I subscribe to NASA’s emails and I received one the other day that I’d like to share. Tomorrow, they want everyone to take a selfie.
Are you up for it? If you don’t do Twitter, Facebook, etc., post it to your blog then leave a link here in the comments and I’ll come check you out.
Here’s their blurb:
NASA invites you — and everyone else on the planet — to take part in a worldwide celebration of Earth Day this year with the agency’s #GlobalSelfie event.
The year 2014 is a big one for NASA Earth science. Five NASA missions designed to gather critical data about our home planet are launching to space this year. NASA is marking this big year for Earth science with a campaign called Earth Right Now, and as part of this campaign the agency is asking for your help this Earth Day, April 22.
While NASA satellites constantly look at Earth from space, on Earth Day we’re asking you to step outside and take a picture of yourself wherever you are on Earth. Then post it to social media using the hashtag #GlobalSelfie.
For more information on getting involved
For more information about NASA’s Earth science activities in 2014, visit:
At the moment, I have no words. It made me smile, then, as one of life’s little ironies, when I received an email announcing the launch of a new poetry ezine containing one of my poems – a poem about censorship, in which most of the words have been removed.
I may not be writing much but I do know how to make a short story long, so here goes.
My poem In The Tradition of ‘The Star’ appeared in the anthology In Protest: 150 Poems for Human Rights last year.
Earlier this year, one of the anthology’s editors contacted me, asking for permission to use it in a new ezine she and another editor were starting; and inviting me to read at the magazine’s launch in London at the end of March.
I gladly gave permission but had to refuse the invitation, commenting that I wouldn’t know how to read it aloud anyway.
She replied that she quite understood: her employer (a charity fighting female genital mutilation) had held a memorial meeting for Nelson Mandela and my poem had been read out at the meeting – with difficulty.
I sent a garbled reply about poems being like children and taking on a life of their own without you, once you’ve sent them out into the world.
I didn’t hear from her again, but that’s hardly surprising. If you’ve read this far you’ll be in the same dazed state.
Anyway, to get to the point, here is a link to the new magazine, Writing in the Blackout.
Here’s a bit of the blurb, for the political amongst you:
‘Writing in the Blackout’ is an anthology of poetry and art work that explores the theme of arts censorship and freedom of speech:http://www.ideastap.com/Partners/keatshousepoets
I haven’t written a post in thirteen days; and if you haven’t noticed, then I haven’t written a decent recent post.
I don’t believe in Writer’s Block, preferring to call the occasional arid periods in which my fingers take on all the attributes of blank paper with none of its promise – rather like a British tabloid newspaper – ‘dry spells’. I know I could write something if I neck a bottle of wine in one sitting; but you might not like what I’ve written. Or understand it, come to that. Rather like a British tabloid newspaper.
Fortunately, WordPress has been watching me (I knew it!) and sent me a prompt post entitled Five Posts to Write Right Now:
Mired in bloggers’ block? Pshaw — we’ll give you a push! Here are five posts you can publish right now, no matter what topics you usually blog about.
Thank you, WordPress; that’s really thoughtful of you.
I can’t believe WordPress is spying on me! What business is it of theirs if I don’t write for two weeks or two years? Pshaw!
An Ode To WordPress, The Object Of My Affliction
When I don’t write
You prompt me to
Bloggers not blogging
don’t reflect well on you
When I do write
You spy on me
I must object
But let’s be fair
This ode is crap
Are you really sure
You want me back?
I’ve seen it on Facebook as in Suchabody Withnolifetospeakof is listening to Songs For Those Too Lazy To Share The Dull Minutiae Of Their Lives Via Blogs Like I Do on Spotify.
Take the five books on your nightstand, the last five songs you listened to, the last five movies you watched or the last five blog posts you liked — what do they say about you?
Three Brenda Jagger novels, Siegfried Sassoon’s War Poems and the Bible:
Prepare Ye, Beautiful City, Day By Day, All For The Best, By My Side:
The Terminator, Terminator 2: Judgement Day, Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines, Terminator Salvation, Dumb & Dumber.
Posts I Like – I have to be discreet here so as not to offend anyone by not including them, so I’ll go for generic subjects instead of specific posts:
I know mad libs are (is?) some weird American traditional game played at Thanksgiving and when the internet is down, but that’s all I know, so we’re back to dry spotify again.
Thanks for nothing, WordPress.
You may recall my post about elephant ears and what a disappointment (of sorts) it was to discover that they were not, in fact, mammoth trophies but were…well, if you don’t know, you’ll have to read the post for yourself.
Now I discover there is another kind of elephant ears: the kind you can eat! The best kind.
Don’t worry, I might not be vegetarian (shudder) but even I would balk at a pachyderm pot roast.
No, my lovely American friend Laurie, who blogs at laurieanichols, sent a surprise parcel in the post – a tin of elephant ears: homemade biscuits, so-called because of their shape.
Sadly, the Hub has just been diagnosed as diabetic, so he couldn’t have any; Spud doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, so he had a taste, approved of them, but declined to eat any more; Tory Boy lives elsewhere; and I watch my weight these days.
I value my friendships more than my figure, however, so I manfully swallowed as many elephant ears as I could.
At the risk of offending all of my other friends who have fed me homemade biscuits before, I have to apologise and say: these were the best biscuits I have ever tasted.
I will always remember them fondly. And so will my waist. Thank you, Laurie!
The Hub wears a new t-shirt to the play and is ‘awesome’, ‘best dad ever’, admired by all of Spud’s friends.
I pay a teacher a compliment and I’m banned from ever speaking to anyone Spud ever knows for the rest of his life, ever.
Here’s the Hub’s shirt:
Here’s my compliment to Godspell’s choreographer:
Wow! Spud told me the dancing was really naff but I think it’s great!
I don’t understand Spud at all.
Get loose. Try something different.
A frustrated writer, who is her own worst enemy
Don't get mad; get writing
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Learning the way of Christ