Wednesday, I think
We are on our last day and night of our book tour, in San Diego, and I have a bad cold and am not expected to pull through. Please send memorial donations to the ACLU. See below.
We have been on the road for ten days begging people to buy our stupid book. We have offered our dog to people buying multiple copies, and/or the next grandchild. I also seem to remember offering one large group of people the chance to see the tattoo above my left ankle with the purchase of each hardbound book.
Because you all are pretty much the reason this little book on writing hit the NY Times bestseller list, I will describe my sole tattoo for you here, free of charge:
The main artwork is a four inch Rose of Sharon, which is a pink hibiscus and the symbol of Christ. I think I've been honest about having a bright 2nd grader's theological understanding--ie I do not spend a lot of energy trying to figure out the triune nature of the deity, or who shot the Holy Ghost. But I love this symbol of Christ Consciousness--love of all, peace and justice.
Some of you will also remember Rose of Sharon as a character in the Grapes of Wrath, who nurses a dying man in the last pages. Now, I'm not that woman by a hundred thousand miles, but I do know that if I want to have loving, generous feelings, I need to do loving, generous things. Secret of life.
I remember this every morning when I put on my socks, when I have read the news and think to myself, “These are end times, Children. I pull my socks over the rose, while also remembering the last thing God says to Moses in the Hebrew Bible, after 40 years in the wilderness. He says that after all that, their shoes have not worn out. And ours haven’t either. We have already put our feet to prayers with the good people of Stowe, Vermont, at their robust No Kings rally in 18 degree weather. We really shall overcome. It says so.
The stem of the flower on my ankle spells the words, "Trust the captain, trust the crew." It is from an episode of The West Wing, when an American nuclear submarine has gotten stuck in the shoals off North Korea. All of the main characters are racing around with brilliant ideas of what they should do, until finally the president, Jed Bartlet, reminds them rather sharply that they have less than nothing useful to contribute to the crisis. He says that he is going to trust the submarine captain, and trust the crew.
My friend, the legendary Dr. Paul O, whom some of you alkie types know from his essay on acceptance, told me once that when he thinks he is in charge of all of life, he remembers little kids sitting in car seats with steering wheels, thinking they are making the car turn left, or right.
So I (usually) trust the driver of this bus we're on, nicknamed Gus--the Great Univeral Spirit--and I entirely trust my crew of my husband, son, grandson and a few very best friends, to see me through whatever my future holds.
In a few days, if I do come through, I will stop all these endless mentions of Good Writing. Mostly. I will return to writing about reasons for hope--endless court decisions defying Trump, his terrible tanking polls, the 8 million people who marched Saturday at No Kings rallies, the incredible heroism and courage of ordinary people all over the country, inspired by Minneapolis, who are rising up against the evil forces of ICE and Stephen Miller. But not today. Today is about rest and congestion, radical self care, throat lozenges, and letting my current husband baby me. The last chapter of my last book was an essay On William Blake's great line of poetry, "We are here to learn to endure the beams of love." It's the hardest work we do.
Then, at 7:30, I am going to try and trick the unsuspecting people of San Diego into keeping the faith in democracy and love, into remembering Wendell Berry's line about being joyful although you have considered all the evidence, and, well, into buying our book. Thank you again and Gus bless you good.
https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/786813/good-writing-by-neal-allen-and-anne-lamott/
https://action.aclu.org/give/pm-donate-to-aclu/


I just love you. For years I did not, because everyone else does, and I felt that would be too conformist. But I can no longer resist. It’s not just that you say my “ current husband” or my “ stupid book,” but that your TONE comes through even if one has never even heard you speak. You have convinced me that I am not alone in the universe. ( I identify as crazy) Though someone’s remark that my humor reminds me of yours, I have little else to accomplish in life. I hope you come east on your tour.
I'm grateful to be alive the same time as you.