Just Do It for the Faint of Heart

Courtesy of Brian McBride (CA)

A river runs through a nearby national park. Blackwater river, which pours into Blackwater Bay at a pace so perfect, you can float it three feet above its white, sandy bottom - if you can manage to keep your tube or raft from popping amongst the smattering of twigs and trees, their leaves taking a dip themselves in the clear, greenish water.

You're forced to pack light. Sunscreen, a sandwich, swimsuit, sunglasses. Your choice of drink. Your choice of friends, with whom you'll spend a lazy 3 to 7 hours talking shop or entertainment or kids or just shooting the shit about whatever your brain waves ramble over.

Bend after bend goes by, sometimes beckoning you to a small beach or large sandbar, sometimes to greenery surrounded reddish cliffs, off which people (carefully?) leap to the soft, watery shallows below. You pass people who've set their beach chairs up in the warm water, half bodies soaking up the sun and drinking mysterious liquids out of big, colorful water bottles. Few are fishing. Many have dogs.

Source unknown

We go as slowly as possible, not wanting the trip or the day to end, stopping at beaches for long stretches of conversation, meandering slowly through the repeating S beneath a wide strip of blue sky, much more current than languid paddling keeping us going. We approach the last bend, marked by a small bridge stretching stoutly out of the now dark green, almost black, water. I beach my beloved raft and stare at that white line between your toes you can never get tan. We pile into the second car and head back to the first.



If you ever get the chance to float a river...do it. (Waterparks don't count, but they are easier on which to read a book.)

So, Oprah's Book Club is no more. Oprah seemed like someone who would remember the moment she learned to read, too - the moment it just...clicked. Not only was every Oprah's Book Club book a solid shot an big game read for readers, but, for most writers, that badge was up there with making a New York Times bestseller list and, er, appearing on Conan and being featured at Comicon.

But don't give up; you can still e-mail your manuscript to oprah@oprah.com. Maybe your pitch will at least make her read your words and reply with solid gold kudos and a Web site mention. So, in the meantime, print that manuscript out (Hint: set your printer settings to black and white, 2-sided, and the fasted possible speed - that shit will just shoot outta there - but be sure to be there to keep the pages in order, he, he, he). Sprawl out with a glass or cup of something, start reading for feel, highlighting story sections, moving them around, and getting some setting, flow, drama and tension in there. Then write some more and click SEND.

Do it.

The below is an ode to Gaga in celebration of her triumphant (subjective, so I understand the below is only for true fans) junior album (if deluxe versions don't count - not sure about the rule on that). If you're inclined to pop and haven't bought the new record yet...do it. If you're not, and need a good book to read besides vampire stories, 'Arry Potta', The Hunger Games (geeze, the UK's kicking our ass), and the Millennium Trilogy, Oprah's is a super-duper list.

If you don't read, do it, starting with this blog more - don't wait for the movie version.

Ode to Gaga

Oh, Chrome. Probably enough.


The beginning is the best.


Up for adoption?


Oh, Alex.


For more fun times, visit the official Lady Gaga YouTube channel.

For even more eye candy fun times, which don't require loading... Oh, Gaga fans. Oh, Japan - much love. (Courtesy of the TokyoFashion.com blog.)