summer love + a soft soundtrack for creating: a letter.

In three years, I’ve never once written an update-like letter here. I’ve been thinking all week about a writing a missive with no particular teachy preachy point and it’s well, it’s made me really uncomfortable. I love it when I come across a little paranoia snag in my psyche. I write for a whole lot of people, all the time, with a healthy dose of intimacy. But a simple “Hi, here’s what I’m doing on my summer vacation,” post has brought up all sorts of ideas I have around being useful and artful. This is so ridiculous it’s fascinating, to me, at least. It would seem that I’m hooked on finding a teachable moment in everything. It remains extremely likely that I will never be a diarist. But here’s a new kind of hello…

July 20, 2011
{Melody Gardot, If The Stars Were Mine}

Dear You,

I’m writing from the third floor of the new house. The walls are fresh, high gloss white. There are still boxes lined up. The house is tall. And every once and a while my studio rattles a bit. When it first happened I thought it was a tremor. I tweeted: “Vancouver, did we just have an earthquake tremor, or do I just need chocolate?” but no one took me seriously. I started watching Eva (our Yellow Lab) to see if she was pacing. I thought about a Tsunami and how it would be hard to swim while clutching my MacBook Pro. Mystery solved: big construction project going on down the street. Now I pretend I’m steering the Mother Ship and the rattling is lift-off turbulence.

{Ray LaMontange, Hold You In My Arms Forever…”when you kissed my lips, my mouth was full of questions”}

I’m in the final yard of completing The Fire Starter Sessions. My deadline is August 1st, and it’s firm. Random House has set the pub date for April 17, 2012, so there’s no buying time. The book needs to be locked in this fall. We’re back n’ forthing about cover design – it’s a game of quarter inches and pantones. Love it. I’m adoring my editor. She’s lucid and thoughtful (my desk just started shaking, by the way.) And I feel like we’re building one of those friendly Transformers, like Optimus Prime, to do good things on the planet. The finishing phase of creative projects is not my fave but this feels like I’m setting the table for a fabulous, epic party.

This book has confirmed two things for me: writing books is all-fucking-consuming if you want to do it right. And, I want to be consumed for the rest of my life. In flames. But not like Joan of Arc. Just me. Feeling hot and devotional. With a great sound track.

{Bon Iver with Kanye West, Lost In The World, “You’re Freedom, You’re my Jail /You’re my Lies, You’re my Truth / You’re my War, You’re my Truce”}

Moving two houses into one, and then getting flattened by sinisitus, I just decided to give myself two solid weeks of writing rather than trying to fit bits in here and there over the month. It’s worked. Boys are away canoeing and I’m here eating take out Pad Thai and polishing paragraphs. And hanging art in between. (But I need a month without a deadline in my life. And I’m dieing to read a book.)

{Eddie Veder, Satellite, “I’ve seen the light and I’m satisfied that the brightest star is you”}

I haven’t cried in a long time. The sinus and bronchial stuff really got me down–foggy fatigue frustrates. And I thought, I need a good cleansing cry. But…I’m feel such sweetness these days. Content. But I watched one of those funding-mmericals for Operation Smile and had a good boo. And the Pad Thai was too spicy. Sensitive palette.

The tide is out. It’s a magic space of Empty. See for miles. The beach is clear and there are things to examine and let die in the sun. I’m putting old vases and cutlery in the alley free pile. I put the financial statements from my old company into the art paper pile. I’m letting go of that cranky crank persona that just couldn’t let it all be wonderful the way it is. She’s withering in the fresh air with the old salmon bones. I’m saying thank you to her. She showed me how happy I am. Bodichitta. Always there.

{Antony & The Johnsons, Pressing On, “Well I’m pressing on, to the higher calling of my lord…What kind of sign do they need when it all comes from within?”}

The tide will roll in at the end of the summer. The book will be filed. The boy and I will hit the road for a Mama-Monkey marshmallow roast adventure. (Backroads, Creamsicles, and the windows down.) I’m lighting candles. Tide will be very high. And then it’s going to be time to get in the new speed boat. Media touring. Gigs. New shoes. And a new way of being with it all. Full on sun from the inside out.

{Shirley Horn & Sugar Daddy – Verve Remix 3, Come Dance With Me “Come dance with me on a crowded floor. Come on, come on. We’ll be, we’ll be.”}

Adele re-booked her Vancouver Concert! (She had to post-pone because of laryngitis.) Very stoked about that. So happy for her success.

I’m working on a chapter on the perils of “possibility thinking.” It’s a puzzle. Need to lay on the floor and listen for the sequence. A burrito would be helpful. I may actually have to leave the Mother Ship to forage for food.

So much to be grateful for.

Face the light.

I love you,

{Keysha, We R Who We R, “Just like the world is ours, You know we’re superstars, We R who We R!”}

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