Author: Ashley Harris

Yesterday I signed a contract with Ingalls Publishing Group in Boone, N.C. for the publication of Naked and Hungry, my first novel. I did it with very little fanfare, my husband Robert as the witness, as we leaned over the counter in the kitchen. My main character would have been most proud of me because my very next action was to polish off the rest of my Krispy Kreme doughnut with Cheerwine cream filling. If the contract arrives in Boone a little stickier than before, I hope Mr. Ingalls will forgive me. (Pure heaven, by the way, the doughnut!)

The act of signing the contract is the not quite the end of the story–another very interesting adventure is certain to lie ahead–but it did symbolize a major stepping stone along the journey of writing the novel. Writing is a solitary art, by necessity, but it’s never been a lonely one. There are many, many people to thank, starting with my wonderful family, Robert and my son Dashiel, who graciously allowed me the luxury of all those sequestered Saturdays spent in front of the computer. To my Dad, who served as the catalyst and motivator, and to my Mom, for encouraging my love of reading all these years. To Christy for her meticulous proofreading, (by the way, you rock, sister-in-law) and to Sarah Beth, Kelly, George, Jen, and a kind gentleman named John Maxwell with the Wake County Sheriff’s Office for their early reads and wise counsel. And a special thanks to my beloved carpooler Missy, who tolerated my daily musings on the matter!

And last but certainly not least, to Mr. Bob Ingalls himself, whose phone call that Saturday morning I’ll never forget. Of course I was flipping crepes, and I remember fumbling across the stove as I reached for the phone. His first words were magical, words that everyone ought to have the chance to hear just once in their lives. “Wait, wait,” he said. “Before we talk about your work, can you tell me a little about yourself?  I want to know who you are.”

Sometimes I think people make too much of their birthdays. It’s not a very popular notion, and that’s why I often keep it to myself. While it’s true that your birthday only comes around once a year, and everyone loves a party, I think it’s important that people celebrate every day of their life. Their life, that is. Not just their birthdate, which to be honest, is not an accomplishment for which you can take direct credit. Rather than go overboard with the margaritas, the cake and the presents, send your parents a thank-you card, for heaven’s sake.  And certainly you should thank God for allowing it all to happen in the first place. But to be alive is worth celebrating every day.

This attitude is what makes the day after a birthday so important. The hangover will hopefully have slacked off,  your blood sugar may be back to normal again, and the presents or cards are tucked neatly away. It’s a good day to remind yourself that today, after all, is someone else’s birthday (probably hundreds of thousands of peoples’ birthdays in fact) and it’s time to resume the march of life that began the moment you were born. Be kind to yourself, to others,  admire the simple beauty of the weed before you pluck it, and perhaps as in my case, model the behavior of your dog. He will charge zestfully outside every day, regardless of his own birthday, in search of a grand adventure.

Soapbox aside,  I will say that yesterday, July 6, was a marvelous day. As an adult, the greatest joy in having a birthday are the acknowlegements you receive from so many family members and friends, close to home and faraway. They use your birthday as an occasion to simply say hello and by doing so, you’re reminded of them, and when their birthday happens to be. Oh, there we go, back to birthdays again…just can’t help myself.

My dad shared with me a beautiful quote today: “Until one has loved an animal, part of their soul remains unawakened.”

So true. Most of my friends have animals in their lives–whether it be a dog, cat, rabbit, hamster, or even backyard birds–and love them passionately. Although many fine people do not have a pet, I do tend to bond more quickly with those who do or have had an animal once in their lives. With two very furry American Eskimos–one of whom is now permanently napping  in our backyard, alas–being part of our family for so long I did notice a definite change in the types of friends we kept. Those who didn’t mind a little dog hair on their pants, or  in some cases, in their salad. Those who didn’t mind sharing the sofa with a dog who was already there. Those who didn’t mind a temporary lull in our conversation as I said, “Pardon me for a moment, while I wipe up the piddle on the floor….” And these were the very first of our crowd to comfort me when we had to put our beloved Milo to sleep.

The rest of our friends retreated to the fringes of our lives, where Christmas cards are exchanged and Facebook does the heavy lifting, allowing us the fiction of an enduring friendship. It’s not that we’re not friends, it’s just that, well, I wonder if some part of their soul needs to be awakened. Because as we pet lovers know, it’s a incredible journey laced with equal parts joy and heartbreak and when you join the “team,” there’s absolutely no going back.

Okay, a story. A funny one. Today my friend Melissa (yes, of the big green eyes) was bemoaning the fact that there exists no musical tribute to “green eyes.” It’s only about brown or blue eyes, she says, citing Van Morrison’s “Brown-Eyed Girl,” Elton John’s “Blue Eyes,” and dare we forget (I almost had!): Crystal Gale’s: Don’t it make my brown eyes blue….”

Well, driving home today, of all days, what song do you think came across the radio? Cliff Richard’s 1970ish hit, “Devil Woman.”

“I drank the potion she offered me. I found myself on the floor. Then I looked in those big green eyes, and I wondered what I came there for!”

My carpooler and I sang along and giggled for the rest of the ride home. Of course we called Melissa, couldn’t get her, and so we left her a  musical tribute of our own. Now, is this kind of tribute she had in mind? Maybe not. Is it worthy of her green eyes? Definitely not. Would most of us like to be called “Devil Woman?” Certainly not. But if anything, it was a fitting end to the kind of day that only “La Belle Dame Sans Merci” could appreciate.

Interesting day. Started out sunny, then turned rainy and teetered between the two extremes all day. It was hot, too, so it wasn’t a bad day to be at work, after all. Had a lot of catching up to do since my vacation but it’s always a pleasure to see my co-workers, especially my car-pool buddy. We keep each other amused the whole way to work and back, particularly laughing at the antics of our husbands and pets. Had she been born a couple of centuries before, she might well have been the subject of Byron’s classic: “She walks in beauty like the night…..”

Tomorrow, meetings, ugh. Ever since I read The 4-hour Workweek by Timothy Ferris–I admit I’ve had a rather negative view of them. The good news is that my trip to an annual strategic marketing seminar in Chicago was approved. I’ll be going there in July, which is a great time to be in the Windy City. And the conference itself is simply fantastic. I always return more energized, for work and life. And I’m sure there’s bound to be a creperie or two. Stomach is growling just thinking about it…..:)

Hi! Welcome to my website. Today, I’m getting ready to return to work after a relaxing, albeit short, vacation. During this time, I travelled to San Francisco, where I visited my dear, dear friend, Deborah, whom I’ve known since elementary school.

I’d never been to California before so it was quite the adventure. Very laid-back city, with stunning views all around. I hope to upload some pictures very soon. We toured the usual touristy spots–from Alcatraz to Fisherman’s Wharf and the saucy little town of Sausalito–but what I most enjoyed was reconnecting with Deb! We have the most wonderful friendship in the world. Our careers have taken us in different directions, and days, even years may pass by before we see each other, however, when we do it is like no time has passed at all.

Here’s to you, Deb, and to Elton John, Captain and Tennille, those late-night, off-off-Broadway shows, and those seemingly endless summers at Atlantic and Carolina Beach. I’m going to sign off now, and retreat to bed with the loveliest memories in my head. Sleep tight, world.