Jonathon, Author at Laurell K. Hamilton

Mayhem and Anxiety

I woke anxious on Tuesday morning last week. Now, there are always things to be anxious about if you search hard enough, but there really wasn’t any good reason to be anxious. I meditated, had breakfast, tea, but still that fluttery feeling in my gut wouldn’t go away. Then I realized I had to get pages done on the new book because this afternoon is the Mayhem Fest with a lot of bands that I totally love. Carri and I are going, just us girls. Heat index is 105 today, so I’m trying to decide what bands are worth going early for before the headliners in the evening. It was while listening to them on iTunes that I realized why I was anxious.

When I was a little girl I’m not sure I remember a single good thing, or event, that my grandmother didn’t make into an anxiety rich experience. She would work herself up into a frenzy about the smallest things. Everything was a crisis, or so it seemed. Anything that I enjoyed that she didn’t, or that would take me away from her, even for a few hours, she hated. She hated that I played Dungeons and Dragons. She went so far to prevent me from doing theater in school as to refuse to have any of my family pick me up after tryouts the first time. She told me that if I couldn’t get a ride home that I couldn’t do it. As a very shy 15-year-old I went to the tryouts not knowing if I would be able to get home, or I would be walking the 15 miles. (It may be closer to 30, but I honestly don’t remember.) But, I found a ride with a friend’s parents, and once my grandmother realized I was serious she helped me find aunts and cousins to drive me back and forth, or I continued to carpool with friends. She never came to a school show, performance, or play that I was in that I remember, and that includes ten years of being in choir. Aunts, or uncles, would drop me off for the shows, and I’d perform and then they’d pick me up. I don’t really remember them staying to watch much. Surely, sometimes they did, but not often. Wait, my grandmother came to the last choir performance of my senior year, because the seniors were giving roses to their parents in the audience. Yes, I guilted her into that one, and to be honest it didn’t mean as much to me as it would have if she’d come willingly.

I grew up conditioned that anything I really enjoyed, was really looking forward to, would be fraught with anxiety. Often tears, and actual fights, ensued because I wanted to go out on the weekends to game, or had to devote more time to Speech Team and plays. When it came time for me to marry the first time, I didn’t know until I walked down the isle if my side of the church would be mostly empty. My grandmother had turned them against my fiance, and they believed her. She had acquiesced to come to the wedding only days before, when she realized I was calling her bluff. The bluff? That if I married him I was dead to her and the rest of the family. My first husband, Gary, and I did the wedding ourselves. I remember throwing up in the shrubs in the front of the church the day of the wedding as we delivered our own flowers to the church. I was that nervous about my family and what they might do at the wedding. To those few relatives that didn’t make my life miserable during this time; thank you.

I’m excited about the concert today, but Jon, my husband, isn’t going with me. I think I’ve transferred some of that long ago anxiety to this situation. I used to be very afraid to travel, and totally phobic of airplanes, but I’ve always traveled better with Jon at my side. I used to joke he was my security blanket. Maybe it’s not about him being there to hold my hand in the normal way. Maybe it’s that if he’s with me, he can’t get angry with me for doing something without him? I think that’s it. I think I’m expecting him to get mad at me for going to the concert without him, even though he doesn’t want to go, and he helped me buy the tickets. He wants me to go to my first Heavy Metal Festival. He’s excited for me. He loves me. But I grew up with someone that said, she loved me, but she never seemed to want me to be happy. She didn’t want me to be miserable, but she wanted me to be happy only within the narrow confines of how she was happy. If it was something she didn’t enjoy, or want to do, or understand, she thought it was worthless. No, more than that, she got pissed at me for wanting to do something, anything, without her.

Playing Dungeons and Dragons, speech team, plays, all filled up parts of me. It made me happy, and excited, and terrified as I forced myself to overcome a terrible case of shyness. But I looked at my Grandmother, so trapped by her fears, and decided at 15 that I wouldn’t be trapped by mine. I’ve spent my life confronting my fears and not letting them stop me, because my childhood was all about her fears. In the last three years I have let go of many of my fears, they aren’t gone, but I’ve just stopped letting them limit me. But as I face my fears and keep going I’m enjoying my life. I’m finding new friends, new hobbies, new adventures, and new experiences. I’m having the best time.

