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Infinite Tragedy
David Foster Wallace — photo by Marion Ettinger I learned this morning that author David Foster Wallace hanged himself on Saturday. He was 46, and his wife found him. I didn’t know David personally, and I can’t say I thought everything he wrote was successful, but even his failures were magnificent, brave and worthy. I…
Read MoreA request from your friendly author
Hello all, Well, we’ve been getting along very nicely here, I think. Some of you have been kind enough to comment directly on the blog, which is most appreciated, others have sent wonderful emails to me, which is also much appreciated. Now, I have a favor to ask those of you who are on Facebook.…
Read MoreThe Thunderstorm and the Lion
“We can never have enough of nature. We must be refreshed by the sight of inexhaustible vigor, vast and titanic features, the sea-coast with its wrecks, the wilderness with its living and its decaying trees, the thunder-cloud, and the rain. . .” Henry David Thoreau (1817 – 1862) US “essayist, poet, naturalist” A line of…
Read MoreThe Year of the Dark Wood
Today is my birthday, and don’t birthdays have a way of making one reflect and take stock? They do me. But I never quite know where that reflection will take me, so let’s see, shall we? My Best Beloved, Ron, gave me a beautiful card this morning with a painting by Emily Carr on in.…
Read MoreHorizons and Emily Carr
For some year now, Ron and I have been talking about the possibility of getting a little cottage someplace not too far from our home, where we could nip off to from time to time and get away from things. So far, we haven’t found the right place. Which leads to question, of course, what…
Read MoreMysterious
On an earlier post, I talked about an experience I had in France at Notre-Dame d’Avenas. Well, since the experience gets weirder, I thought I’d take a moment to examine it with you, Dear Reader. When I finished that entry (see below), I went upstairs to my husband, Ron’s, office, cleared a pile of papers…
Read MoreAn Inconvenient Faith – Part 1
One summer, just after The Best Beloved and I had moved to France, we were driving over a rather desolate but shockingly beautiful mountain range, seemingly miles from nowhere, and not a person in sight, when we came upon small, very old chapel in the beehive style. We went inside and found a small and…
Read MoreIf we get the next thing, will it be enough?
I spend a lot of time thinking about the writing life, which is hardly surprising, I suppose, since it’s the life I’m in. However, I consider myself living in a sort of authorial hinterland. I am published, thus far, only in Canada, and yet for the entire span of my career, I have not lived…
Read MoreHummingbirds and Groundhogs
I hope this blog will be a kind of conversation between us, Dear Reader. I spend a great deal of time by myself, in my library, looking out the window into the garden, and thinking up reasons why I shouldn’t get down to work, which at the moment is a novel set in 7th c.…
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