novelist, essayist, teacher
Konrad Mägi (1878-1925) – Norwegian Landscape (Winter Landscape), 1908
The ancient Celts believed the new day began at sunset, as do modern pagans, Jews, and some Christians. Similarly, the ancients celebrated the new year on Samhain, October 31.
Hunger Moon / Snow Moon
Here in North America, Indigenous people tell us the name for the full moon in February is the Snow Moon, or the Hunger moon.
Yesterday we had what New Jersey folk call a snow storm, and while it was a bit blustery, for this Canadian, 4 inches of snow is hardly a storm. Still, it seems auspicious that today the garden is softened and muffled in white. The sun is reflecting off the snow, bringing a wash of bright hope into the house.
Pointing north in the garden
This morning I woke up and, after taking the dog out to do his business before the rain started, made up my bed, smoothing the linen cover, plumping the pillows, setting the lavender sachet among the pillows just so. Then I went downstairs and made coffee, and while the water boiled I looked out the window into the garden at the armillary placed in the center of the stone circle. The armillary’s arrow points due north, a sort of North Star, situating me, in the place, in this home.
A man I respect immensely — kind, caring, smart, funny and filled with the sort of humility that’s truly inspiring — told me a story yesterday that I want to share with you.
It’s not really his story any more than it’s mine, but it is the sort of story that holds such wonderful wisdom that it deserves to be widely shared.
So here it is, slightly paraphrased:
E.M. Forster wrote, “We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.”
Change is inevitable, and the wisest words in all the world are these, this, too, shall pass. For better for for worse, nothing lasts. We live in a constant state of transience.
There are been lots of changes, both on the macro and the micro level, over the past while. Deaths, the overturning of fortunes and of governments, friends dealing with serious health issues, prizes won and lost, public scandal and careers ended, hearts broken, dreams dashed and dreams born.
I explained in an earlier post what the Writers’ Blog Tour is about. Basically, writers answer the same four questions:
How does my work differ from other work in its genre?
How does my writing process work?
You can click on the links to see my answers to previous questions. Today I’ll (try to) answer the final question:
The Writing Process
How Does My Writing Process Work?
The only reasonable response seems to be, “I have no idea.” However, although it may feel that way sometimes, it’s not a very helpful response.
Window on a quieter time.
A month ago I posted that I was going to be off social media for a month, and so I was. It was WONDERFUL.
And yes, it took a little getting used to at first. One of the reasons I wanted to wean myself off it was that I found myself far too inclined towards it, if you know what I mean. I felt as though I was waiting for something all the time. Who would tweet me? Who would comment on my post? What offensive thing out there did I simply HAVE to comment on? What petition must I sign? Who would favorite me? On and on. I don’t think that’s healthy. One forgets to realize where one’s feet are when constantly focusing on such things.
A Sign of the Times?
Just before American Thanksgiving (for those of you here in the US who never gaze northward, Canada celebrates Thanksgiving on the second Monday in October), a friend of mine posted this photo on Facebook. I don’t know the name of the man in the picture, nor who took it, but if you do, please let me know and I’ll give credit where credit is undeniably due.
Jared Bland, the editor at the Globe & Mail, recently asked what I thought was the biggest danger to emerging writers. Without hesitation I said, “Self-publishing.” He threw back his head and laughed and said it was the best answer he’d heard to date.
And, just as quickly, I thought — oh dear, here come the nasty letters.
This has always been a touchy subject, and I suspect it will be an even more contentious one now that the Writers Union of Canada is voting on whether to allow self-published writers into the union.
Sometimes people ask me why I write. This is a good question, and one I’ll probably spend my life trying to answer. I usually say it’s because when I’m writing I feel as though I’m doing what I am intended to do. I say I write because I’m saner when I do than when I don’t. That one usually gets a chortle, although people sometimes step off to a safer distance. Probably wise. Snort.
Charleston, home of the Bloomsbury Group. Part of my ideal ‘home’