Why is this cow so happy? She's happy for me! And why is she happy for me? Because I spent a whole day writing and not once did I:

a) Want to throw myself off a really tall bridge
b) Feed myself to rabid piranhas
c) Go running to Mommy
d) Actually go out and apply for a "real job"

How often does this happen? Once in a blue moon, baby.

This New Year's Eve we'll all get to experience a real blue moon, that's what you call the uncommon occurrence of a second full moon falling within a calender month. The last one happened in 2007. The next one will be in August of (gasp!) 2012.

It's pretty obvious why actual blue moons are so rare. The magical space gods that make everything work up there have a secret schedule and they're sticking to it.

But why is a good, happy feeling writing day so elusive? Well, if you have to ask that question, then I'd have to rely on the immortal words of "The Dude" in The Big Leboski, "Obviously, you're not a golfer."

And by "golfer" I don't mean "golfer".

Writers are weird. They're strange folk, all dark-circled eyes, howling their angst at the cosmos and... wait, sorry, that was my sixth grade teacher.

30 twelve year olds in one room. Really, can you blame her?

Seriously, writers have issues. Otherwise, why is it so important that they need to write stuff down and not only write it down but try as hard as they can to get people to read what they've written down?

And on a bad day, that process can be ugly, only saved from the absolutest dark-mostiest depths of despair by the sweet, sweet mercy of maple bars. Apple fritters will do in a pinch, but I'm warning you, I wouldn't push my luck if I were you. Baked goods are powerful mojo, dude.

But then, just like a Monty Python parting of the clouds where a voice booms down from heaven, it can all turn around and you're able to put sentences together. And those sentences become paragraphs, and so on, and so on. And when you dare to go back and read your day's work and it doesn't make you want to go back to my list at the top of my post and add yet another option which is: e) All of the above, then you my friend have had a blue moon day.

This dancing cow knows that feeling well, it seems. "Go, blue moooooooooooon!" she says. "It's udderly marvelous!"

I know, puns are the lowest form of humor. So sue me. I'm off doing my happy dance.

My world - and welcome to it.

And yes, I do know that dachshunds can't spell solitaire to save their lives.

May all your holiday heart's desires come true!



Best,

Nancy and her resident trunk monkeys, Dutch and Twig

I talk a lot about creativity here and I consider it pretty much a food group, like, uh, sushi. But sometimes creativity can seem to disappear into outer space like our zebra friends here.

But if you find yourself suddenly without your creative spark or if you just feel that you need help in channeling it down a more effective path then help is here.

Actually it's here: www.jerryfenter.com

Not only is Jerry a good friend and a fantastic painter and writer, she's also a creative counselor. She lives and breathes all things creative and knows exactly how to spread the wealth.

She also know how to give a quick boot to the rear to get you skipping merrily down your own creative path.

So if you're ready to be wild, crazy, and creatively fearless, I can't think of a better companion for that journey than Jerry.

She rocks.

Oh, baby it's a-cold outside. Both the old man wiener dog and the terrible min-pin puppy, usually pretty happy little creatures are fidgety, irritable and there have been mighty turf battles over the heater register. I think next time I'll get dogs with actual hair.

But I know how they feel. I'm a temperate clime girl. In my perfect Nancy World it wouldn't get below 45 degrees in the winter and not above 78 in the summer. Oh, and would only rain at night.

I wouldn't miss seeing snow fall so prettily across the hills. That's what the Weather Channel's for - or those glittery winter scene Christmas cards. Then I could gaze upon that wintery beauty at a time of my own choosing and then go out to play a nice game of tennis. Oh, I so love Nancy World...

I know it may be hard to believe, but I've been accused on a few (okay, lots of) occasions of having a few (okay, lots of) control issues. And I really have spent some good, quality introspective time thinking about this. Usually, I end up trying to figure out how to get people to see things my way-and then problem would be solved, right?

Wait, bear with me here. This tactic works beautifully in one regard - when I'm working on a first draft of a manuscript. I'm the ruler of my story. It's Nancy World come to life! I create only the characters I want to hang out with and they have no choice but to do my bidding. I can put said characters into any setting I want and then make them do anything I want them to do. Bwaa-hahaha! I am the puppet master!

See, control issues can come in mighty handy.

But then a shadow falls across the land. What is this looming darkness, threatening to do away with my puppet mastery status? What nemesis could it be?

Actually, there's more than one of them. And they're not evil villains, but super heroes, swooping in to save my story from the ultimately going nowhere'sville of Nancy World.

There's my first readers. They can cock an eyebrow even in an email. "What's this mean?" they ask.

"You know," I answer.

"Actually, we don't, " they insist. And then they meanly send me back to clear points up. In Nancy World, I have ESP and can mind meld them my thoughts. No revisions necessary.

Then, there's my writers' groups. "You're doing a lot of telling in this spot," they say, devil horns sprouting on their writers' heads. "I'd like you to show more." Back I slink to my keyboard.

Agent Superman can be just as stern. "Are you being oblique just for the fun of it?" he asks.

"But that's what it's like in my, this world," I protest.

He stands there, mighty arms folded across his chest. He heroically scans the horizon, cape waving in the wind. "Wow," he says. "Seriously?"

Slinking back to my keyboard is now a very familiar feeling. My control issues sit there silently, lips set in grim lines as they watch me make my story something more than it was. And when I finish, they shriek, "Who are these characters? What is this place? It's cold, for heaven's sake!" They fly around my head like angry bees. "This is NOT Nancy World!"

And yep, they're right. It's now a hopefully relate-able world - one that more than just some people (okay, probably just me) can um, relate to.

The editor now comes in with her magic sword. Slash! Chop! Slice and dice! And then with her magic highlighter. Expand! Clarify! Are you being oblique just for the fun of it? More slinking for me.

And then it's done. And you know what? Nancy World is not dead. It's there, right at the heart of my story. That part of it never goes away. But the new world that envelopes it is richer, more fully realized.

Thanks to all the wonderful marvelous people I get to work with -

it may even have snow in it.