erin

links in lieu of actual post.

I am still in post-moving recovery mode. There are lots of cardboard boxes involved.

It is also my birthday tomorrow.

So I will still be internet-light for a bit while I’m settling in and turning thirty-three and all.

In the meantime, here are some Night Circus related interview-y articles to peruse:

Word & Film: Coming to – and Casting The Night Circus with Erin Morgenstern

&

Digital Book World: A Ticket to The Night Circus

Now I just need to figure out where to procure cake tomorrow, since my cake-baking supplies are still packed.

By erin, ago

flax-golden tales: sunken ships and siren songs

sunken ships & siren songs

They say the sea is filled with nothing but claw-snapping creatures and danger. That it should be avoided at all costs, that it is something to fear.

I can’t be certain, but I think they’re wrong. I have glimpsed gardens of coral through rippling waves, explored stately sunken ships in half-remembered dreams with seaweed tangled in my hair.

Even when I’m awake I hear the siren songs that no one else can discern, their ears too full of air to interpret the water sounds.

They tease me when I try to explain. Joke that my long-dead mother must have been a mermaid. Sometimes I wonder if it’s true.

I sit alone on the forbidden shore, drowning my longing in salt-tinged wine and listening to the songs in the waves as they fall against the rocks, begging me to come home.

Wishing I could drink myself to the bottom of the sea where I belong.

 

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

By erin, ago

flax-golden tales: precarious

precarious

There are more birds who cannot fly than you might expect. And those who simply choose not to, for their own personal reasons.

Grounded by choice or broken wings or lousy magnetoception.

Though only occasionally is such a phenomena based on fear of heights.

So many flightless birds still climb to tops of buildings or trees, sit happily on electrical wires or water towers.

The perches are sometimes precarious.

But they always have the best views.

And even broken-wing birds are able to see for miles.

Observing astounding sights in feather-ruffling breezes.

Closer to the clouds.

 

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

By erin, ago

it is a very strange yet wonderful thing to hear words you wrote read by jim dale

I took a very quick trip down to NYC because the audiobook of THE NIGHT CIRCUS is being recorded this week. I almost didn’t since I am crazy busy with moving things but I am thrilled that I did because it was marvelous.

I will admit I have not heard more than snippets of the Harry Potter audiobooks so my “that would be fabulous” response to “how would you feel about Jim Dale doing the audio version?” was mostly based on his narration from Pushing Daisies, I knew he had that wonderful classic storyteller voice. It was absolutely marvelous to get to meet him and everyone working on the recording and everyone was simply delightful.

Jim Dale & me:

There are more pictures over here of various adorable smiling people in the studio courtesy of the lovelies at Random House Audio.

Here’s a sneak peak (sneak listen?) at page one:

 


 

I was not there for that particular bit but I did get to hear from around page 97 to page 113, which was a rather good range of characters and voices. I thought beforehand that it was going to sound more strange to my ears than it did, it ended up being this wonderful amalgamation of the way it sounds in my head with its own distinct sound layered over top and the result is delightful. Jim truly has the perfect storyteller voice and I couldn’t be more pleased.

The audio version will be available in September when the book comes out, and I’m sure it will be absolutely magical.

By erin, ago

flax-golden tales: hotel story

hotel story

It used to be the kind of place that bubbled with stories to the point of overflowing.

Guests could hardly keep up with the gossip.

Every night another happening.

Another scandal.

The things the walls in Room 419 might say if they could talk.

(The walls on the fourth floor are mute, a quality coveted by certain guests, though the light fixtures have been known to whisper.)

But that was back in the day, or the night, rather, it was always more story-filled at night.

Most of the rooms are empty now.

Storyless.

Waiting impatiently for new ones.

 

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

By erin, ago