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“People’s dream…
“People’s dreams are made out of what they do all day. The same way a dog that runs after rabbits will dream of rabbits. It’s what you do that makes your soul, not the other way around.” — Barbara Kingsolver It’s what you do that makes your soul.
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People Who Rock: Brigid Ashwood
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the people I love. The people who’ve helped me through tough times, have inspired me creatively, and become friends and cohorts and partners in crime. Most of them have been discovered through this web of wonder, and I see them rarely (if ever). So I thought it might be fun to share with you some of the people I know who rock. I think we as writers and creatives spend so much talking about ourselves (especially on these platform-building blogs) that it’s important to take a second and recognize those around us who’ve contributed to our success. The first that comes to mind…
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Where is my mind…
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Spring cleaning, and making sense of nonsense
I am buried in boxes. Literally. The view from the laptop is approximately 80% box. We’re moving. To a very cool house. And we’re throwing crap away. And, predictably, I’ve decided to tidy up the blog a bit. Why change, you ask? Sure, the last design wasn’t so bad. It had a nifty slidey feature thingie (technical term). But it was a bit too noisy. Functionality is fine so long as it does something, but I’m not a news blog. I’m some writer gal who talks about food and mythology and rock music. I wanted something that was more content-centric, and after trying about fifty different templates on for side,…
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Wordsworth, to his wife & from “The Fountain”
“Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.” — William Wordsworth, Letter to his Wife (April 29 1812). My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard. Thus fares it still in our decay: And yet the wiser mind Mourns less for what age takes away Than what it leaves behind. — William Wordsworth, “The Fountain,” st. 8 & 9 (1799).
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Albatross
From the WIP: There was a time where I could change back and forth to a fish as easily as passing wind, but the years had left me rusty. And I was afraid. Still afraid, after so many years, that I would lose control. And it wasn’t just fear, really, it was temptation. That’s the problem more than anything—it wasn’t that I hated being uncontrollable. There was a dark, welcome power there that would lurk with me always, part of my true self, my ancient self, that craved blood and destruction and death. Knowing that my friend was in danger threw me into action. But I kept turning into a…
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I didn’t have much to tell him
I didn’t have much to tell him. “I fought in the war,” I said. “I had a child. Though I have not watched him grow, for I was not well acquainted with his mother. Not properly, anyway. I fear I have disappointed you in not living a truly upright existence.” He laughed. “As if I could tame you, Joss! You, creature of lightning and water and energy. Gods, if I could ever bottle but a fraction of your essence, or whatever it makes you what you are, I would be a king among men. You never have fit into my understanding of the world. Nor by Diana’s nor Mary’s law.…
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World keeps turning, words keep churning…
I have not been a good blogger. But then again, I haven’t written much fiction. There have been lots of articles in the week, true, over at GeekMom and Geeks Are Sexy and whatnot. But the last month–in fact, all of February, which is an historically cruddy month as it is–was horrible. Horrible really doesn’t begin to express, really. My family suffered the loss of an amazing friend, a young man who grew up with my sister and me (and was indeed, her best friend in the world). I met him when he was 10, and had to see him leave at 29. A freak infection that took his life…
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And now for something completely… ugh!
I was going to write a very interesting and witty and delightful bit on Illogicon II, but then I got the norovirus. I spent the better part of Monday wishing for death and whimpering on the floor of my bathroom. Now that things have turned around, I find that I’m pretty much incapable of stringing words together. Nothing like forced caffeine withdrawal. Still haven’t managed coffee yet (which explains the incoherence). (It’s not all bad, though. There is cause to celebrate! My husband is employed as of next week. So the long, horrid month of December fades into the distance and we can breathe again.) If you’re looking for some…
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Perception, Imagination, and Experience: “Stairway to Heaven” and Melodies Unheard
What do John Keats and Led Zeppelin have in common? More than you think, if you're me.
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Why I Don’t Give Writing Advice
Maybe I'm not the right person for this job.
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A quick one while I’m away… 2012 to 2013
Not a year-end in review. On to 2013, and don't let the door hit your arse on the way out.
