Tag Archives: Life

The Dead Writers Round-Up: 22nd-24th August

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  • Dorothy Parker was born on 8/22/1893. “Take care of the luxuries and the necessities will take care of themselves.”
  • Kate Chopin died on 8/22/1904. “To be an artist includes much; one must possess many gifts-absolute gifts-which have not been acquired by one’s own effort. And, moreover, to succeed, the artist must possess the courageous soul.”
  • Ray Bradbury was born on 8/22/1920. “I don’t try to describe the future. I try to prevent it.”
  • Edgar Lee Masters was born on 8/23/1869. “To put meaning in one’s life may end in madness, But life without meaning is the torture Of restlessness and vague desire-It is a boat longing for the sea and yet afraid.”
  • Jean Rhys was born on 8/24/1890. “A room is, after all, a place where you hide from the wolves. That’s all any room is.”
  • Malcolm Cowley was born on 8/24/1898. “Be kind and considerate with your criticism….It’s just as hard to write a bad book as it is to write a good book.”
  • Jorge Luis Borges was born on 8/24/1899. “Art always opts for the individual, the concrete; art is not Platonic.”

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[All images are courtesy of Wikimedia Commons and are in the Public Domain]

 

[19 August 2012] This Week’s Lessons in Reading and Writing

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What I’ve (re)learned in the last week.

  • The rush that comes with writing fiction is like nothing else in the world. It feels entirely different from writing reviews or essays; not better, just different.
  • Liking writers, artists or performers is one thing. Enjoying fictionalized accounts of their lives is another. Some of these books are wonderful; others are boring or just plain bad. I am currently reading one of the former and one of the middle. The disparity in levels of enjoyment is huge.
  • Outlining an entire story and writing the opening 3 paragraphs in your head whilst still in bed is the best way to start a day.
  • I feel sexiest while tapping away at my keyboard, trying to bang out everything that is in my head before it dissolves into nothingness. Even though I am usually wearing yoga pants, a tee, too much moisturizer and a baker’s dozen of hairpins.
  • Taking five books and three magazines (and my Nook) on a road trip lasting 60 hours, start to finish, somehow does not seem excessive.
  • The WordPress community is just that: a community of supportive, wonderful, mostly awesome people. Some of them even allow you to write short stories based on their photographs. Thank you, lovelies.
  • Even when crazy shit happens (like this), reading a book makes it better.

Daily Diversion #35: Not Every Diversion is a Good Diversion

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As of 6:00 PM Wednesday, this was the photograph I was going to post for my 35th Daily Diversion.

Yum! Tacos!

Yum! Tacos!

Last week, a friend opened an eclectic little taco shop in the neighborhood behind ours. We missed the official opening because we were out-of-state attending a family wedding/staring at the Toronto skyline. We’re hardcore devotees, though, so we made up for it by walking 3 miles round trip just to eat a few heaven-stuffed tortillas. Afterwards, when we rounded the side of our building, instead of seeing an empty street…we saw a police cruiser and a wrecker hoisting up a strange car. Then, this pitiful sight:

Pretty, isn't it?

Innocent bystander

Our parked Durango was just collateral damage in the broad daylight shenanigans of a random heroin addict, who decided to shoot up whilst careening down the street in a too-fast car with her baby strapped in the back seat. RHA is in the county lock-up, the unharmed baby is with his/her Grandma and our (only) vehicle is likely headed to the great scrap pile in the sky. It was hit with enough force to move it 4 feet forward and 2 feet to the side from where my husband left it last night.

I haven't trotted out Millais' Ophelia for awhile, but she is perfect for so many situations.

I haven’t trotted out Millais’ Ophelia for a while, but she is perfect for so many situations.

Until the insurance adjusters have come and gone-for good or ill-this is how you will find me.

