2011

some random things and a duck

I still have so much tour stuff to catch up on and dozens of photos to share but at this point I suspect it will be easier to do a recap when I’m home for a decent amount of time.

I went on the shortest trip to London ever on Friday (got in Friday morning, left Saturday morning) to go to the Galaxy Book Awards and wear a sparkly dress and lose the International Author of the Year award to Jennifer Egan (I was rooting for Murakami, myself) and I am still rather baffled and honored that I was included in such esteemed company.

I had an all too brief stay at the St. Pancras Rennaissance Hotel, where the UK launch party I have not yet had time to blog about was held in October. (It’s also the former Midland Grand Hotel, which is featured in The Night Circus.) My room overlooked the adjoining train station. I took the rubber duck from my bathroom home with me. Apologies if I was not supposed to steal him, but how could I not?

He has stars! I love him. And for some reason I did not have a rubber duck, which seems like something everyone should have.

In other news, I hear tell my NaNoWriMo pep talk went out to all you daring NaNo-ers, hurrah! I hope you are properly pepped and inspired and not hitting that week-in “why am I doing this again?” stage now that the initial rush is starting to wear off. I am waving little black & white striped flags of encouragement for you! (The full pep talk is over here if anyone who didn’t get the email or simply isn’t NaNo-ing would like to read it.)

Tomorrow I am off to D.C. for an event at Politics & Prose! Also, I am behind on replying to pretty much anything that requires replying to, but relatively soon I will be off the touring carousel and hopefully I’ll be able to catch back up with my life.

By erin, ago

flax-golden tales: still waiting for prince charming

 

still waiting for prince charming

I found a princess in the woods.

I was pretty sure she was dead, but she’s asleep. She looks dead, with wrong-colored clammy-slimy skin and a decaying gown, but she has a pulse. It’s faint, but it’s definitely a pulse.

I know the proper thing to do in such situations is to wake her with a kiss and I don’t want to, her lips are covered in dirt and moss and she looks like she’s been out here for a good long time. There are bugs in her shoes. She’s clearly been rained on. Her hands were probably folded at some point but one arm has fallen to the side and the fingers are mostly buried in the mud.

I shook her and yelled but that didn’t work, not that I expected it to. I could try to drag her out of the woods, but she’s heavy.

I should probably just call the police.


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

By erin, ago

playlist

I keep meaning to post proper links to my Night Circus playlist & I keep forgetting, so this time I shall not forget and even give them their own post.

The playlist is up on Spotify, here.

It is also up on 8tracks, which gave me a nifty little code for embedding:


You can also read explanations of all these songs over here via largehearted boy’s Book Notes.

By erin, ago

my weekend, with photos

On Saturday morning I left Toronto after a splendid time at the International Festival of Authors, headed to NYC. I was supposed to arrive around 1pm, but then this happened:

This was taken in the Hartford, Connecticut airport after my plane circled and circled and then tried to land in NY and then couldn’t and then landed in Hartford instead. After an hour of looking at the snow they announced that the flight was rescheduled for the next morning. Which, boo. So I took a cab for a very snowy drive to New Haven to catch a train, and the train was going fine until it was no longer going at all, stopped for two hours and then there were more trains and more cabs and I got snowed on and tired and finally got to my hotel just before midnight.

I have lived in New England my entire life and I don’t ever remember a snowstorm like this in October. It is so strange, the autumn-colored trees drenched in winter-white snow. Like a collision of the seasons.

Yesterday I spent a lovely day in NYC, I was there mostly to go to Sleep No More for their Hallowe’en week festivities, in particular for Aphrodite’s Revenge, with an enforced “red & sexy” dress code. Had to get a slinky red dress because for some unknown reason I did not actually own a slinky red dress but now I do and I am sure I will find more opportunities to wear it in the future.

I also did not have the best hotel room for taking photos of said dress, though it was a lovely room.

Sleep No More was, as always, dreamlike and haunting and wondrous. It was my eighth visit, with extra festivities afterward and a wonderful Hallowe’en treat, especially considering I’m spending Hallowe’en proper exhaustedly back in Boston with cupcakes. But one of the cupcakes has a spider on it!

Or did, rather, he’s been eaten. He was tasty.

I am working on getting my tour photos organized so there will be much belated updates at some point. For now I wish you all a Happy Hallowe’en, a Blessed Samhain and a Merry NaNoWriMo Eve!

By erin, ago

flax-golden tales: poor unlucky lucy

poor unlucky lucy

When Lucy died—at that precise moment—everything changed.

She used to say she was just a k away from lucky, that was always the joke though all things considered it wasn’t particularly funny. No one ever wanted to point out that what she really meant she was unlucky.

I had a three AM conversation at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey with someone who told me in a whisper her theory that Lucy’s death unleashed all that unluck out on the rest of us again. It sounded reasonable at the time but questionable in the hungover morning light.

Other people say she’s a classic vengeful spirit, bitter and annoyed by her passing to the point of harassing the living about it out of spite.

It probably doesn’t matter what the cause is, though, since there doesn’t appear to be a solution.

We leave her notes and pearls and almond cakes, but nothing works.

There’s talk about needing larger sacrifices. It must be done, they say, but so far no one has volunteered.


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

By erin, ago

musical interlude

I meant to have time to put together a proper post today, but time, she is a fickle thing.

Instead, have a musical interlude. This album is going to be the soundtrack of my next novel, I can tell already.

By erin, ago