joshua bell

Go read THIS at the Washington Post.

Fascinating, but sad.

getting back into the book

I've been distracted the past few days and have fallen out of the spell of revision. This is not writer's block. It's more like writer's inertia. I can see what I need to do, and what I *want* to do - but I'm having trouble taking the first step.

There are cures for this. Getting out of the regular writing environment is one. I need to pack up my laptop and leave this garret!

Which was my plan, but the wind is roaring outside and has me feeling both inert and restless, if you can imagine such a thing.

However, I promised myself I would do this today - find my path back onto the conveyor belt of this book, which was going so smoothly earlier in the week, and which is, in fact, STILL going smoothly. I'm just not on it.

You know the feeling of standing at the foot of an escalator, choosing the right moment to step on? And how pausing too long brings you to a complete halt? That's exactly what this is.

I will report back later, hopefully from a distant location, which will mean I am back in motion.

Wish me luck.



Here's where I ended up, tucked into a back nook at our wonderful local cafe/coffeehouse. I'm now up to page 251/322 in my revision, back in motion and with more to go before I leave here.

So. It worked!

cold front

Yesterday the wind blew in, the pressure dropped, and the horses went slightly crazy. They feel the shift in the weather well ahead of changes in temperature, and for most of the day they were alternately skittish and brazen, galloping through the barn aisle at mid-day feed time, spinning wildly at one another in the field, spooking at invisible monsters.

If predictions are accurate, we will be putting blankets on horses at least two nights this weekend.

Last night, after feeding dinner, I was stacking the feed tubs in their usual place when I noticed a toad huddled against the wall, red clay color with grass green markings. The first toad of the season, a welcome guest, because he does a wonderful job of eating flies and other pesky insects. He seemed a bit bewildered though, as if he had come packed and ready to stay, only to realize he was early.

I'm sure he'll burrow back into the dirt and wait for spring to return.

why I write

I've been thinking about this off and on the past few days, and this morning I took John Gardner's book, On Becoming A Novelist, off the shelf and paged through it. His books on writing are among my favorites, as he focuses more on the magic of the creative process than the technical aspects of writing.

It is John Gardner who wrote the mantra that stays with me when I write, the goal I have in mind: creating the "vivid, continuous dream."

So, today, I am thinking about why, and I find this passage from John:

"The true novelist is the one who doesn't quit. Novel-writing is not so much a profession as a yoga, or 'way,' an alternative to ordinary life-in-the-world. Its benefits are quasi-religious -- a changed quality of mind and heart, satisfactions no non-novelist can understand -- and its rigors generally bring no profit except to the spirit. For those who are authentically called to the profession, spiritual profits are enough."

This pretty much sums it up.

the dogwoods sing