The Dead Writers Round-Up: 9th-12th August

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  • Hermann Hesse died on 8/9/1962. “Everything becomes a little different as soon as it is spoken out loud.”
  • Louise Bogan was born on 8/11/1897. “Your work is carved out of agony as a statue is carved out of marble.”
  • Edith Wharton died on 8/11/1937. “Life is always a tightrope or a feather bed. Give me the tightrope.”
  • William Blake died on 8/12/1827. “A fool sees not the same tree that a wise man sees.”
  • Mary Roberts Rinehart was born on 8/12/1876. “The writing career is not a romantic one. The writer’s life may be colorful, but his work itself is rather drab.”
  • Radclyffe Hall was born on 8/12/1880. “The world hid its head in the sands of convention, so that by seeing nothing it might avoid Truth.”-The Well of Loneliness
  • Helen Hunt Jackson died on 8/12/1885. “Bee to the blossom, moth to the flame; Each to his passion; what’s in a name?
  • Thomas Mann died on 8/12/1955. “A writer is somebody for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people.”

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[All images are in the Public Domain and are courtesy of Wikimedia Commons]

 

Daily Diversion #32: A Little Kindness

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I work at a gallery. Downtown, part-time. I manage the company-wide blog, answer random questions about grammar, dole out directions to places I have never been, and sell artsy things. If you lack the ability to visualize how artwork should be framed, I will come to the rescue with the perfect design. My eye is better than yours, anyway.

The postal worker assigned to our route is fantastically nice and funny. He slathers it on a bit thick at times, but is unfailingly amusing. He also has the solid recommendation of being a playwright.

We did not have any incoming mail today. This was the only delivery.

The pink really popped in the bright light of the gallery.

The pink really popped in the bright light of the gallery.

Every day, the mailman gives one customer a rose. Continue reading →

Daily Diversion #29: A Riverside Perambulation

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My mom was in town this weekend. I didn’t write anything, but I exchanged ideas with the clouds hanging over the river.

Riverfront view across to Kentucky.

Riverfront view across to Kentucky.

Hardier souls in running shoes were doing drills up and down the stairs. We sat, staring off into the distance or talking. The clouds were almost close enough to pluck from the sky.

Riverfront Steps, Clouds Through the Bridge

Riverfront Steps, Clouds Through the Bridge

We walked for miles, and met some very strange creatures…

A Pig Statue (it's a Cincinnati thing)

A Pig Statue (it’s a Cincinnati thing)

Clouds hovering over the Princess Diana Tiara on Queen City Tower.

Archway, with a Sliver of Skyline in the Distance

Archway, with a Sliver of Skyline in the Distance

One sunburn and several lovely memories later, I’m ready to hit the keyboard again.

 

 

Day Dreams and Night Parades: Why Writers Are Always Surrounded by Dead People

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DAY DREAMS/                                                                                                                                                   There were two trees I loved as a child. They lived less than an acre apart, but never met. This made me sad, as I was certain they would get along if the chance ever came. I tried making introductions, but whenever I broached the subject they were too busy doing secretive tree things that I did not understand.

The Front Yard Tree thrived on the imaginations of little girls. Continue reading →

A Year in Books/Day 180: Inside the Victorian Home

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  • Title: Inside the Victorian Home A Portrait of Domestic Life in Victorian England
  • Author: Judith Flanders
  • Year Published: 2003 (W.W. Norton & Company)
  • Year Purchased: 2004/2005
  • Source: History Book Club
  • About: I am lustfully curious about matters of domestic history. No, not marital details. I mean the inner workings of domesticity-cooking, shopping, consumerism, the running of households, servants, the cost of goods, wages. It may be a strange occupation, but then I have never claimed nor aspired to normalcy. Inside the Victorian Home is not the only book on the subject I own (although it was the first I bought). It breaks down and explicates on all of the above subjects (as well as social and political history), as filtered through rooms of a house: bedroom, drawing room, morning room, etc., before throwing us out on the street, as it were, in the last chapter. So many things can be learned-insights gained-from how we lived, perhaps even more than what we say or record for posterity. It is a gem of its kind, and one that I turn to for clarification on such matters.
  • Motivation: History + England + Domestic History= a book I could not resist.
  • Times Read: 2
  • Random Excerpt/Page 28: “If the family’s status was on display in the choice of the house, then it followed that location and public rooms were more important than comfort and convenience, and certainly more important than the private, family spaces.”
  • Happiness Scale: 9+