I have forged three arrows in my wake: my commitment to smoking, my vow to not write a book, and my vow of solitude. These three arrows are my gift in flight to my family, my signature upon the air, each arrow tipped in the reflexive, not vengeful, strike of a scorpion tail. –The Magician

Dear Magician,   

Have you departed through your mists back to your Island?  I didn’t ask you if the Princesses lived there with you, but I get a feeling you’re all alone.  I know I should ask permission to use your Internet words (do they at least have Internet on your island?), but I have attributed them to you, see?  And I don’t know if I’ll ever hear your writing again.   You left me with the vision of  “grains of golden sand sifting through your fingers to the deep.  While you weep. (Poe)

Your self-image of tragic despair and your defensive archaic manipulations must crack up and flake off like your proverbial eggshell.  I know you are pure light inside.

You are a tricky magician. (Aren’t all magicians?)  I love to be magically manipulated (doesn’t everyone?)  But it’s your turn.  You should enjoy the delight, also.  But I think maybe you are too attached to your tragic image.  Not once did your words sound like laughter.

You will not escape the literary world if I can help it.  I’m going to talk to you here–I’m sure you’ll hear it there for water carries sound–and at the same time take care of my blog that nobody reads hahaha.  I think this will be a reverse transcendence, for you need to come back to earth and find a different launching pad.

It’s okay, your feelings are safe with me.   I tend to trudge the straight and narrow.  (There are those who would laugh I said that.)   Maybe I’ll gather a few obscure stories from you for my grandchildren?  They should be so lucky.

You have lived as a leather eggshell for so long, it won’t take much for you to find your solutio.  Life may be your solutio!

I need to tell you, I changed my mind about my wish.  I desire to integrate compassion, not power.  I leave the power in your hands, individuated power of integrity, wielded with wise authority.  Albedo?  You’re incubating.  Oh! and it’s your novel that will hatch!

And!  Since you’re The Magician, you can call upon the powers-that-be to influence the literary agents to actually open, and even read, your query letter.  I’m so delighted!  Can you tell?

From one who has been magically manipulated,


P.S.  Here’s one for the grandkids.  This is how you opened our conversation.  But I have to cite Fowles.

It’s all about the story.  We both know that.

You might enjoy this:

The Prince and the Magician ~Reprinted from The Magus, by John Fowles

Once upon a time there was a young prince, who believed in all things but three. He did not believe in princesses, he did not believe in islands, and he did not believe in God. His father, the king, told him that such things did not exist. As there were no princesses or islands in his father’s domains, and no sign of God, the young man believed his father.

But then, one day, the prince ran away from his palace. He came to the next land. There, to his astonishment, from every coast he saw islands, and on these islands, strange and troubling creatures whom he dared not name. As he was searching for a boat, a man in full evening dress approached him along the shore.

“Are those real islands?” asked the young prince.

“Of course they are real islands,” said the man in evening dress.

“And those strange and troubling creatures?”

“They are all genuine and authentic princesses.”

“Then God also must exist!” cried the prince.

“I am God,” replied the man in full evening dress, with a bow.

The young prince returned home as quickly as he could.

“So you are back,” said his father, the king.

“I have seen islands, I have seen princesses, I have seen God,” said the prince reproachfully.

The king was unmoved.

“Neither real islands, nor real princesses, nor a real God, exist.”

“I saw them!”

“Tell me how God was dressed.”

“God was in full evening dress.”

“Were the sleeves of his coat rolled back?”

The prince remembered that they had been. The king smiled.

“That is the uniform of a magician. You have been deceived.”

At this, the prince returned to the next land, and went to the same shore, where once again he came upon the man in full evening dress.

“My father the king has told me who you are,” said the young prince indignantly.

“You deceived me last time, but not again. Now I know that those are not real islands and real princesses, because you are a magician.”

The man on the shore smiled.

“It is you who are deceived, my boy. In your father’s kingdom there are many islands and many princesses. But you are under your father’s spell, so you cannot see them.”

The prince returned pensively home. When he saw his father, he looked him in the eyes.

“Father, is it true that you are not a real king, but only a magician?”

The king smiled, and rolled back his sleeves.

“Yes, my son, I am only a magician.”

“Then the man on the shore was God.”

“The man on the shore was another magician.”

“I must know the real truth, the truth beyond magic.”

“There is no truth beyond magic,” said the king.

The prince was full of sadness.

He said, “I will kill myself.”

The king by magic caused death to appear. Death stood in the door and beckoned to the prince. The prince shuddered. He remembered the beautiful but unreal islands and the unreal but beautiful princesses.