I will shake off the dust of this old anxiety, and step forward without it. I leave it behind like a dress I’ve outgrown, or a cocoon that I no longer need. Now, do I have the courage to wear that new mini-skirt out where people can see me? Ah, issues, you never run out of them, or at least I don’t.

San Diego ComicCon

The San Diego ComicCon starts today (wed 7/21) with preview night. We will be giving out free Anita Blake US Marshal Drawstring Backpack Totes. Stop by the booth #1945 to get yours while they last. Starting Thursday, we will also be drawing 3 winners a day for a free autographed hard back copy of BULLET, the latest Anita Blake novel. Other contest include an Anita Blake black demin jacket with Brett Booth artwork on the back, and a chance to choose the next Merry character to be added as a graphic t-shirt. Winner gets the first shirt printed of the character chosen. This will be a limited edition run. I won’t be at ComicCon this year, but stop by the booth and say hi to @thechickenchic, @N2Blake and @TeriO331. ComicCon runs the 22nd – 25^th

PREVIEW NIGHT

WED, JULY 21

6:00PM – 9:00PM

THU, JULY 22 –
SAT, JULY 25

9:30AM – 7:00PM**

SUN, JULY 25

9:30AM – 5:00PM

SAN DIEGO
Convention Center

111 W. Harbor Dr.

San Diego, CA 92101

Why is it that you’re never downloading Bach when iTunes Freezes?

I tried to download a song form iTunes yesterday. It hung up and I couldn’t get it to work. I had to ask my husband, Jon, for help. He is the IT guy for our little enterprise so it made sense to call him. My assistant and good friend, Carri, was in the office and she, too, is more technically proficient than I am. So, they put their techie heads together to help me get my iTunes back up and running. All good, right? Well, yes.

But what song was I trying to download when iTunes locked up? “Sexy Bitch” featuring Akon. Yep, if I’d been downloading Bach cello concertos it wouldn’t have locked up. It only seems to lock up when I’m downing loading things that make me want to say, “But I can explain.”

Maybe it’s a hint that I should either stop downloading songs like “Yummy Down on This,” by The Bloodhound Gang, or just own up to the fact that I love these kinds of songs. So, I’ve decided to ‘fess up as publicly as possible that I love songs that make most people look at me sideways. My favorite song from the latest Nickelback album is “S.E.X.”. I love Korn’s song, “10 or a 2 way.” Jon actually had purchased The Bloodhound Gang’s album, Hurray for Boobies, but he was embarrassed by it, and found it a little harsh. He let me listen to it so I’d understand and I loved most of it. Admittedly, the song, “The Lap Dance is Better when the Stripper is Crying,” will make you debate if you are a truly good person if you like the song. But the rest of the songs are just fun, though as ring tones, you better hope the opening riffs take up that 30 seconds, or that you can get to your phone really, really fast. Otherwise mothers with small children will look at you in horror. It seems especially upsetting to them because I look so small, female, and one of them. Even dressing Goth doesn’t seem to clue them in. I was once mistaken for a seating hostess at a restaurant where the waitresses wear checked gingham-esque aprons. I was wearing a black t-shirt that read, “Don’t Piss me off, I’m running out of Places to Hide the Bodies.” These songs rip away my suburban cammaflouge and let them know that the enemy is among them, and that I will take their kids side on the debate about music. Why the music makes them look askance, but the t-shirt didn’t, I have no idea. It’s not like I try to pretend I’m something I’m not.

But I admit, that when Jon asked me yesterday what I’d been trying to download when it locked up, I had a moment of debate with myself. A moment of not wanting to own the song I was downloading, then I thought, what the hell, I like the song. I squared my shoulders, looked both him and Carri in the eyes and said, “Sexy Bitch, the cover featuring Akon.”

Carri grinned at me. Jon smiled. They exchanged a look between them and then Jon helped me go back to the song, and download it. I have played it twice already this morning. I likes it.

Celebrating Sea Turtles, Mourning my iPhone, and Happy Fourth of July

What I learned from rescuing Freja the Sea Turtle:

iPhones do not like to be submerged in sea water; especially not for over an hour. Jon, my tech wizard, has declared my phone deceased. A moment to hang my head and mourn my phone. It was my mobile office as well as main phone number, but if saving Freja cost me my iPhone then so be it. Totally worth the price. Though I am wondering if ATT stores are open on Fourth of July?

