I may have to deactivate all my WordPress plug ins and then update them after sussing out which one is preventing easy access to media files. Ugh. I am too unschooled to do this by myself.
I’ve been busy, as you know, with my manuscript. Essentially I’ve deleted a novella — 20,000 words in the Silo Folder of Deletions with more to join them soon. It’s mostly relieving to have another set of eyes helping me decide what’s wheat and what’s chaff. But today I feel exhausted by it.
Finn got into a stock pot somehow. We don’t know when or how. But he got quite sick, depositing turmeric-yellow puddles of vomit threaded with scallion leaves. It wasn’t until all the rugs had been scoured that I sat in my writing chair for class and discovered he’d puked all over it as well.
I just scraped the deep seams of the upholstery with a knife, and soaped it all up, and vacuumed, and sprayed with pet enzymes. It’s one of the grosser things I’ve done in a while.
I seem to be in need of cheering up. Gonna pop a few pictures on here and deliver some gingerbread whoopie pies to my neighbor. Then it’ll be almost time to tune in to Deadline Whitehouse. Ugh. Bye, bye Roe? I’ve mostly been avoiding twitter but have seen enough to know how sickening it is to have trump’s partisan hacks on the Court.
On second thought, I’m gonna click on the fire, sew, and finish watching The Santa Stakeout. (So bad. It was so very bad).
New manuscript, old manuscript, notes on both, laptop repository. It’s slow going. But at least it’s going. My consultant chisels here, there, making the form clearer, not unlike a sculptor working in stone. It’s pretty exciting, though also daunting because it turns out I don’t know jack shit about comma-usage.
The temperature is supposed to drop down to 29 degrees tonight. You’d be amazed at how many leaves are still in the trees.
Among the many upsetting manifestations of red wing lunacy and racism lately, today of all days it feels particularly awful that QAnon followers still gather in Dealey Plaza. People of a certain age remember exactly where they were when John F. Kennedy was shot. Where were you?
I was six (earlier I’d written eight! Fell asleep thinking wait, that’s not right). My mother was ironing and crying in front of the television. My brother’s birthday party was cancelled.
And hallelujah! Will be watching for the Fed Ex truck eagerly. Consultant is sending marked up pages — 200 to start. Very old school.
For editing, honestly, I prefer working on paper.
Attended an Amherst Writers and Artists Northeast Chapter meeting yesterday which was great (writers from Maine, NYC, upstate NY, Connecticut, and Massachusetts), but it means today feels like Saturday and it’s not.
Found a yummy looking recipe for roasted pumpkin wedges. Gonna give it a whirl. The same cookbook inspired breaded and fried leeks last night. The leeks didn’t hold together quite well enough but they were tasty.
I’ll report back on the pumpkin.
Well, I didn’t like them. Maybe you shouldn’t use a pumpkin that’s been sitting on your stoop for a couple of weeks.? The flesh was stringy and bland. K thought they were good, but my feeling was: I can think of better ways to eat bread crumbs and Parmesan.
And I did! Added an egg to the leftover cheesy grits from last night and coated them with what was left of the herb, bread crumb, garlic/herb mixture. Delicious! A crusty exterior with a smooth creamy inside. Yum.
PS I made a Tarot pouch this afternoon from the sleeve of an old jacket — big enough for the Voyager deck.
Even mid morning, it was too hot to walk for long. I could’ve kept going, but Finn seemed not into it, which is saying something.
AC cranking, I’ve got the finish line in sight for the reread of Section One of my manuscript. As usual, this puts other reading on hold. I finished Series One of Deb’s Prophets Tango and can’t wait to get to the middle volume. Because I’d read it all before, this read really allowed me to focus on just how good the writing is. The writing is really so good.
Want to start the week with the frank acknowledgement that between writing with others three mornings a week and editing my novel, I’m not able to show up here quite how I’d like. For now. Even with comments. Please be patient with me!
I took this photo in high school. It’s somewhere on Route 20 where the road loops over Lebanon Mountain, crossing from Massachusetts to New York. I think it’s just downhill from the infamous “Dead Man’s Curve.” It fell out of some shelf recently and I share it because it demonstrates the consistency and resilience of the house as motif in my work.
Scrolling backward to find a color xerox collage made in my early twenties, I tagged just a few recent house compositions.
Below is the piece I was hunting for. Two Isabella Street, Northampton — the last place I lived while a student at UMass. The photo was copied, cut up, fragmented, and copied again on what was then an absolutely ground-breaking and thrilling piece of technology: a color copier. It had a dial that allowed the scanner to apply different colorways. This copy shop was in San Francisco and I worked there and probably the only saving grace to that job was access to that Xerox machine. Now I can see that this red collage/color copy exhibits not only the resilient house motif, but a love for technology-aided variations (now done with filter in my iPhone). Somewhere, I have green and yellow versions of the collage.
Back to the binder! It’s cold and damp here today, which you might be able to tell from the shots from Finn’s and my walk this morning. The one of him lounging on the couch might have been taken while we were watching Stanley Tucci in Italy.