I'm writing this at 9 p.m. on Monday night, the last night of my Kindle giveaway. My goal was 20,000 downloads, which would be about 15,000 more than any other giveaway. I've been told that these kinds of numbers give Hit or Missus a better shot at staying high enough on the free list to stay on readers' radar when it goes back on sale.
There are three hours to go and I've gotten over 30,000 downloads.
I'd like to revel in this and do a little victory lap, except that the news out of Boston today makes every little joy or sorrow seem pale and empty. So much sadness and chaos and destruction. As far as I know, we still don't know who is responsible for this horror. We don't have a final count of the dead and the wounded. We don't even know what we don't know.
Part of me wants to sink down under the covers and wait for it to be over. Part of me wants to wander from person to person and hug and weep. And part of me wants to pump some sunshine into my heart and rise up to defeat the tragedy.
As usual, music comes to my rescue. It calms me, it lifts me, it reminds me that for every useless piece of crap who enjoys cruelty, there are artists who write brilliant words and music and want the world to be better not worse.
I picked out some videos today of songs that make me feel stronger, and thought I'd share them to make you feel stronger, too. I don't want to be stronger alone.
First is the Carpenters' Rainy Days and Mondays. Karen's voice is so beautiful, and even though this is a bit of a subdued, even sad, song but there's hope hidden inside. What makes it more poignant to me is to know how Karen must have identified with the words.
Instead of a rainy day, I'd rather have a Chelsea morning, especially as described by Joni. I love when the "sun poured in like butterscotch and stuck to all my senses."
Next is Ain't No Mountain High Enough. Yes, it's a love song, but shouldn't it apply to us as friends and family and neighbors and communities?
The Age of Aquarius is from the musical Hair, written in 1969. I was a teenager, hoping that we would make a difference, planning our world of peace, harmony, and understanding. I'm still planning.
Finally, I don't need to explain this one at all. I hope.
Can you hope with me?
1 comment:
There is always hope. My heart was lifted this past weekend when I watched the London marathon and saw all those brave runners wearing red, white, and blue for our runners, as a tribute to Boston. There was a man in a fancy wheelchair thingy who had just completed the Boston marathon when the bombs went off who did the London marathon because he wanted to send a positive message to everyone injured by the bombs that they shouldn't give up hope.
Hope. It's a damn powerful word. Four itty bitty letter strung together to make one ginormous difference.
Yes, we'll always have it. Because we'll always have people like you, and that man in the fancy wheelchair, and the Carpenters.
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