(View entire post here)

4. Art-especially good art-attracts people who would otherwise remain indifferent or even hostile to a cause.  Many has been the time when my opinions have shifted because I've read a skillfully worded argument in favor of ideas I hadn't considered, or because I came across a political cartoon that forced me to see a situation from a different perspective.  There have also been paintings and novels and photographs and poems that have moved me to feel such sympathy toward a group of people that I opened myself to thinking about current and historic plights I'd never paid attention to before.  And even when art isn't made with the intent of inducing rethinking, it might still prompt major changes.  Indeed, art can accomplish so much more than bludgeoning us with messages.  It can give a cause for openheartedness, open-mindedness, and inner exploration.

5. Art is the fountain of youth.  Okay, I know this is sort of moving into the territory of vanity.  But you might have noticed that when you look at people in middle age and beyond, some are haggard.  They seem worn down by the years, and maybe even regretful about the way their lives played out.  But other people are full of energy.  They smile easily, think interesting thoughts, have lively minds, and are fun to talk to.  Now I can't say that every older person with joie de vive has lived a creative life.  But I can say that if you life a creative life, the chances are really good that you'll love life, and that will keep you young at heart.

(View entire post here)

In this blog post, I'm going to give you three of seven reasons why must keep up your passion for art.  And I mean for every day you have in this world. 

1. Art confronts people with realities they might otherwise ignore.  Let's face it-the world has a lot of miserable realities.  Our country has spent many of the last several years fighting a war in Iraq, a country that many Americans probably still can't find on a map. We're also fighting a war in Afghanistan-but it's a country Americans are better acquainted with, given the huge success of a powerful novel, The Kite Runner.  At the same time, international tensions are rising with government of Iran.  We might think our conflicts are with the whole country, but anyone who has read the remarkable graphic novel Persepolis, or seen the film by the same name, understands that the people of Iran are not the same as the government.  What about our frayed educational system, violent crime, rising health care costs?  It is the work of artists-photojournalists, writers, fine artists, filmmakers-that keep these problems on the public stage. 

(View entire post here)

As a fellow artist who has crafted her living out of words, I want to tell you a big secret: whether you make your art out of paint, animation, architectural design, words, or anything else, your creative talents and persistence are not only important to the world, but necessary.  Artists take everything, from the everyday to the extraordinary, and render it in a fresh way.  Artists make us turn our heads, open our eyes, and experience a truth or emotion or perspective we'd once known but forgotten, or hadn't known at all.  The way I see it, artists keep us alive.

As you know, I'm a writer.  Like some of you, I came to my passion for my art early in life-in my case, when I was seven.  But the realization that I was a writer didn't come about because I'd actually done any writing; it came in a far sillier way.  I had become weary of adults asking me what I wanted to be when I grew up; I wasn't interested in the standard girl-answers of that time - nurse, teacher, or ballerina.  So one day, while I was taking a nap with my mother-or, really, when she was taking a nap, which meant I had to lie down too so I'd stay quiet-I was on the sofa beside her, looking up at the ceiling, and I noticed the ceiling was full of cracks.  I tried to find some meaning to those cracks, to organize them in some coherent way, and I suddenly realized that when adults asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I could say "a writer."  The connection between cracks in the ceiling and writing might seem obscure, but in retrospect I think I'd intuited that art creates coherence out of the chaos of the universe.  Why did I pick writing rather than painting or interior design?  Got me.  But I did.

(View entire post here)

Throughout the renovation that my husband and I did on our house, as I was writing episodes about each phase of the construction, I kept thinking I'd never show them to anyone.  I'd certainly heard about people having emotional ups and downs during their home renovations, but usually those stories involved marital conflict over the tile color, or anger over unexpected builder fees, or frustration about the permit process.  I hadn't been spared those feelings, but the renovation was prompting much deeper things to happen inside me.

For instance, the demolition pitched me into a long-suppressed grief about my not having had children.  Our do-it-yourself building of a stone wall made me realize the fortitude I'd need to deal with my mother's newly-diagnosed dementia.  And a shocking disaster forced me to decide between rancor toward those who were responsible, and the calm, let's-get-on-with-the-repair approach of my architect husband. 

Around the time we finished the house, I saw an article in Newsweek about a family therapist named Rachel Cox who, incredibly, specialized in people going through home renovations. I contacted her and asked if she would meet with me so I could find out if my experience was completely off the wall.  She said yes and spent three days talking to me. 

(View entire post here)

A lot of people have asked me why I wrote a second memoir, assuming it arose as part of a grand plan.  The truth is that I hadn't intended to write this book at all. 

The first hint of it arose in the summer of 2005.  My career had taken a leap forward that spring when my last book, the memoir Riding the Bus With My Sister, was adapted for a Hallmark Hall of Fame movie, and after the fanfare died down, I felt at a loss about what to do next with my life.  I began contemplating what I call in this new book my "Search for Life Purpose 2.0".

As it turned out, that summer, I wasn't able to make Search 2.0 my priority.  My husband Hal, an architect, had convinced me to undertake a major renovation on our house, and that summer, as we were preparing to move out so the contractor could start the work, I found myself overwhelmed by the prospect of packing. 

(View entire post here)

Rachel Simon is our guest blogger during the week of June 8th. If you have any questions for Rachel Simon, add a comment to any of her posts.

Here is more information on Building a Home with My Husband:

The bestselling and highly acclaimed author of Riding the Bus with My Sister returns with an illuminating and tenderhearted memoir about the unexpected ways a home renovation can change a life.

Rachel Simon's historic home on a charming tree- lined street was hardly ideal. It was too small, too dark, and there was a gaping hole in the dining room ceiling. So when the house is burglarized, Rachel and her husband, Hal, agree it's time to sell. But in a difficult housing market, and with Hal being an architect, they soon realize: Why leave when they can renovate?

Rachel prepares herself for the disagreements and disasters that can accompany a major home renovation. But what she isn't prepared for is the emotional journey that will blow open the seal around everything she thinks she knows about herself, about family, and about the misunderstandings and resilience of love. From Hal's first design sketch to the last stroke of paint, memories of a difficult childhood, friendships left behind, challenges with siblings, and an improbable path to marriage come bursting out. Once the dust settles, Rachel is astonished by the many gems revealed along the way-and comes to discover profound insights about the construction, demolition, and renovation of personal connections.