I absolutely adore figs. I don’t think I’d ever eaten one until I was an adult, and it was the most delightful revelation, all that sweetness and texture and flavor–oh! They don’t travel particularly well, so the only times to eat them are the short seasons in late spring and early fall when they are
One of the great things about living with cats is that moment when one of them comes in from outside and wants some attention and leaps up on a lap or the bed or a sink while you’re washing your hands and head butts you and you bend over and bury your nose in their
Just for the record, I make no promises whatsoever to make this a consecutive 365 days of things I love. I just mean to get 365 days down in some way. This time, it happens to be two days in a row. Today’s love is stationary. I was a world champion pen pal as a teen,
Blogging has been coming up again for me. I tried to get going again at the start of this year, but this theme and I are having fights all the time and I don’t like it very much. I’ve asked my wizardress to find a new one, but in the meantime, let’s get this moving.
It’s a gloomy morning in Texas, the air thick and cool, heavy with the thunderstorms that will line my trip home today. A handful of Italian men with good shoes and sport coats, one even with a ponytail and a ragged bit of black whiskers on his cheeks, hang by the coffee stand, chattering among
I am in the very last week of writing the very last book of the Going the Distance series. I’ve been immersed in the lives and dramas of these characters for nearly two years, since that fateful morning in Breckenridge when Jess woke me up at 4:30 am to tell me she had a story
If you are looking for the worksheets from the Cornerstones of Excellence class at PPWC, they are here: http://www.awriterafoot.com/2014/08/19/post-wd-novel-workshop-handouts/
I am a grouch this morning. There’s no other word for it. I didn’t sleep well because my knee was hurting and I have this restless leg thing happening after the surgery that’s quite annoying, and I don’t FEEL like doing my work, but there’s a lot piling up and it needs to be tackled.
One of the hardest things about starting a new book is the awfulness of it. I’m there now, at the beginning, no longer thinking about the book or making notes or even writing long backstory and character pieces—which is actually one of the most fun parts of writing. If it was only that part, I would be the happiest writer in the world. Instead, I’m actually starting to write the thing, in scenes, with characters talking and moving and all that. This is the point of ruination. I’ve talked about this before—every book is perfect before I must try to bring it into the world. They live in some other place, in the Land of Books Waiting to Be Written, and some are mine to write and some are yours and some are still waiting for their person to get busy and bring it over into the Land of Books That Can Be Read. As I try to bring my book over the wall into this world, I ruin it, almost from the first word. It horrifies readers and writers alike when I say this, though I’ve never figured out quite why. I’m a devoted writer and have been devoted to the craft my whole life, but I am only mortal. How could I possibly write a perfect book? I don’t like the ruination, and I am always striving to do a better job of bringing the books over the wall, but if I am not at peace with the fact that they are all going to be flawed and ruined the minute I bring them over, I will never get them written in any form at all, and that would be far, far worse. The fear of failure, of doing something badly, is one of the great enemies of the creative person. Of anyone really. It keeps writers from writing and artists from painting, but it also keeps many of us away from exploring new things, making new friends, expanding our lives. My tai chi teacher says over and over, in his soft thoughtful voice, “You can’t be good at something you don’t know.” But don’t we often want to do just that? To be masters at everything on the very first day?
As part of rehab for my brand-new bionic knee, a physical therapist comes to my house five days a week and puts me through my paces. As I’m standing on my toes and cycling on a portable little bike, we chat. He’s a guy of a certain age, with an intriguing history as a Shakespearean
I’m in recovery from a knee surgery last week, so not really coherent enough to write a long post. I’m in that strange convalescent phase that means I drift along like a bottle on the sea, admiring that swath of sunset or the way the light catches on my cat’s whiskers but nothing much more.
All creative people devise ways to communicate with the mysterious place where ideas come from. A scientific person might call it the right side of the brain. A more mystical one (that would be me) probably calls it the universe or Spirit. Whatever the name, we all learn over time to trust the whispering prompts
I promised blogs every week, but must say the Internet access was not great in many of our stops the past ten days. Here are a couple of photos to keep you company for a few days. We are on our way home and I’ll post later this week about foggy weather, venison stew, windows
Christmas Eve is one of the most magical nights in Western culture, a night that celebrates peace and light and new hope being born into the world. A star lights the way for magis to come and worship new life, to offer gifts and honors. Angels sing to celebrate the moment. It is holy and
I had a letter this morning from a reader of this blog, wondering if it had been discontinued. In fact, the exact opposite is true–I’ve given up blogging elsewhere (except for Writer Unboxed once a month) to bring my focus back here. My web mistress is busy behind the scenes doing a facelift and I’ve