erin

flax-golden tales: mr. buggy bear

mrbuggybear

mr. buggy bear

My little sister has this bear, this really grumpy looking teddy bear that she pushes around in an ancient baby carriage she found at a yard sale. She calls him Mr. Buggy Bear, even though I’m pretty sure she had the bear before she had the buggy to push him in, but whatever.

I had this really lousy day the other day and she insisted that I push Mr. Buggy Bear around. She said it would make me feel better.

Normally I wouldn’t be caught dead pushing a teddy bear around in a baby carriage, but we were in the backyard and no one was around and she seriously never lets anyone touch the bear or the carriage, ever.

So I pushed Mr. Buggy Bear around the backyard in circles while she sat and made daisy chains.

I don’t know how long I pushed him for; I kind of lost track of time.

When it got dark she put a daisy chain on my head and said Mr. Buggy Bear had to go to sleep and then she pushed him into the garage.

And you know, I really did feel better after pushing that creepy bear around. Weird.

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

By erin, ago

this is kyle cassidy’s fault

I don’t actually know Kyle Cassidy but I admire his photography and I read his blog and I covet his coffin coffee table.

A few weeks back he held a contest on his blog giving away some of his fountain pens to penless writers, and to participate you had to take photos of your journals or whatnot & post a sample of your writing.

I thought, Hey, I’m a fountain penless writer! When I write by hand I write in Sharpie!

And then I thought, I am way too shy for this.

Then I said to myself, Erin, why don’t you find an alternative method of procuring a fountain pen if you really want one? Because sometimes I can be quite logical.

But of course I wanted a vintage one, because old things have more story in them and vintage pens seem inherently cooler and more writerly than shiny new ones.

So not really knowing where else to look, I did an Etsy vintage search and happened upon a very cheap, condition unknown green Esterbrook J series fountain pen that had been found at an estate sale. I went ahead and ordered it, thinking it would probably need massive overhaul and wondering what kind of seedy world of vintage pen afficionados I was getting myself into.

Pen arrived with a fair amount of dried blue ink but once it was cleaned and re-inked (in grey, because I became instantly enamored with the idea of writing in grey ink rather than blue or black or sienna or whatnot) it was in perfect working order.

I am now wondering why I had never thought to get a fountain pen before because it is brilliant and magical. I don’t know the history of this particular pen prior to its ending up on Etsy, but I know it’s older than me by a fair amount and it likely had its fair share of adventures before it ended up here in Salem, writing down revision notes about nocturnal circuses.

Within days of writing with it I reworked the entire ending of the revised version of the novel and untangled several troublesome plot points. If this thing ever gets published, remind me to thank Kyle Cassidy in the acknowledgments.

fountain pen 1

fountain pen 2

By erin, ago

unplugged productivity & a kitty in the sunshine

Things I accomplished in my week of little-to-no internets, an unnumbered list.

  • Finished knitting the huge, boa-esque scarf that I have been working on for ages. Photos forthcoming. Of course, now that it is finished it is too warm outside to wear it. I have lousy knitting karma.
  • Read Shaun Tan’s Tales From Outer Suburbia on recommendation from Carey. I was a Tan fan already but this book is lovely bits of whimsical wonderment and I loved it to pieces. A perfect blend of words & pictures. This is going to be one of those books I read over & over, I can tell.
  • Managed to get a whole lot of revising done, including reworking a large part of the ending. I came up with the changes while completely hopped up on Sudafed and unable to breathe properly, but so far they still seem to work. Draft is still a mess, but it’s starting to look novel-shaped again. Sort of. If you squint.
  • Did not manage to properly get rid of this stupid cold. Am mostly better, but still congested. It is the cold that will not die no matter how much tea and vitamin C I give it. It makes me sad. *cough*

In other news, it’s disturbingly spring-like here. We had the windows open yesterday. It kind of freaked me out.

Tessa is enjoying the sunshine.

tessa sunshine march 2010

By erin, ago

flax-golden tales: the oracle tower

oracle tower

the oracle tower

The oracle tower sits in an otherwise empty field, a looming monolith of wood and metal and whatever else oracle towers are made from.

It doesn’t move unless it’s being consulted, or it happens to be a particularly windy day.

People come from all around to consult the oracle tower. For guidance or instructions. For something to point them in the right direction.

As far as I can tell the oracle tower doesn’t actually do anything. Sometimes the arrows spin around or the sunlight reflects off the hubcaps in a sparkly sort of way, but that’s pretty much it.

Some people stand and stare at it for hours, inspecting it from every angle. Others only remain in the field for a few minutes.

But everyone seems satisfied when they leave.

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

By erin, ago

unplugging, sort of

I’m taking this week off from the internet. Mostly. I’ll be checking my e-mail but that’s about it.

Originally I’d intended to do this in order to cocoon myself into the Revisionland Hotel and get large amounts of stuff done rather than little bits and pieces.

Now I have the added bonus of also trying to rid myself of a horrendous head cold that’s been making me a miserable monkey all weekend. I hardly ever get sick and I don’t even remember the last time I felt this ill. My ears hurt.

So I shall be crawling into cups of tea and gargling with cayenne pepper (it works, seriously) and I will be back on Friday with flax-goldens.

If you need me for anything or the internet blows up or you want to send me virtual vitamin C, feel free to e-mail me.

Love & kisses,

e.

By erin, ago

flax-golden tales: perpetual teatime

perpetual teatime

perpetual teatime

My grandmother is a bit on the eccentric side. My father always says it’s because she has too much money, but he gets weird about money things so I’m not really sure that’s it.

I love to visit her house. When I was younger I’d play for hours in the backyard. In the garden there’s this table set for tea but everything is bronze, cups and books and teapot and even the tablecloth. When it rains the cups fill with rainwater and I remember it looked almost like tea to my younger self. I think I tried to drink it once, with some difficulty considering the cups don’t come up from the table.

I asked her about it recently, having gotten old enough to wonder where the table and its contents came from instead of just accepting it as it was. She told me that once it was a regular table and she and my grandfather would sit there and read with their tea every afternoon. After he died she couldn’t bear clearing it away and she hired someone to cover the whole thing in bronze, so their last teatime would stay there, always.

When I visit now I leave roses in the teacups.

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

By erin, ago