technicolor enlightenment

We always drive without a destination. Destinations are overrated.

The most interesting places are never found on purpose.

Or they don’t seem interesting unless they’re unexpected.

Decaying mini-golf courses. Laundromats. 24-hour diners that consent to grilling bagels.

Mundanities in daytime made mystical by moonlight and neon.

As we search for technicolor enlightenment at 3am.

Wondering if we’ll remember it in the morning should we find it.

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.


The end of Revisionland is in sight. There’s something bright up ahead that looks like September, maybe. I can’t tell.

Taking a mini internet hiatus for the week in an attempt to finish this thing. Still checking e-mail. Will be back on Friday.

We’re working hard around here.

Especially Tessa.

Hope y’all have lovely weeks!

maxfield parrish sky

She asked me if you could take the train to heaven, because that’s where it looked like the tracks were going. Disappearing into the horizon below a Maxfield Parrish sky.

When I was her age, I thought you could reach the sky if you walked far enough.

That somewhere there was an edge to step off, into the clouds.

I think I tried, once or twice, walking until I was too tired or bored to continue.

Those Maxfield Parrish skies were always the most tempting, the ones that caught the light just right so they looked like so much more than clouds and sky and sun.

No, I told her. The train stays on the tracks.

How do you get to heaven, then? she asked, staring at the clouds.

I didn’t know what to say.

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.


We have this long blank wall in the hallway.

From time to time I thought of putting decals on it or something, but it seemed like too much effort for a space we only ever spend seconds at a time passing through.

Then we found this set of skeleton keys, and it seemed a good place for them.

They make me inexplicably happy when I walk down the hallway now. But I have a thing for keys.

In other news, I’ve finally reached the end of my first pass revision-wise. I still have a long list of beta notes and adjustments to make, with more to come, but the major changes are done so the rest should ideally be minor things and polishing.

The full draft will be finished by the end of the month. Summer in the Revisionland Hotel has been interesting, to say the least.

tessa + box = <3

Tessa & a Rather Small USPS Priority Mail Box

a love story in photos

She’s been in there practically nonstop for a week.

She’s never going to let me recycle that box.

tiny cathedrals

I will build tiny cathedrals in your name.

Constructing each by hand to be certain that their foundations are sound.

Time may weather them.

It will not matter.

If one falls, I will build another to replace it.

And another and another and another.

At night, I will illuminate them so they may shine like beacons in the darkness.

I shall write you hymns and sing your praises to the leaves, so they can remember.

And carry the thought of you within their veins.

They will spread like gospel when the autumn winds come.

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.

in lieu of content

I am so deep in Revisionland it’s absurd. I am attempting to finish this draft by the end of the month, which is reasonable, but means the rest of the month is going to be very busy.

Like, I might not read Mockingjay until a week after it comes out busy. I know.

So in lieu of actual blog content this week, here is a photograph of a pomegranate.

mightier than the sword

There is a movement happening, a quiet one.

A low-profile, low-resolution revolution.

Comprised of writers and dreamers, of guerrilla artists and thought-ninjas.

Those with something to say.

They communicate through text inscribed on true public spaces, rather than blogs and forums.

Choosing fewer words, even without being bound by 140 character limits.

Using ink instead of pixels.

Sending messages in living, breathing space.

Pens scream louder into the void.

Even if permanent ink is not aptly named.

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.

  1. Nathan Bransford’s post on  “Lost” and the High Narrative Price of WTF. Nails a lot of my lingering LOST issues.
  2. My new Droid Incredible is my friend. My fancypants friend who confuses me with all its skillz & I’m still learning to type on properly, but I love love love having a phone that does more than make phone calls. Not that I can do much more than make phone calls and tweet on it right now.
  3. I am officially sick of summer and it can be glorious, glorious autumn any time now. Seriously. This humidity can die. The kitten flop-o-meter was off the charts today.
  4. I am, as you probably guessed, still deep in Revisionland. Like, Inception-style multi-level deep. It’s going really, really well, but there’s still a good long ways to go.
  5. I love when, in the midst of researching, I find historical things that walked right out of my imagination, like this House of Worth evening gown, circa 1898-1900.