is a therapeutic experience, it might put him out of business.

Then there is old procrastination (Steven Pressfield calls it resistance) in finding something else to do besides THE WORK. THE WORK (your artistry) is scary, that’s the reason we put it off.

Hemingway said writing was opening a vein.

Liz Gilbert said to enjoy your creativity.

I enjoy writing. While writing, I am in the flow, and time is a no-thing. My demons aren’t as scary to me as Hemingway’s was to him. Or maybe he thought one must suffer for their craft. Published writers have an additional problem; they want to match or exceed their earliest work, which burdens them.

Steven Pressfield found that once he declared himself a writer (found his calling) and he sat down at the typewriter, typed out a few pages he later threw away—he was freed.  A few minutes later he was at the sink washing 10 days of stacked up dishes—and humming.

Suffering comes in the gap between where you are and where you want to be.


While hunting for a different picture I had recently placed in my files, I found this one.


P.S. Hey, it looks like I got my follow button back. How about a follow?