Relentless Words
"A word is dead when it is said some say. I say it just begins to live that day." Emily Dickinson ~some put up jars of jam, I stock up on words~ The first draft of a third novel is cooling, like a deep-dish pie on the window sill, and ...
The Value of Silence in a Loud New Year
The pause before an exclamation and after. An unquantifiable insight. Walk outside and sit.
Crow Stanzas on a Cloudy Day
The pause before an exclamation and after. An unquantifiable insight. Walk outside and sit.
Chill Factor
While working on page 174 of the first draft of my third novel. In this new terrain, I have to make some adjustments. The Pacific Northwest while sharing many similarities is not the same as Alaska. Here, the crows are fat and numerous.
A BIRTHDAY OF WORDS
“The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible.” Vladimir Nabokov Words are breadcrumbs leading me into the heart of a new story. Returning from the PNWA writers conference index cards, notes in the margins of handouts and underlined book passages spill out of my suitcase like the edible confetti from a piñata.
Keeping a Weather Eye
“When all is said and done, the weather and love are the two elements about which one can never be sure.” ― Alice Hoffman Mist drapes a barn roof, erases the base of a silo. The morning is darker than it should be, tinted in shades of wet slate and cooled charcoal. The lay of the land is obscured and well worn paths are disguised as shadows within shadows.
The Healing Powers of Norwegian Elkhounds
The Writer Elkhound trots by my side, then bounds forward to chase after a squirrel running across the fence top. Later she winds around my legs and nudges me as I pause. The weight of the world combines with the barometric pressure of rain that has not yet fallen.
WEDDINGS, WORDS, TALES TOLD AND PORTENTS OF THE NEXT ADVENTURE
“I’m selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can’t handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best.” ― Marilyn Monroe Two of the characters I am writing are falling in love. Everyone knows it. Except for them. They are are like travelers in an unlit subterranean place. And that's when the bullets start flying.
The Forest of Stories
Wilderness whups ass. No one is exempt. Ice cracks. Frozen lakes overflow. Bears charge down steep slopes. An inflatable raft springs a leak. A critical box of supplies gets left behind. WTF: where are the matches? Predators large and small are afoot. As are swarms of the most bloodthirsty of all: mosquitoes and no-see-ems. Weather doesn’t care about your flapping rain-fly or your groundcloth pooling with water.
THE FEATHERED EDGE OF A GOOD OMEN
an enigma of feathers - j.laster Ravens collect coils of vine, twists of ribbon, and shiny discarded baubles. They have been known to incorporate barbed wire into their nests. Corvus corax adapt and use whatever catches their eye to construct their sky-harbors. As I cull through old words, ...