Solo Thanksgiving Essential

I have an important piece of advice for you if you should ever find yourself planning a Thanksgiving alone. It involves multiplication.

Years ago when I took a temporary management position in another state, I realized I would have the opportunity to be alone in my Residence Inn suite on Thanksgiving.

In the two times I've taken the Myers-Briggs personality sorter, I've tested once as introvert, and once as extrovert. Somehow I feel introvert is slightly more accurate, but it's not like I'm one of those people who don't know how to shoot the breeze with a bartender. But it was wonderful to contemplate a whole, low-key day alone in a quiet world, especially as I'd been working like a stevedore with scores of stressed-out retail employees.

I thought the classic thing would be to watch football on TV (my hometown team, the Detroit Lions, always play on Thanksgiving) and eat a turkey TV dinner.

So I made sure to stop at the store Wednesday after work, scored a Swanson's and a six-pack, and felt totally set. The next day I bowed my head in silent tribute to the Pilgrims and the Indians and remembered drawing hand turkeys in kindergarten. Come meal-time, I got out the Swanson's and popped it in the oven.

Here was the thing: It wasn't enough to eat. I'm no heavyweight, but when I took the thing out of the oven and settled in front of the tube, I was like, hey, what kind of Malibu Stacy meal is this? Belatedly I realized the portions were damn skimpy compared with a regular home Thanksgiving dinner. I fished the box out of the trash and looked at the nutrition information: only 330 calories. That, I figured, was about a fourth of what I would normally eat on Thanksgiving.

Tragically, the grocery store was closed, so I was forced to supplement my feast with a stale package of Lorna Doones from the cupboard.

Hence my Thanksgiving tip: If you're going solo, buy two or three Swanson's. And some fresh cookies. With enough beer, you'll be fine.

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How to Go Deep

Somewhere inside every writer dwells a mystic.

Yet we live in deconstructionist times. Seems like there's a precise formula for accomplishment in everything, guaranteed by some marketplace-dwelling 'guru'.

Good writing? Writing success? Is there a difference? Yes.

If you want to deepen your understanding of writing, if you want to explore your passion for writing, talk to people who are devoted to the practice of a demanding thing. I emphasize devoted. Think about what that means. Ask, Why do you do it? A true devotee will give you one answer: I do it for the sake of the thing itself. A yogi practices yoga for its own sake. A painter paints for its own sake. A nun practices her religion for its own sake. A race-car driver races for its own sake.

A true devotee asks nothing from that which he is devoted to. As a devotee you give yourself to the glory of something much bigger and more important than yourself, at whatever the cost to you. And you do it with gladness. And you are rewarded. You may not be rewarded in the way you expect or want. The point is, if you practice this thing with your whole heart, without greed and without vanity, you will transform your life.

[Image note: E's drawings]

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Unconditional Love is a Harsh Mistress

Somehow, I'm the kind of person people like to pour out their troubles to. I don't think I look particularly sympathetic, but maybe they get the vibe that I can help. Whenever someone talks to me about relationship problems, I fall back on something I learned long ago:

Unconditional love is a harsh mistress. But it's the only one worth serving.

This is the only piece of advice I ever give, and it's not really advice. It's a credo.

Credos provide perspective and a steady compass needle. I think because we live in a time of easy gratification and moral relativism, self-indulgence is easy to rationalize. Without a solid credo or two, we fall prey to laziness.

Writers, real, true writers, those whose veins run with Quink Permanent Blue-Black or Namiki Wild Chestnut, consider writing to be their mistress. And sometimes she is harsh!

When you write seriously, with passion, whether you are a professional or aspiring to be one, you have gotten to the point where you must love your mistress unconditionally, or you will be tempted to compromise. You will be tempted to give weight to little setbacks and misunderstandings that don't matter. You will be tempted to quit, not knowing that in the very act of persistence lies salvation.

So: Join me in loving our beautiful, infuriating, sexy, impossible mistress unconditionally. Serve her without question, and see what happens.

[Photo by ES: Original drafts of You've Got a Book in You.]

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Long Table Requiem

One morning about six months ago I was writing in one of my garrets, a Starbucks in Bradenton, Florida, sitting at one end of the long table there.

I always thought of that table as the Mad Tea Party—big enough for six, therefore you often found yourself sharing it with strangers. Some of my favorite long table regulars were a frumpy-looking couple who would bring in a plastic shopping bag from which they'd dump a cloth chessboard and pieces, plus two timers. After getting their drinks they'd play one or two intense games, saying little to each other, then pack up and leave.

But on this day I shared the table with a fortyish woman who worked intently on her laptop doing some kind of video editing. Then we were silently joined by an older woman who sat with her cappuccino, doing nothing, looking at nothing. She seemed to be going through the motions of having coffee at a café, and her vibe was sad and unsettled.

So when she got up to go, I made a point of looking up and saying in a friendly way, "You have a good day now."

She looked at me and blurted, "My husband killed himself three weeks ago. I don't know how good today's going to be."

What could I do but get up and give her a hug? We stood talking for a few minutes. She told me her husband had run up debts for years, the extent of which she was still discovering. It appeared she would lose her house, which was also her place of business, she being an artist with her studio at home. I consoled her as best I could, even giving her my phone number if she wanted to talk.

When I saw her next at the café she thanked me for the hug and the concern. We've kept up as café buddies. One day recently she told me, smiling, "All this has forced me into the here and now. I have no idea what's going to happen next. And I'm perfectly at peace."

I have a few other café buddies, all of whom I met at the long table, and some day I'll have to tell you about them.

A month or so ago the Starbucks got redone, with new paint, different pictures on the walls, and new furniture. The long table is gone, swapped out for some nice leather chairs and smaller, low tables that students put their feet on.

I started this blog entry thinking my subject would be my café buddies, but I realized as I went that it's really about the long table.

I miss it.

[Photo by ES]

Tell me what you think! To post your ideas / comments, all of which I read and try to respond to, click below where it says, 'No Comments,' or '2 Comments,' or whatever.

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