That kneeling on sand and broken seashells at the surf line is shallow-ish water is hard on the knees. I didn’t notice until the turtle was safely rescued, but once the adrenalin began to fade – ouch. I haven’t had skinned knees like this since I was little. Again, totally worth it, but Neosporin is my friend.

That a lot of people have wonderful stories about their own wildlife rescues. Kudos to all of you that have helped rescue our feathered, furred, and scaled, fellow beings. I felt very honored to be in the right place at the right time with the right information to help out Freja the Sea Turtle. (Though honestly as a subadult we have no real idea if she’s female, or male. I think I chose female because I first thought she’d laid eggs on the beach.)

I also thought she was a hawks bill sea turtle, but I was wrong, goes to show you how I know about sea turtles. Freja is a subadult Loggerhead sea turtle. Turns out I’d switched the name and image in my head between the Leatherback and the Loggerhead sea turtle. I don’t know why but that huge black shell of the Leatherback that hangs in the Turtle Hospital had stuck in my head. So, Freja is a Loggerehead sea turtle and is a common species here in the Keys. All sea turtles are endangered, so common is a relative term.

There was no turtle to rescue this morning but there was a piece of plastic in the surf. Sea Turtles have poor eyesight and most are very fond of jellyfish. In the water a plastic bag looks like a jellyfish to them, but the plastic bag, or enough plastic, can kill them. So, if you want to save a sea turtle take a few minutes to clean up any beach you’re on, and think that with every piece of trash you pick up you may be saving a sea turtle’s life. By that math, I saved four of them this morning, because that’s how many pieces of plastic I found on the beach. So, I’ve helped Freja and all her relatives, and the beach in front of the house looks better. I mean, really, guys, do we want to be swimming through plastic bags and other garbage? I know I don’t.

And, last, but not least: Happy Fourth of July! To those of you not in America, or unfamiliar with the holiday, it’s American Independence Day! We celebrate with fireworks, grilling meat, picnics, getting too much sun, being in, or near, water if we can, and some add alcohol. I do not recommend large amounts of alcohol with water, sun, grilling over open flame, and fireworks. It just sounds like a good way to drowned, sunburn, just plain burn, and blow your hand off. Enjoy, but be careful out there.

Sea Turtle Rescue the Short Version

By 8:00 AM this morning we’d rescued a sea turtle and I’d helped load it into the back of the ambulance for the Turtle Hospital. Yep, it is a hospital just for sea turtles. They are slow moving, and can be large animals, so they, like manatees take a lot of boat damage. They also get caught in fishing lines, swallow baited hooks, garbage, and basically struggle to share their oceans with us.

This morning I woke in the black dark so early that it was still night. I tried to convince myself to go back to sleep, vacation and all, but it was no use, I was awake. I slipped out of bed, trying not to wake Jon, there was no need for both of us to get up this early. I grabbed a pair of cargo shorts on the way out, and a swim suit, because that was all the clothes I had without opening drawers and closets. Jon’s parents, our daughter, Trinity, were all asnooze in their beds. Why was I up? I had no idea.

I’ll write, get my pages for the day done and out of the way. I’d make this odd version of insomnia work for me. I made tea and while it was brewing discovered my computer was dead. Keyboard frozen, and couldn’t even power it off, just the frozen screen. So now I was up in the dark and couldn’t work. Crap. I started to let the whole situation ruin my mood on my lovely vacation, but in the end I took my tea out to the balcony and took a few deep breaths. I’m a big believer that if you’re walking your path and doing what Deity has planned for you there are very few coincidences, so there was a reason that I was up butt-early with a broken computer on vacation. I was supposed to see something that wouldn’t have been there later, or experience something that would be gone later. I waited to figure out what it was, and as it got light enough to see the water I saw the reason I was up early. There was a sea turtle in the surf on the beach below.

I grabbed binoculars and watched it raise it’s head to breath and then go just under the surface. I’d never seen one up this close before, not in the wild. I thought the turtle had nested on our beach, and I was seeing it’s return to the sea. I thought, that was so worth getting up early and I said a thank you that I was here watching, then things got weird. She seemed to be taking a long time to swim out to sea. I went down to the beach to see if I could find drag marks where she’d come to shore, but there were none. She was back in sight now, and I could follow her with my bare eyes. I called Jon on my iPhone that I’d shoved in my cargo pocket. “Sea Turtle, I’m on the beach, get a camera.” His sleepy voice didn’t even argue. I love my husband.

