He recommends that you notice when you're happy, stop, look around, and say, "If this isn't nice, I don't know what is."
He may be from the cornbelt, but the man is a Yankee at heart.
So. Here goes.
If this isn't nice, I don't know what is.
You know, that felt kind of nice. I mean, I have a little coughing cold. I have a headache. I should eat something. I stayed home from work. But that does mean I got extra sleep, and I really can't see how the rest of my life could be better right now, barring a lottery win. *crossing fingers*
So, in the spirit of quinnclub and Thanksgiving Week here in the USA:
I am thankful for large smelly dogs, and I am thankful for getting through Stratford Man and living to see a book offer, and I am thankful for my very good friends and my husband and my parents and my in-laws, all of whom--every last one--support my writing. And I don't need to ever be told how lucky I am to have that, and how rare that kind of unqualified support is. I'm thankful for my writing workshop and my betareaders, and my agent, and my cats, who are warm, and who love me even when I get into a scene and forget it's dinner time.
I'm thankful to have a pleasant place to live and food on the table and that nobody I know personally has been hurt in Iraq, or anywhere else, in the recent past. I'm thankful that people in general are kinder than they precisely have to be. I'm thankful for the Internet, which allows me to research and stay in touch with friends and feel like a part of a community even when the only other SF writer in Vegas is Steve, and he's leaving, the bastard, to go home to Minneapolis. (Take me with you!)
I'm thankful that hard work pays off, once in a while.
And I'm thankful that I know that this is a journey and not a destination, because there's so much more I want to do and see. And I'm thankful that it seems likely I'll get the chance.
Also, I'm thankful for music and good beer and bubble tea and extended-release DVDs of very good movies. And cheap published books. And email from friends.