It’s that time of year again. The catalpa drops its flowers, sometimes with such frequency it becomes like weather — a genteel snowfall, say.
The miracle clematis sent forth another flower. I think I can die now. The vigorous spider plants have been dug, divided, and resituated. Check.
So much of daily writing is valorizing getting small things done.
To do: finish This is Happiness. Spend time with happiness. Open the cover of happiness.
Sorry. I’m easily distracted. Finishing an unbelievably well-written novel only gets a slot on the To Do List during heavy news weeks, when most of my reading bandwidth goes to keeping up. Lately (or is it always anymore?): holy shit.
I’m almost (but not quite) ready to get back on the query saddle. Ugh. It helps that I’ve added writing contacts on twitter so that even when I’m avoiding publishing, news about it slides across my screen and gets my attention. Sometimes, the info crosses over into race and misogyny. See: James Patterson.*
It’s cool today and K works from the kitchen table. I have a mole check later but otherwise the day is mine.
All of a sudden it looks like rain, real rain! Will that send the excited elementary school kids inside? This month’s year-end celebrations include a bull horn with a siren feature. Nice.
* * *
This tweet was part of a Looong thread listing current white male bestsellers.
Once you wade through the outrage, one statement emerged that seemed true: it’s harder for everyone to get published now than it was say two years ago — but the institutional advantages for white men hold.
Flowers like snow, what a lovely image.The book looks interesting,,,have you been enjoying it? What’s that saying? So much changes and so much remains the same (or something like that). Always a nice visit to come here Dee. xo
Absolutely. No doubt about it. And yet they wail
Ok, this is going to sound like an infomercial but a huge shout out to Niall Williams and his wife, Christine Breen. Many years ago I came across four books written by both of them and thus began my love affair with Ireland. Niall, born in Dublin, Christine from New York, with Irish ancestors, inherited an old stone cottage from her grandfather in County Clare that led to their amazing life journey, moving to this wee little cottage, learning the land, the ways of their small village and always the gift of words, writing and gardens. The four books that are my treasures are:
O Come Ye Back to Ireland: Our First Year in County Clare.
When Summers in the Meadow
The Pipes Are Calling
The Luck of the Irish, Our Life in County Clare
Together they also wrote a book about taking a nine month trip around the world with their children in 2001-2002 titled, So Many Miles to Paradise.
I have read several of Niall’s book but have not yet read This is Happiness. I did read their marvelous coauthored book about their garden, titled, In Kiltumper.
Niall offers writing workshops, formerly on site at their home, since Covid, the workshops are on line.
For more, there is this:
Thanks for letting me know more about Williams. Did not know he’s written so much nonfiction. The novel is pure delight.
I went to Dublin in January of 1977. Did a semester at Trinity College (through Temple University) in a program run by poet Thomas Kinsella. Then I bought a bike a traveled around the whole of Southern Ireland for a month with my boyfriend. The program also included a ten day bus trip with historic tours.
My giant gardenia bush looks like it’s festooned with used toilet paper. Buds and new flowers are plenty but, UK.
“Valorizing”! Me gloating over a small piece of (as yet) homeless dialogue.
Valorizing is a great word, isn’t it? Don’t know why it came into my head this morning or why I don’t use it more often.
Okay, now I’m on to Niall Williams. Thanks Dee and Marti!
You will love the novel. I am just finishing. Coincidentally, it ends with a scene in 1977, which is when I was there.
a new-to-me-author, always on the look-out for an interesting read! thanks Dee and Marti
to James Patterson et al I would like to say: ‘now you know what it’s like!’
even tho that isn’t even true
The markings of those blossoms are amazing, tiny abstract paintings.
They are really quite extraordinary. Until so many have fallen and piled up and begun to rot and they become a chore!