By the time he started taking pictures from the balcony I was standing at the very edge of the surf watching the turtle. It was flailing it’s front flippers like a person would use it’s arms if they were drowning. She was also coming up for air every few minutes and I knew from our tour of the Turtle Hospital that wasn’t right. I couldn’t remember the exact time, but I knew Sea Turtles could hold their breath a lot longer than that. Between the flailing flippers, and the constant coming up for air . . . well, if she’d been a person I would have said she was drowning. It seemed ridiculous to say that an animal that lived in the ocean was in danger of drowning, but turtles breath air just like us, and they can drowned. That’s actually usually how they die entangled in fishing lines or nets, they just can’t come up to breath, and they drown. But there was no fishing line here today. The turtle looked unencumbered, but she was struggling.

Jon was down on the beach by that time and I told him to call the Turtle Hospital. He got their answering machine. Crap. The turtle was paralleling the beach, struggling, gasping for air. It’s illegal to touch a Sea Turtle, did you know that? It’s a federally protected species and you’re not allowed to mess with it. It’s to prevent poaching and stupidity, but the law doesn’t have a good Samaritan clause. I am not a great swimmer, neither is Jon. We can swim, but the ocean is a different kind of swimming. The turtle was a wild animal and I didn’t know what was wrong with it. I said, out loud, “If you’re hurt, come to shore. I’ll help you.” The turtle turned towards shore, not a straight line, but a steady progress closer to me.

When she was in only a couple of feet of water I could see damage to her shell. I was betting a boat propeller had hit her, we’d learn later that was the case. She came to the surf edge. I was almost beside her now and could see the cracks and almost crush damage to one side of her shell. Sea gulls began to fly overhead like formally dressed vultures. I said to them, “You won’t get her. Go away.” They drifted off, but if she was helpless on the beach they’d be back. The turtle didn’t like pounding she was taking at the surf and turned to go back to sea. I yelled at Jon, “She’s going out again. She’ll drowned.” His said, “You can’t touch her.” I didn’t want to hurt her, or get bitten, but I couldn’t let her go. I dropped to my knees in the water and made my body a barrier to one side of her shell like a rock. I kept myself well back of the powerful jaws, but she started turning to make a real try for the open ocean. Jon finally got a real person at the Turtle Hospital. It turned out to be our guide on the tour earlier in the week, Tara. I yelled, “Get me permission to touch her!” We’d learned on our tour that a turtle rehabber could give someone permission to touch a turtle if it’s life was in danger. I was a very determined barrier but if I couldn’t grab the turtle I couldn’t keep her at the shore. Crap!

“You can touch her,” Jon yelled.

Now I could touch the turtle, but the spine is attached to the shell so the boat had probably injured the spine, so in effect I was trying to touch a spinal injury in rolling surf, where the patient could crush my hand. I grabbed her as gently as I could to steady us both. “Tara says, push at her back flippers try to ease her onto the beach,” Jon called.

I tried, but it wasn’t enough in the water with the turtle not wanting to cooperate. I got her close to the shore. By this time I was chest deep in the surf. Jon waded out, saying, “Tara says we can grab her front flippers and try to drag her just enough to make sure she doesn’t wash back.” That worked better, but we were both tentative, worried we’d injure her spine more. Did the shell act like a back board and neck brace for a person, or was the body confirmation so different that analogies like that didn’t work at all? But we got her up on the more solid wet sand. She wasn’t in danger of washing back and she wasn’t going to drown, her nostrils were above water, but she didn’t like the water slapping her in the face, so I half lay down in the surf to form a barrier to protect her head from the waves. Lying down in the water also blocked the worst of the waves from her injured side, and maybe that helped, too. Now it was just waiting for Tara and the turtle ambulance to get here, and pray the turtle was alive to be rescued.

Jon went off to help Tara find us. His parents and Trinity were down watching the turtle now. His mom took most of the pictures you’ll see here. We didn’t let anyone else get close to the turtle. One for safety, and two, Jon and I had permission, no one else did. I was very glad to see Tara come across the beach. She agreed it was boat damage, but thought it looked fixable. Yay! Tara took the side of the shell with the damage, I took the other side. She told me where to hold for my safety and the turtle’s comfort. She moved my hand abruptly at the top of the carapace(upper shell) because I had been within bite range. This is not a Disney moment, folks, an injured animal doesn’t always understand you’re trying to help. But I gripped where told to, and she asked if I was ready. My answer, “One, two, three,” and we lifted. Tara is about my size, so the two petite women carried the sea turtle to the ambulance. I liked that, I liked that a lot.

