Tag Archives: Life

Daily Diversion #50: A Writer’s Best Friend…

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is not a pen, paper, book, idea, plot, character or thought. Those things, when joined, are blood, meat, mead. They warm the soul, but not cold toes on a crisp autumn morning. Creativity fills holes and unmasks wounds. It starts an emotional and intellectual chain-reaction that flies around the world, unbound. Limitless. Yet, feeling a wet nose at the back of the knee is a thousand and fifteen times better than reading about a wet nose at the back of the knee. This is a fact.

Duncan playing dead.

Duncan playing dead.

Daily Diversion #49: One Sleeping Dog, Two Ways

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With our cable and internet connection mysteriously down until just a few hours ago, my weekend consisted of the following: writing (not blogging), cleaning, watching movies on my laptop, blasting punk rock through open windows, listening to sirens scream through the neighbourhood, daydreaming, thinking about doing laundry and then deciding against it, reading, swaying in the breeze clad in my underwear and a hoodie (I get cold), and photographing my dogs while they murmured in their sleep.

 
PS-I will be playing catch-up for the next few days. Thank you for your patience.

Crosley 1

Six days worth of entertainment in one 90-pound package of fur.

Crosley 2

Napping is what he does best. That, and looking cute.

Apologia: Three Reasons Why I Haven’t Posted Much for a Week (One of Which Includes Wizards)

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Darlings,
I apologize for the relative lack of recent posts. Alas, what began on Sunday will continue for another four days. At this point it is entirely against my will, but what can a writer do when the universe plots against her? If you’d like to hear my excuses, continue reading.

REASON #1: Oktoberfest. The Queen City hosts the largest such celebration in the USA and the second largest in the world. In other words: beer, yo. Lots and lots of tasty beer.

REASON #2: Professional obligations. I worked on an article and a short story, planned my October production schedule, and created marketing materials for a local gallery event that happens next weekend.

REASON #3: Our cable mysteriously stopped functioning Thursday afternoon. Unfortunately, when it goes the high-speed internet connection follows. This issue is limited to our unit, and does not involve the box. The wizards at Time Warner have no idea what is wrong. Imagine that. Really. Imagine that. One of these mystical geniuses will be here Wednesday morning to trouble-shoot the problem and make it better, presumably in a cloud of mist and confusion. Until then, my ability to function professionally has been gutted. I’m unhappy, but still flippant as shit.

In summary: It’s me, not you! You are still as lovely as ever. I will be back full-time, and in glorious form, as soon as possible.

Love, love, love, love
Maedez

PS-It is not easy writing such a long, detailed post on my phone, although having child-sized hands helps tremendously. See how much I love you?
PPS-Until Wednesday and The Great Re-connection, my postings will likely be limited to Daily Diversions and quotes.

[Intermezzo] It’s Late September, Come Watch the Seasons Duel

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The windows are open, all nine of them, the sashes stretching towards the sky. Street-facing, breeze-embracing. The sun crawls in, climbs in, cascades in: it is everywhere, covering everything, dappling the furniture and the like-coloured dogs with its brightness. The leaves have not dropped; they are green, still supple. Juicy. Plump. They have not yet been riddled with brittleness, or opacity.

Although the calendar suggests otherwise, here, in the North-South corridor, we are caught between seasons. I have lived in this city six years. Autumn comes late, later than I am accustomed to: it is a blip, a blink, a grimace. Normally, autumn is summer, winter is autumn; in September, cool, calm, sunny weather is a hiccough, an anomaly. The days blaze, the nights burn. This year, it is different: thermals in the morning give way to sundresses in the afternoon. The sun is out, but the wind lasts all day: sweaters have already been unpacked, pressed neatly. Smoothed against fading tan skin, pulled tightly against prematurely hunched shoulders.

It is autumn, almost as I know it: cool, windy, exhilarating. Pumpkin patches beckon, the hint of cold-weather spices whirl through the air: cinnamon, nutmeg. Cool temperatures are still an early morning affair, but the time for apple cider and warm soup is near. The cloudy point between seasons-the neither here nor there-is my creative comfort zone: the blood seeping through my pores.

The Dead Writers Round-Up: 16th-22nd September

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  • Anne Bradstreet died on 9/16/1672. “Authority without wisdom is like a heavy axe without an edge, fitter to bruise than polish.”
  • William Carlos Williams was born on 9/17/1883. “Life is valuable–when completed by the imagination. And then only.”
  • Upton Sinclair was born on 9/20/1878. “All art is propaganda. It is universally and inescapably propaganda; sometimes unconsciously, but often deliberately, propaganda.”
  • Stevie Smith was born on 9/20/1902. “My Muse sits forlorn/She wishes she had not been born/She sits in the cold/No word she says is ever told.”
  • Babette Deutsch was born on 9/22/1895. She graduated from Barnard College in 1917.
  • Mary Roberts Rinehart died on 9/22/1958. “Men deceive themselves; they look back on the children who were once themselves, and attempt to reconstruct them. But they can no longer think like the child…”

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