I was reading a piece in the NYT about the painter Kerry James Marshall and read this quote from him:
“The picture plane is the site of every action,” Mr. Marshall said. . . . “How things occupy that space,” he added, “matters more than anything.” Continue reading
I’m reading Process Not Perfection, which should probably be the title of my autobiography, and How to Make Handdrawn Maps, and a ton of new romances which is making me think I’m not a romance writer any more, and a ton of old mysteries which are reminding me that stories are about character.
What are you reading?
I continue to suck as a blogger, so apologies for that. I really am going to get my act together. Soon. Probably.
What did you accomplish this week? (Let me live vicariously.)
As the quarantine stretches on (and my plague state becomes one of the safer places in the country), I’m finding happiness is getting foggier in its definition . . . and simpler. I’m not sick, nobody I love is sick, everybody I love is being careful, the weather’s lovely, I have enough money to pay my bills, I have books to read and write . . . I’m not getting a damn thing done, but I’ve settled into cocoon-like comfort where Lack of trauma seems like a huge accomplishment. Which makes me wonder how much of this will linger when we’re (will we ever?) be through this and into some kind of normal. I’m pretty sure the new normal will not be like the old because we’ve learned to live simpler lives because we haven’t had a choice.
This week I’m happy I’ve made it through another week. For now, that’s enough.
What made you happy this week?
Point of View is up on HWSWA.. We disagreed (big surrprise) on something Bob calls “omniscient translucent,” which I maintain does not exist, so there’s a second post that details our trying-to-be-polite discussion of it outside of the chat.
I am reading Beyond Tidy: Declutter Your Mind.
Unfortunately, it turns out I’m a mental hoarder, and there are only narrow pathways through my brain. At any moment now, a pile of miscellaneous thoughts is going to cascade down and bury me. Otherwise, I’m good.
How’s by you? Especially what did you read this week?
I installed a window air conditioner.
Okay, it wasn’t that difficult, but I managed to get it from my driveway to the bedroom, smack the ancient window frame up so it would fit in the opening, add the side vents, screw in the supports and plug it in. I’m very proud.
What did you work on this week?
Back in Normal Days, I used to stay off the roads on the weekends. During the week I’d make appointments, have meetings, go out for groceries, etc., but I’d stay home on the weekends because that’s when people who were stuck at work all day would go out. I figured I’d just cede my space on the roads, in lines, and in building to them.
Now it’s the New Normal and weekends don’t really happen anymore and I never go anywhere. I was just lying here with the fan blowing on me and three dogs snoozing and realized I have a fridge full of food since I cooked like a demon yesterday, all my errands done, and a full blesses Sunday to lie out under the trees nd watch the sunlight filter through, while the bushes rustle with baby animals–lots of fawns and baby bears on the roads these days so we all drive slow since they’re all idiots about cars–and the birds flit about mindlessly and every now and then a chipmunk darts through the greenery. I have plenty I should be doing, but nowhere I have to go and nobody I have to talk to. Pure Bliss.
What made you happy this week?
I just had a bizarre experience. I realized I didn’t have a digital copy of The Cinderella Deal, so I went to Amazon to get one. That sucker is $10.99. Who the hell is going to pay $10.99 for a book that’s twenty-four years old? It’s my book and I’m not going to pay that much. WTF, Bantam?
In other news, there’s a new post up on HWSWA, this one about relationships. Strangely enough, Bob didn’t want to talk about relationships. Character descriptions, sure; motivations, sure, but the topic of the week? Not so much. So the discussion is pretty much Bob introducing new topics and me trying valiantly to get everything back to writing relationships. He only does it to annoy because he knows it teases. Continue reading
I started reading Sarina Bowman’s The Year We Fell Down, about a college freshman with a spinal cord injury , and when this first-person narrator meets her roommate for the first time, she says . . .
“. . . a little specter of hope had alighted on my shoulder. And this feathered, winged thing had been buzzing around for weeks, whispering encouragements in my ear. . . . Now, facing [my roommate] in the flesh for the first time, my little hope fairy did a cartwheel on my shoulder.”
She has a little Hope Fairy. I rolled my eyes. (Yes, I am a bitch.)
But as the story progressed, the Hope Fairy became less twee, showing up nineteen times in the course of the book to help the narrator undercut the anguish of her situation, and I started to pay attention to what Bowen was doing with her. Continue reading