That’s right! Scientists have analyzed data and determined that it’s extra cold.
Now I feel even less bad for never leaving my beanbag nest with fireplace view.
I gave up working-out and have adopted a restorative yoga practice. This particular pose is called Corpse.
Note the Winter coat. My character froze to death on the prairie.
ANYWAY. I can act like this now because I’m an eccentric writer with A LITERARY AGENT.
28 pages down, 12 to go…
I started getting acupuncture this week
because my qi [chee] is obviously messed up. And, everyone knows, it is impossible to write a book with messed-up qi [chee].
A BOOK?!
I’m writing A BOOK!! Remember??
It’s one of the four things I talk about, so it should be easy to remember.
But, what are the other three?
1) Bacon
2) Rat-kings
And 3) My new nephew
Here’s a card that explains everything:
Right??
Two important things happened this week:
1) It was so cold that I never left the house.
IT FELT LIKE -49°.
OKAY, cover your ears: THAT’S BULLSHIT.
All I could possibly do is sit in front of the fire with my companion, Tib The Cat.
Oh, yeah, and here’s number
2) I GOT A LITERARY AGENT.
You heard me.
The Steinberg Agency — they rep people like Tim Gunn and Cris Carter. NO BIG DEAL.
They want a 40-page picture book for adults…
*I* like pictures.
I can make that book.
Here’s a teaser/the cover OF MY BOOK.
I heard a story about a Minnesota fur trader.
Tromping through the snow in seasonably cold weather, sans Northface winter gear and, more importantly, SANS Smartwool socks — he found his feet to be frozen solid. Frozen like a forgotten chuck roast buried under the pile of pizzas and popsicles.
What did he do?
Simply dragged his body through the snow until warmish accommodations were reached, asked the hardy men in the room for an awl, punctured his feet, and had those same hardy men pour brandy over his numb tootsies.
There. Feet saved.
I didn’t write a card about that. (I’m sure I will.) Here’s something more lighthearted:
2013 was a doozy!
I daydreamed with such intensity!
Such intent!
Such fervor!
And I can’t speak for Jen (just kidding, I will. Right now.) but I’m pretty sure she has been on pins and needles JUST WAITING for cards from me in her inbox. (Between the printing, billing, and shipping.)
I also can’t speak for The First Intern, and now The Virtual Intern, but I will say that their lol’s have fueled my asbestos-covered furnace.
So, as I sit here, wearing layers of long underwear, under an Indian blanket (soaked in smallpox), staring out the window… I am beyond grateful for the ladies that make Zeichen Press more than just a daydream.
And now I’m all choked up!
But enough of that!
Christmas is SO two days ago and that leaves me wondering what to do with the rest of winter.
Should I:
A) Take up a winter sport, like: crying? Or swearing? Or punching the air?
B) Write/design cards about this wonder-filled season.
I choose both!
Nothing could come between a girl and her Etch A Sketch in 1981.
NOTHING.
Just look at that tight-lipped concentration… LOOK AT IT.
Maybe I was creating a message for my mom? Or a beautiful design? Or a note to my brother begging him to stop slowly poisoning my parakeet and calling me Oot Head.
WHO KNOWS?
My Etch A Sketch has been replaced with 10,000 pounds of letterpress equipment, a laptop, and Jen. (Sorry, Jen.)
Here’s a new Valentine’s Day card… Lead type and an antique cut can barely compare to the magic of my childhood.
Sandwiched between Woodworking II
and tanning booths at Golden Tan in the Richfield Hub (Um, Off-Campus Study HalI),
was a class called Printmaking. 
*Actual linocut carved while under Sr. Bernardine’s tutelage.
Maybe I should thank Sr. Bernardine (‘s grave) for opening my mind to all things print-related?
Inspired by that lil’ puppy:
Oh, wouldn’t I look smart in my new floral, lightly quilted, Guinnea Sax dress and ivory blouse! The thin silk ribbon under my collar tied so prettily… Real leather open-toe sandals with cuffed socks actually MATCH MY BLOUSE… Eleven years old and I just knew I already had the world by the shanks. THE SHANKS.
First Picture Day at my new school was going to change everything! Sure, I spend nights in bed carefully drawing miniature Black Stallions in the margin of my diary. And sure, I rarely brushed my stick-straight blonde, center-parted, mom-cut hair. But I was pretty sure I looked like Sissy Spacek, circa 1973.
With backpack securely fastened over both shoulders, I proudly marched through the alley-entrance onto the school playground/parking lot.
WHAT’S THIS?! The girls/my classmates are wearing Guess Jeans and white t-shirts!
My heart sank.
And they burst out laughing at the very site of me!
HOW COULD THEY?! THE AGONY! Thank God my call home from the nurses office only resulted in my mom coaxing me to stay at school long enough to have my picture taken, otherwise there wouldn’t be this evidence. THANK GOD.
~Dedicated to the cool kids~
…And someday I’d enact my telekinetic revenge…
Discovering Instacart might change my life.
These modern services enable my dwindling desire to engage with the outside world.
IN JANUARY. IN MINNESOTA.
And why should I leave my house when Millie the Dog is learning to speak Human?
If only the shop were actually connected to my house.
Just look at that commute! Ridiculous.
Or… inspiring? It must be inspiring because I made this.
January has already been SO busy. I don’t know about Jen, but I’ve had to take a really active role as a listener/watcher.
First this: (Sherlock!)
And then this: (Serial Podcast: season 2!)
And now THIS?? (Making A Murderer, brought to you by the good folks at Netflix and Men’s Wearhouse!)
It’s a lot to keep track of… I’m taking notes if anyone needs them.
Don’t ask me how (DON’T ASK ME), but I was able to squeeze in one card:
I’m pretty sure it was our Jewish neighbor (and not Santa Claus) who put our presents under the tree when we were at Midnight Mass.
I got a globe.
But I barely remember that! I barely remember crying and sulking in my bedroom! Because this was the Lord’s day, not mine!
Merry Christmastime, everyone!
If only they would stop their playing and look over at me… Why is MY friend even playing with my stupid brother???… Maybe if I wave my arms and jump higher on this strangely super-tall bed in our basement… No, that didn’t work… Hold on… I’ll just climb down and drag over that chalkboard to lay flat on the floor because it looks more like water than the off-brown linoleum… Perfect… Now, I’ll roll over the large black, rubber inner-tube we float on at the lake… Just plop it right on top of the chalkboard… Looking good… Ok… NOW, I’ll climb back up on the bed and jump some more…
“LOOK AT MEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!”
I hysterically scream, while diving face-first into the center of the inner-tube.
So much blood. So many tears. And my friend was sent home??? WHY MOM, WHY?!
Feeling pretty fancy over here because The Washington Post picked up the Religion News Service article! (Is that how it works?? See? TOO fancy for me!)
But, obviously, not as fancy as Dinah.
and new designs for 
