I loved the days when my kids could take just about anything and convert it to something fun to do. For example,
giant-boxes-on-board-screwed-into-two-sets-of-skateboard-wheels + gentle-incline => tandem go-cart race
On your mark…
And awaaaay they go…
I probably thought this was horribly dangerous. If only this had remained the pinnacle of risks that my now 19-year-olds would ever undertake.
Ouch. A graveyard with headstones:
…carved mottoless with simple names and dates as though there had been nothing even their mourners remembered of them than that they had lived and they had died…
From William Faulkner’s only mystery novel, Intruder in the Dust.
Some of my readers have requested a sequel to my recent novel Scar Jewelry. While I am thrilled that they care enough about the characters to want a part two, I suspect the requests come from desire to witness certain conversations and interactions that, well, frankly, won’t ever occur, even if I were to write a sequel. Such additions would make the story more tidy, maybe – but no longer right.
Here’s the bottom line: at any moment, life stretches in all directions and sometimes the options feel endless. But most of those options are fleeting opportunities and it can really be too bad if we don’t say something or do something or change something when we have the chance.
If this is a spoiler it is an enigmatic one that shouldn’t harm the reading experience.
New poll on the home page of my blog: What time of day do you prefer to write?
I’m a night owl stuck in an early bird world: my answer used to be 4a because I stayed up that late. Nowadays it is 4a because I got up a little early.
Uh huh. So this is the adulthood that I was so eager to get to.
Our dog got sprayed again the other day, chasing a skunk in our backyard again. I can’t decide whether she…
a) still does not understand the connection between chasing the skunk and getting sprayed?
b) thinks the risk is worth the reward?
c) likes the smell?
d) likes to get that special bath?
I’m pretty certain the answer is not d), given how little she likes baths.
The last time she got sprayed, I was covered in it by the time we figured out why she was foaming at the mouth. In line at the grocery store, people around me were sniffing the air and saying, ‘smells like burning tires.’ Heh.
A couple days later, I was still emitting eau d’skunk in the 110 degree room of a Bikram yoga class. Turns out the instructor was one of those one in a billion who loves the smell. (Dog in previous life?) This, however, did not make me less of a pariah during the class. But for once I got the floor space I deserve.
Mysterious symbols on a busy road near my house.
Bike riders on this path ascend quickly to heaven?
Epitaph for a comedian:
Three worms walk into a bar…
It is a struggle for me to watch live theater productions. I feel tense the whole time because I fear I will witness an actor seriously and obviously botching lines, and watch an uncomfortable struggle to get past the problem. Something deeply disturbing about seeing the actors’ eyes signaling to each other while, with their mouths and bodies, the show goes on.
I don’t know why I have this fear. I go to live music all the time and never worry about performance glitches there. Maybe I had an abusive theater experience as a child.
Anyone else have this? Anybody?
Saw a statistic today about how rapidly brick and mortar bookstores are dwindling in numbers. I confess that overall nowadays, I prefer reading a screen to reading a page. But I would hate it if there were no bookstores. Wandering among books is such a great pleasure.
I think printed books will turn out to be like vinyl records. Simply too good to go away.
Required Writing 