We got the sea turtle into the ambulance, a plastic kiddie pool instead of a stretcher waiting to receive her. We offered to cover her vet bills, and we got to name her. Jon said, “Laurell should name her.”

“Freja,” I said.

Tara didn’t know the name.

“She’s the Norse Goddess of creativity, fertility, and good luck,” I said.

“I like that, she needs a lucky name,” Tara said.

We all agreed and Tara drove Freja the Sea Turtle off to the hospital. That was my morning, how was yours?

Here’s some of the photos:

Working for Vacation

We are leaving this weekend on the big family vacation for the summer. On one hand; yay! On the other hand; Ah! My deadline gets closer every day, and every day I don’t make my page count is a day further behind schedule. But I did the math and realized that I would finish the book after Trinity went back to school. That I would spend another summer writing, working, and have no break. We sent Trinity on vacation with Jon’s parents last year, and for spring break they took her along with her Aunt Pili, but I worked.

I didn’t want to watch another lovely summer slip away through the windows of my office. It’s a nice office, no, it’s a great office, but I wanna play! What good is all this success if I never get to enjoy it? So, I grabbed a calender about two weeks ago and said, screw it, let’s go. So, tomorrow Jon, Trinity, Jon’s parents, and me go on vacation. We’ll be deep sea fishing, and beach walking, and swimming, and trying to stay on the nutrition plan and exercise. There’s a gym near where we’ll be that we’ve used before. And, I will work some of the time. This is a test to see if I can play and still manage to keep the book alive in my head and progress moving forward in it. This is the great experiemt to see if I can work, play, bascially can I write and have a life.

Of course, it being me, I didn’t stop with just the family vacation. Jon and I have two just us trips planned for next month. One weekend trip and the other a week, well six days, but still we’ll be home for only thirteen days in July. But I’m excited about each trip, looking forward to waking up by the ocean, and looking at that view and spending time with my family. I’m eager to make new friends this summer, and visiting very good friends on their new farm. In fact, I have trips planned off and on all the way to November. I have faith that I will make my deadlines and do all the new business that is coming our way, and have a life. A good life full of family, friends, and the people I love. That’s the goal. It’s a good goal, one worth working towards, and Gods know I know how to work. *smile*

Bullet t-shirt until the end of June

I thought I’d blogged about this ages ago, but I didn’t. My bad, sorry. We have a Bullet t-shirt that is only avaible until the end of June. When the last day of the month rolls around it’s gone. So only five days left if you want to order one. There is an original graphic and the quote from the front of the book. Here I am wearing the shirt and here’s a close up of the graphic and quote.

Now I must runaway and make with the pages on the new-new Anita book.

Bullet Tour on YouTube

For all you guys who wanted me to come to your town on the Bullet tour we have the Chicago gig on YouTube for your viewing pleasure. Thanks to Nick Caza of The Enthusiasts, who did the filming. Now you have an idea what you missed, and what you might get to see next time. Here’s the link. http://www.youtube.com/jondgreen

A lot of questions asked and answered here. Enjoy.

Can a Bookworm be a Gym Rat?

I have just spent the last three hours reading nonfiction books on fitness and health. I have fiction books languishing on my reading pile, but when we, my husband Jon and I, went to the bookstore for two things we bought more books. We usually do, but neither of us bought fiction. My rule is that I have to read at least one book off my reading pile before I buy something new. It seems reasonable, but I make an exception to the rule for research for my own writing and things that will help us live better, eat smarter, or workout more productively, so that’s what we bought. We also have one gun magazine, Newsweek, and a photography magazine that sparked an idea for another blog. We also bought DVDs of TV shows. We bought no movies and no fiction. That was weird enough, but that I have been happily puttering, making notes on sticky notes, underlining phrases, and making margin notes to double check the science later, for three hours in all those nonfiction books surprised me.

When did I stop reading other people’s fiction? For me, reading fiction seems to hit many of the same areas of the brain as writing my own. Since I write anywhere from forty to a hundred hours a week on my own writing, that part of my brain gets a serious workout. It’s tired by the end of the week and wants to do something else. So, I read nonfiction, I research for my fiction in nonfiction, and I watch TV shows that I missed the first time around because I was too busy working. When none of the above appeals I get physical.

