Showing posts from 2012

Dance of the Big Hunger: Time to Vote!

It's election time in America. In case you hadn't noticed. The national temperature is way, way up, bringing to mind the apocryphal Chinese curse, "May you live in interesting times."

As kin on the right coast struggle to climb from the wreckage of Mother Nature's terrible reminder of the reality of climate change, everyone else I know is obsessively poring over polls, clinging to the prognostications of Nate Silver, swearing at the TV, avoiding the TV, calling swing states, ranting about voter suppression, preaching to the choir, biting our nails, and taking more acid reflux remedies than we'd care to count.

We humans have a long history of caring about the big well as denying it - which is undoubtedly why the power and scope of Hurricane Sandy took way too many people by surprise. That's one of the many reasons why the indigenous Bushmen of the Kalihari have something to tell us about what really matters.

In my article Honoring the Mantis B…

It’s the 4th of July, and I’ve Got the Black Crow Blues

I’ve been watching him for several years now, tracking his progress, aching for him, rooting for him, afraid to find him missing once and for all. He’s distinguished from all the other crows of my ‘hood by the grotesque growth on his foot. It’s ugly and gray and swollen, and I presumed when I first saw it he was a goner. My neighbors and I contacted crow rescue associations, veterinarians, even the University of California, and they all said that because he could still fly, there’d be no way to get hold of him to see what was wrong.
I realize I have no way of knowing if he’s a Mr. Crow or a Ms., but somehow I’ve always thought of him as male. He’s sturdy-sized and glides through the air with that signature corvid slow-pitched-ball grace. Sometimes I see him hanging out with another crow, sometimes with one of the squirrels that my animal-friendly neighbor Mary Lou feeds by hand. But mostly he likes to perch on one of my neighbor's rough, unmown lawns as if the prickly grass feels…

Celebrating Indie Books!

Here's a terrific way to show your support for indie books and to cheer for The History of My Body, which has been named a finalist for the 2011 Book of the Year!

Come join me at the American Library Association's 2012 Annual Conference & Exhibition for all things scrumptiously bookish!

Hope to see you there!

A Tribe Called Facebook

The Woodstock Nation was about nothing if not social transformation and community. (Well, it was also about sex, drugs, rock ‘n’ roll, and mud – lots and lots of mud - but that’s for another day.) Which may be why, after an initial reluctance to fully embrace the brave new cyberworld, many of my generation have found ourselves boogying down the Facebook highway.

And lo! There was light coming from a screen in the middle of long, addictive nights, and friends appearing from all over the planet, and my daughter lamenting on her own wall, “My mom is now friends with everyone on Facebook.”
This week my article A Jungian Alice in Social Media Land: Some Reflections on Solastalgia, Kinship Libido, and Tribes Formed on Facebook appears in Jung Journal: Culture & Psyche, published by the University of California Press. It’s my own riffing on the dark and light of the Facebook experience, from the inanity and nastiness that can appear on walls and timelines to what happens when people co…

Press Release: The History of My Body is a ForeWord Reviews Book of the Year Finalist

2011 Book of the Year Award Finalists Announced
The History of My Body is a finalist for the 2011 Book of the Year Awards in the literary fiction category.

ForeWord Reviews is pleased to announce the 2011 Book of the Year Awards list of finalists. Representing more than 700 publishers, the finalists were selected from 1200 entries in 60 genre categories. These books are examples of independent publishing at its finest.

     A twist on the traditional coming-of-age novel, Sharon Heath's The History of My Body is the story of Fleur Robins, daughter of an alcoholic mother and an anti-abortion crusading father, whose preoccupation with God and the void ends up thrusting her into the center of a culture war over the reach and limits of the human imagination.

     Sharon Heath is a Jungian Analyst who writes fiction and non-fiction exploring the interplay of science and spirit, politics and pop culture, contemplation and community. The History of My Body is published by Genoa House, an impr…

Watching Rosebuds Unfurl

I know, I know. I promised this would be a monthly blog, but what’s a ridiculously overcommitted novelist, essayist, Jungian analyst, teacher, conference presenter, litter box emptier, yogini, film fanatic, and neighborhood walker to do? If you’re like me, almost every moment in this rich life is accounted for, so I’m going to try to make up for a little lost time today.

One of the delights of publishing a novel is making contact with souls one would never have otherwise met, as well as connecting with familiar people in one’s life on a whole new level. Last fall, I happened to mention to the radiologist performing my mammogram that I’d published a novel. This brilliant man had saved my life in 1999 by catching a suspicious little something on a mammogram, which was treated with a lumpectomy and radiation and pronounced cured 4,628 days ago, but who’s counting? (And who is ever going to think of mammograms as routine again?!!)

Anyway, it turns out that the dear man and his delightful wi…

Marked by Fire

Fans of The History of My Body often ask, "Where did the title come from?" Typically, I respond with an abbreviated version of the dream that led to the novel's name. Now you can read the whole story in a chapter of what promises to be an extraordinary anthology of Jungian memoirs edited by Patricia Damery and Naomi Ruth Lowinsky, soon to be released by Fisher King Press.  I can't wait to read the other chapters and feel deeply honored to be included in such distinguished company! So here's a little teaser to whet your appetite; you can pre-order via the link below. 

Marked By Fire: Stories of the Jungian Way
Edited by Patricia Damery and Naomi Ruth Lowinsky
“This life is the way, the long sought after way to the unfathomable which we call divine” —The Red Book
Marked by Fire: Stories of the Jungian Way is a soulful collection of essays that 
illuminate the inner life. Have a look at this formidable list of Jungian Authors and the titles to their essays.
When Soul appea…

The Kids Are Alright…or Are They? How Child Protagonists of Adult Fiction Blow Our Minds and Break Our Hearts

Birthday party favors, first snowflakes, first kisses. Learning how to pitch a ball, toast a marshmallow, ride a bike.

As much as we wax nostalgic about our wonder years, let’s face it: most of us didn’t have it that easy. The early joy of discovery and untamed enthusiasm sits right alongside the precariousness of being dependent on far-from-perfect grownups in a far-from-ideal world. The very same openness that can prompt million-watt smiles makes kids particularly vulnerable to cruelty, confusion, loneliness, and powerlessness (or what the young protagonist of my novel The History of My Body calls “the void”).
Which is where the catharsis of fiction written for adults with child protagonists comes in - offering us a chance to revisit our early years with imagination and wisdom and see the world and our own lives with new eyes.
Whether the heroes and heroines of these books are precocious or tentative, suicidal or resourceful, disconnected or endearing, each of them bumbles along as w…


When I was a green girl of fifteen, I was first introduced to Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass.I’ve written elsewhere of the numinosity of that introduction, but I didn’t mention that one of the poems that most intrigued me was this one:
BEGINNERS How they are provided for upon the earth, (appearing at intervals,) How dear and dreadful they are to the earth, How they inure to themselves as much as to any –           what a paradox appears their age, How people respond to them, yet know them not, How there is something relentless in their fate all times, How all times mischoose the objects of their adulation and reward, And how the same inexorable price must still be paid for the same great purchase.

So here we are. The portentous 2012. “A new beginning,” say jump time enthusiasts…or, if we heed the Mayan calendar catastrophizers, “The end.” Nature would undoubtedly answer, “Both,” since cycles of death and rebirth are Her calling card. Mayan calendar notwithstanding, each year we Western humans r…