Today I Feel Like a Feminist Amazon Warrior Who Is in Tune with the Jungles of the Purple Universe.

That's right, you heard me. Blame Alice Hoffman. I just finished reading her amazing book. One of the best I've read. And I've read a lot of books.

Here is Amazon.com's (isn't it ironic?) description:
"This atmospheric coming-of-age fantasy tells the story of a teenager who is destined to become queen of the Amazons. The product of a rape and shunned by her distant mother, Rain struggles to find her identity and prove herself. Her first-person narration is accessible while evoking a sense of otherworldliness. She talks of animals and people as sisters. The story unfolds at a measured pace with little dialogue, but the language makes it compulsively readable. Readers will be drawn in by Rain's attempts to win her mother's approval even as the teen begins to question the Amazonian way of life and see a new future for her people. Like the best of myths, this story finds truths in details and emotional insights."

I connected with this novel in the way I connect with the Weetzie Bat books, with Lawn Dogs, with Contact, with The Perks of Being a Wallflower. And lately I've been trying to tap into my inner tribal warrior anyway. I've been pushing past some of my inner yucky bullshit to yank out my spears and war-paint, my shields and strength. It's like I'm standing on a hilltop, ready for battle. The good kind of battle. The battle to do away with the parts holding me back. Back from what? I'm not sure. Back from myself. Back from God. I'm sick of turning my back on Nathan: Warrior, Nathan: Writer, Nathan: Whatever Else. I'm learning to trust that I got handed my emotional-weapons for a reason.

It's been a tricky couple weeks. "Barb" has been on my mind a lot. I stayed with her in the ER while she waited for a bed in the psychiatric ward, visited her there, laughed with her about wanting to shove my enemies out the nearest window (and how maybe that wasn't the ideal location for my sick sense of humor)....K told me that D's mother wanted to speak to me, catch up with me, have me talk to someone for her. D has been dead almost a year; gosh, has a year already gone by? I called her this morning, and--when it went to voicemail--I expected to hear N's voice. But no. The greeting said, "Hi, this is D. Leave me a message!" I was caught off guard, but in a good way. I never thought I'd hear his voice again; I'd forgotten, a bit, what he sounded like. Interesting that the last time I saw Charlotte Martin was with D, and now--right when I'm about to see her again in concert this Friday--I hear his voice only three days before. Hmm. Also interesting that I haven't been back in Providence Hospital since he passed, but I was there just last week with "Barb." Another hmm.

These weeks have also involved some paranoid self-doubts, an outing to Washington with Mom and Ben, plenty of laughs, a renewed appreciation for Veronica Mars, a great chat with Charlie, an amazing weekend with Ben on Saturday and Mom on Sunday, anticipation of Patty Griffin's new album, some breakthroughs in my writing, renewed vigor for eating better and working out, chats with the moon, anticipation of receiving The Last Unicorn Special Edition on DVD (along with the signed and illustrated sequel-novella), the perfect V-Day present for Ben, the perfect B-Day present for Jennifer, and lots more.

Hope you all are well. Oh, and read The Foretelling. Got that?