Ophthalmologists in India are concerned that a movie about cornea transplants will frighten donors and patients. Here’s the story.

Is banning the movie the answer?

I’m certain I don’t fully understand the culture involved, but maybe they should try a good romance instead. Here’s a possible antidote I’d like to recommend to the docs: Return To Me with Minnie Driver, David Duchovny and Bonnie Hunt. (more…)

Vikk Simmons at Down the Writer’s Path asks Why write every day?

I read yesterday in The Writer’s Mentor that Mark Twain began writing the story of Joan of Arc six times over the course of twelve years. He said, “There are some books that refuse to be written . . . only because the right form for the story does not present itself.” Of course, he didn’t let that not-ready-to-be-written story stop him. According to the site linked under his name, Twain published nine works including Life on the Mississippi, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Tom Sawyer Abroad, and Pudd’nhead Wilson during the twelve-year period prior to Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc.

Regarding the need to write every day, the only question a writer in that situation ought to ask is: Do I want to write? If the answer is yes, even though what you think you want to write may be stuck for now, that doesn’t mean you should stop writing. (more…)

In spite of occasionally dreaming of winning the lottery, I confess I seldom bother to buy tickets. But I’ve noticed those lottery numbers inside fortune cookies, and I’ve wondered if they’re worth a try. According to this report, Fortune cookies lucky for 110 lottery winners, they are. Well, sometimes.

To all moms—biological moms, adopted moms, stepmoms, foster moms, moms to be, moms who never were, aunties, moms of pets, caretakers of anyone’s children, grandmothers (of course!), and those who simply care a great deal about the children in your community or the world. Thank you for cherishing and nurturing the future along with those individuals you love and care for each day.

I hope I didn’t leave anyone out.

I write on my laptop, in a barricaded corner of the living room near the kitchen—eight feet from the coffee grinder and coffee maker—surrounded by instruments of creation, including my L-shaped desk that used to work in a bank. The remaining wires from the silent alarm were removed just prior to positioning the desk in my living room. (more…)