The things that relax me have all become physical, or nonfictional. A friend sent me one of those on-line questionnaires, you know the ones: What Dog are you? What Firefly character are you? This one was What D & D character are you? Yes, I did play when I was younger and had more time, but I found that role playing games also use the same part of the brain that my writing uses, so it was like working, not playing to me. But one of the questions on the list asked: Which would you rather do for two hours, or enjoy doing for two hours? Choices A through D included read a book for two hours, or go to the gym for two hours. I answered truthfully, I’d rather go to the gym.

When did this happen? When did I go from being a bookish nerd to a gym rat? I felt like I’d betrayed my people. But I spend so much time at a desk writing either for my own fiction, or for blogs, or emails, or twitter, or Facebook, that when I have leisure time I want to get up and move my body. This new change means I’ve gone from a size fourteen to a size eight in jeans. It means my back no longer aches constantly from all the desk time. It means I’m now in better shape than I was five years ago. I’m healthier, happier, with the most cheerful moods I’ve ever had, which means a lot of the moodiness of my twenties might have been fixable with enough gym time. Who knew?

It’s all such good stuff. I love my life, my husband, my body. My teenage daughter told me last week, “You have great legs, Mom.” How cool is that? But with all the positive I am still left with a nagging sensation that I’ve gone over to the enemy. That I’ve suddenly become the athletic kids that used to make the bookworm me feel so uncomfortable in high school. I’m not sleeping with the enemy, I am the enemy. I am that woman at lunch that gets the salad and makes you feel guilty because she’s not having that high fat, high calorie, sandwich. I don’t tell you about my exercise routine like it’s a new religion, or try to force feed you my nutrition plan, and I’m not perfect on it by any means, but I’d rather get on the treadmill or lift weights than read. I can talk for hours on fitness and health and be genuinely interested when I meet another kindred spirit. I also owe an apology to all the exercise loving people. I used to assume that you lived in your bodies because your mind wasn’t a deep thinking sort of place, now I know you can actually have a healthy body, and a good mind. Again, who knew? In fact, I’ve made a close friend that I can actually spend hours talking about exercise, fitness, and healthy eating, or books, music, science, and the latest funny thing on the Internet. My apologies to all the people that I thought were too pretty, too perfect, over the years to have a serious conversation with, I may have missed out on some really wonderful friends. But I was still stuck in that high school mentality that I was the other kind of kid, the one that read a lot, and wanted to be a writer, and sucked at sports.

I never thought there was a way of crossing the great divide between bookworm and gym rat. Maybe I can have my books, and some kick ass biceps, too?

Bullet is on The Times Lists!

Bullet is #2 on the New York Times list, and #3 on the Sunday Times list in the United Kingdom! What an amazing first week for the newest Anita Blake novel. And, yes, I would loved to have had #1 on both lists, that would be a goal worth setting, but this is the first time I’ve cracked the top five in the U.K. so #3 makes me very happy. #1 in the U. S. would have been very good, too, but Stieg Larsson is at #1. But I can think of few thinks as sad as dieing before you see any of your books published, and in the middle of writing the fourth of the series, so the books he has now are it, is a true tradgey. Couple that with his live-in “wife” of many years getting none of the profits because Sweden lacks comonon-law rules, and it’s just doubly tragic. With all that, I can’t even be angry about missing #1 because of Larsson’s book. Bullet is my 19th book in my series, and I’m working on the 20th, so the thought that Larsson will never be able to write more is very sad to me. If he was alive and kicking, then I’d fight for #1, though it doesn’t really work like that, but as it is, I’ll have other weeks to be #1. He won’t.

People on Facebook and Twitter have said that the above sentiment is very generous, or nice, or something. Maybe it is, but how else am I supposed to feel? Sometimes I think I just don’t understand the way I’m “supposed” to think, or feel. But before you think I am completely above petty emotions let me tell you some quotes I’ve kept by my computer for a few years now.

“It is in the character of very few men to honor without envy a friend who has prospered.” Aeschylus

“As iron is eaten by rust, so are the envious are consumed by envy.” Anisthens

Anytime I’m tempted to be less than generous to a friend that has done well, or to a stranger that has “kept me” out of #1, or some other goal I had, glance to the side and read these quotes. They remind me that, “Envy eats nothing but its own heart.” German proverb. I like my heat right where it is, helping me be happy for other people, and happy for myself, too.