books

The Song Sings Itself

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Mistakes are almost always of a sacred nature. Never try to correct them. On the contrary:
rationalize them, understand them thoroughly. After that,
it will be possible for you to sublimate them.

Yesterday was the anniversary of Salvador Dali’s birthday. I meant to post this entry last night, but I ran out of time. Conclave is finished and the last few contributors’ journals will be shipped off this afternoon, but I still feel like I have so many little loose ends to tie up before I can plunge headfirst into the next few projects.

Mark was in Germany last week, and during that time my son had a nasty virus. It was a long week and a bit lonely.

I usually treasure my time alone; I crave it most times. However days spent with a sick, cranky almost-five-year-old and high-energy almost-three-year-old isn’t quite alone time, and I do appreciate some adult interaction during the day–especially in times of stress and lack of sleep, especially over my first cup of coffee. That’s one of the rituals I miss most about working outside the home, in Academia and Corporate America; the morning coffee shared with coworkers is a much nicer way to ease into the day.

So, as much as I have not enjoyed the disruption brought on by construction in our home, last week I found myself wishing for my morning coffee with some of my favorite contractors. When they were around, I knew I could share a cup of coffee and have a quick chat with them before they started their work. I enjoyed hearing about their trades and their lives. I enjoyed starting my day with friendly natter.

On the plus side, I did write a short story last week that I envision as part of a larger collection. I won’t work on it in earnest until I finish S.C., but I have been jotting down copious notes in my Moleskine to keep the ideas fresh. It’ll be a fun project for the summer.

Speaking of summer, the kids only have three weeks until the end of the school year. I think we’ve decided to keep it simple and old-fashioned this summer. We’ll have a trip to Arizona and maybe Wisconsin, but I don’t plan to over-schedule the kids with camps and acitivities. We have this fabulous new yard, and I want us all to enjoy it, to have long summer days exploring, digging, planting, and climbing without worrying about schedules and early mornings.

When I was a kids, summers were about freedom: to play with the neighborhood kids, to read piles of books, to stay up later and sleep in, to watch cartoons I had missed during the school year. Summers were sprinkler-filled, carefree, and creative.

What are some of your most beloved childhood summer memories? I would love to hear them (you see, I’m drinking my morning coffee and pretending you’re here with me, at the kitchen table, chatting).

xxo

The things that make us happy make us wise.

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Kevin Neilson turned me onto John Crowley’s novel Little, Big earlier this year, and I loved it.

For those unfamiliar, Little, Big is a literary feast of the finest craftsmanship: full of families, fairies, secrets, love, loss, and magic. It’s an epic tale that spans generations, and though its movement may be a bit slow, it is well worth the investment to become enveloped in that lush atmosphere and those unforgettable characters.

Kevin was fortunate to get an interview with John Crowley on his site, Between the Lines. I invite you to check out the interview, and if you’re looking for something to read, consider Crowley.

Summer’s End and Other Thresholds

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September is here, and summer is ending in the northern hemisphere. I’m not sad to see it go, being a lover of Autumn and all that comes with the falling leaves and breezes whispering winter psalms.

It’s the perfect time to gather with friends over mugs to share stories and laughter and quiet moments of happiness. So until our paths cross in person (and I really hope they do), we have this lovely internet for our storytelling and exchanges.

And speaking of lively chats, my interview is up on Between the Lines, a blog that interviews people devoted to literature, from teachers, lawyers, and doctors to academics, novelists, critics — and beyond. Kevin Neilson, a philosopher and unabashed lover of prose fiction, has done a great job rounding up booklovers from different walks of life to probe with fun and provocative questions.

I happen to know that some really fabulous folks are on board to share their love of books and literary insights in the coming weeks.

Check out the site (http://jkneilson.wordpress.com/) and leave a comment so that Kevin knows that you were there and enjoyed the site.

I also invite you to respond to some of the interviews. Truly. If no one responds, it’s a little like standing up in front of a room after a lecture or reading, and being met with silence and blank stares. I taught college Composition and Creative Writing, so I’m no stranger to the blank stares.
😉

Read some of the other interviews, write a note, and stay tuned to more musings about literary passions.

“The crickets sang in the grasses. They sang the song of summer’s ending, a sad, monotonous song. “Summer is over and gone,” they sang. “Over and gone, over and gone. Summer is dying, dying.”

The crickets felt it was their duty to warn everybody that summertime cannot last forever. Even on the most beautiful days in the whole year–the days when summer is changing into fall–the crickets spread the rumor of sadness and change.”

~ Charlotte’s Web, E.B. White