“Very well,” he said. “I can bear it.”

“You see, my son,” said the king, “you too now begin to be a magician.”

Edit: Readability

Usage report for market blitz on social media, aka “platforms.”

I’m not sharing this post to any social media. I’m just getting frustration off my chest. Next year, I won’t joke about being a Techie because I will really be one.

I was so surprised to be a Techie after making my website, I decided to ride the crest of success and launch a marketing blitz on all social media.

This is a usage report.

Not one “follow” in 7 days.

**My Facebook friends:  no “follows,” but thoughtful advice: instead of using, for my website, my yellow cartoon WASP logo, I should use the same fb profile picture of me and my grandchildren.  I do love to show off my grandchildren, but I paid $40 for the right to use that cute cartoon WASP logo.

**One of my subreddits said the WASP idea was aggressive.  And that’s before I even knew what an OP is. During the 4-person in-depth discussion that followed, I almost decided to delete the website.  No “follows,” but I did get 139 views on that thread.  You can’t even get “follows” on Reddit–only up-votes. <a href="https://www.reddit.com/user/katherinethewasp/

**My other subreddit removed my only post, which was a picture of a real handwritten journal page.  It’s against their rules to post real handwritten journal pages.  You might need to know that.  When you’re new to Redddit it’s embarrassing to get a “you broke the rules like a 5-year old” message.  

**My tweeter friends.  Well, I don’t have any.  And Noreen and I are trying to learn to tweet in time to get in on the Twitter @pitmad (pitch your book to agents day)  @kaybrittain

**LinkedIn:  Contacts haven’t said much.  They all speak Italian, Turkish, or Spanish.  They were my suppliers of marble from when I owned a construction stone import company.  So these transAtlantic businessmen who don’t speak English are at least 7 year old contacts.   I was wishing they might enjoy looking at the pictures of my blog as they go by on the feed.  Linkedin

**Skype:  I upgraded and lost all my contacts (they were all transAtlantic, so no big deal).  Remind me to take Skype off my automatic share menu.  Also remind me how to do that.

**And on Google +.  I hope you can find me because no way can I find you.  I subscribed to so many collections and communities (I have varied interests) that I have shut the door on the bulging feed, and dare not open it again.  It’s a little more calm in here:

Google+/Community/Journaling for Numinosity

Google+/Collections/Journaling   and  C. G. Jung


I’ll make another report next year.

The First WASP

Oy'm Enery the 8th Oy am,
Enery the 8th Oy am, Oy am.
Oy got married to the widow next door.
She's been married sevennn times before.
And every one was an Enery-

When King Henry VIII wanted a divorce, the Pope wouldn’t give it to him. So he started his own church: The Church of England, which became Anglican (Anglo); and further translated across the high seas to America as Protestant Episcopalian.

He still beheaded at least 2 wives for being traitors. They wouldn’t let him go hunting. At least that’s what I understood from Wikipedia.

I’m not dissing fishbowls, but they’re not The High Seven Seas, you know

Fishbowls are necessary or we’d drown in the boundless sea of no boundaries.

It’s just…It’s just… I’d love to go adventuring with Richard Halliburton; sail the seven seas. (That’s really his ship, Sea Dragon; and that’s really his gravestone that affirms: “Lost at Sea”)

So when did he have time to write?

The Royal Road to Romance is one of my all-time favorite books.

WASP is just another name for:

Here are some synonyms for WASP and their (downlinks) according to my take on it.

High Society, or simply Society (19th century America), Fresa (Mexican), Bourgeois (Bohemians), Republicans, (Democrats, although this needs some discussion because the democrats who call republicans “WASPs,” are often “Elites”), Capitalists (Socialists),

The Gentry (19th century England), Rich (I was taught it is bad manners to call people ‘rich’), Newly Rich Middle Class-New Money (Upper Class-Old Money)

A WASP is not:  The Elite (Power Brokers), Upper Class (modern social democracies), aristocracy (pre-20th century Western European), “The 400” (How many Mrs. Astor’s ballroom could hold in Victorian NYC)

Also, look: A WASP is not necessarily a W.A.S.P. (White Anglo Saxon Protestant) Some of my best friends are Hispanics and they fit into my WASP taxonomy.  It’s a class thing.

But don’t expect some of us not to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps to reach for that top rung of the ladder; which ladder social anthropologist, Emile Durkheim, calls “social organization.”  America is also the land of rugged individualism.

Most importantly for our purposes:  A male curandero motivated by fame is not the same as a female WASP motivated by desire for Individuation  (and  for the curandero).  That’s why The WASP and El Curandero is funny.

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