ello, my name is Mari Werner, and here is a little bit about myself:

      I'm a Scientologist. I'm also a writer. I do lots of different kinds of writing, but I work as a tech writer for a living. That means I write manuals to teach people technical things like how to use certain computer software systems. I actually like tech writing. I also like writing poetry and short stories and short mildly humorous pieces of prose that I don't know what to label. I sometimes publish these label-free writings in what I call a news-free newsletter. I'm including one of them at the end of this page. You can skip to that if you're already bored with my life story.

          I love dogs. I have two mutts, whom many people would consider spoiled. When they bark too much I call their names and tell them "No barking please." and when they stop I say, thank you. My largest dog, creatively named Black Dog, has a tendency to get in the way. When he does, I say "Excuse me, Mr. Black Dog," and he moves. Usually.

          I hate TV. I haven't had one in my house in over two years. And I've never missed it. Not once. Not even a little. I used to think the worst thing about TV was network news, but I'm not so sure anymore. There are so many things competing for "worst" on TV that it's very hard to choose.

          I love music, although I don't know very much about it. Sometimes I even sing. I can carry a simple tune, if I'm provided with the right bucket. My daughter makes faces when I sing, as if she thinks I'm weird, but then sometimes if I don't sing, she tries to get me to sing again.

          I was the fourth of seven children and grew up on an acre of land in a semi-rural area of Santa Barbara, California. I was the first girl in the family, which resulted in sort of a mixed status. My parents thought I was a welcome addition after three boys; my brothers thought I was a whiny, tattle-tale little pest (which I was).

          I was pretty much a "good kid" when I was little (aside from whining about my brothers). I was quiet and did what I was told. Then when I got to be about 16 or 17, I became the daughter from hell. I ran wild and didn't do anything I was told.

          I was looking for something. I took drugs, tried meditation, and read strange books. I studied psychology and philosophy and sciences and literature and anthropology. I tried leaving town and coming back home and being alone and being with others and writing poetry and reading poetry and thinking and not thinking. Sometimes some of these things helped enough to at least validate my impression that there probably was some meaning to life.

          At age twenty-three I found what I was looking for. I discovered Scientology. Since then I've been digging up all the answers to all the questions I ever had and many I never knew I had. I'm forty-six now and I'm not finished yet.

          I highly recommend you look into it yourself. If you would like more information on Scientology, you can contact me or click on any of the Scientology links in this site.

          PENGUIN POWER

          Did you know that Emperor Penguins keep their eggs warm by carrying them around on top of their feet? The female lays one egg in the dead of winter, and the male (yes the male) carries it on his feet for the next two months. He doesn't hunt, he doesn't fish, he doesn't eat, he just hangs out with the other guys and keeps his one egg warm. On his feet. The other guys don't make fun of him for this because they too are carrying eggs on their feet. Among Emperor Penguins, hatching eggs is a guy thing. And leave it to the guys to come up with this method of doing it.

          The females, meanwhile, are out in the ocean stuffing themselves with shrimp and celebrating their emancipation from that silly mother-bird custom of sitting on eggs. You might wonder why the Emperor Penguin isn't called the Empress Penguin. You might also wonder how they came up with this custom. You might even suspect there was liquor involved.

          Can you imagine all the penguin guys at a penguin bar having a few too many, and one of them says to another, "Hey Bubba, I bet you can't hatch an egg on your feet." and Bubba says "Oh yeah? How much you wanna bet?"

          Probably not. It's hard to imagine a penguin named Bubba. After all, they live their lives in formal attire. How could a guy who goes to lunch in a tux be called Bubba?

          Most likely it was the females who first came up with the idea. "Honey, could you hold this egg on your feet for a few minutes while I go for a swim?" Two months later, she toddles ashore and says, "Oh, right. The egg. Gracious me, I forgot all about it. And what do you know, it's gone and hatched already."