editing

I am back in Revisionland. I kind of missed it.

It also feels really nice to be actively working on the book again, since the last month has been a whirlwind of bubbly alcohol and foreign rights news and I’ve been trying my best to distract myself with other things. I’ve been knitting. Slowly. I worked a bit on the in-progress not-book-yet thing. I baked apple goat cheese tartlets.

But mostly I’ve been sitting here thinking, um… can I have it back, please? I know you all seem to think it’s really good but I can make it better and also there’s a typo on page 213.

And now I have it back, hurrah! I have my editorial letter from my brilliant editor and my marked-up manuscript.

Tessa's helping me edit. Look, color-coding!


I thought maybe all the red ink would be intimidating or nerve-wracking, but mostly it’s just exciting. Every note is insightful, there are so many opportunities for improvement.

And even though there are a lot of notes and several significant things to work on, it all feels reasonable and manageable. It’ll be a good amount of work but really, I want it to be as good as it can possibly be. And I’ve played this revision game before, just not on this detailed a level.

I’m getting myself organized. I have notes and a few things sketched out for potential additional scenes. I am far too excited about my Post-It flags. I may have color-coded by editorial points and themes. Possibly.

It’s glorious, glorious autumn outside, bright and crisp, and there is a small yippy dog walking by my window. I have a novel to improve and there’s a bottle of Baileys Irish Cream with caramel in my refrigerator.

The only way I could be better is if I still had apple goat cheese tartlets. I might have to bake some more.

flax-golden tales: impractical footwear

impractical footwear

“Are you really wearing those shoes?” the girl next to me asks in the pre-midnight lull before everything starts, looking down at my feet. From her tone I’m guessing her expression is some combination of incredulous and disgusted, but it’s too dark to see much of her face.

“Well, yeah,” I say, because they’re the only pair I have. They have decent traction, and I can run pretty fast in them.

“It’s your funeral,” she says, and I can see the dismissive shrug clearly in the moonlight as she turns away.

She’s wearing tall boots with zippers up the sides. They look heavy and they crunch the leaves a lot more than my sneakers do, so I don’t get why she’s playing the superior footwear card.

After midnight, I get about ten paces before I figure it out, tangled in cobwebs over a freshly turned grave.

I should have guessed that shoes with laces give them something else to grab on to.

Making it that much harder to get away.

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

anniversary & apples

Today is wedding anniversary number four, and the boy and I spent it as is somewhat traditional, galavanting around New Hampshire and picking apples. (Last year it was cold & rainy, so we went to see Sleep No More instead. Oh, Sleep No More, I miss you so.)

Apparently it was not a great year for apples, but we ended up with a large bag of Mutzus anyway. I am plotting an apple goat cheese tart for the weekend. It was lovely and sunny and we bought pumpkins and I took lots of photos, the best of which are up on Flickr.

After we got back to Salem we went out for dinner and had lots of food and wine and excellent tiramisu.

And this was my anniversary present:

Persephone’s jewel, from Blood Milk on Etsy. I have coveted it for ages and it is even more beautiful in person.

Had a marvelous day. Can hardly believe it’s been four years already. Apparently traditional fourth anniversary giftage is fruit & flowers. Well, we do have apples.

tessa and a box. again.

Yet another Tessa + Box = TRUE LOVE story that will leave the kitten crushed and broken-hearted when I must recycle the box.

She’ll find another (inevitably doomed) cardboard love. She’s resilient.

flax-golden tales: a suitor spurned

a suitor spurned

I met him at a party.

I told him he was sweet, but not my type.

It wasn’t exactly a lie.

It’s not like I threw the glass of wine he bought me in his face for asking or anything.

I tried to be nice about it.

But now, whenever I go outside, flocks of birds follow me.

Even statues of birds turn their heads to watch with vacant stares as I pass by.

It’s like being in a Hitchcock movie.

I’m not sure if they’ll lose interest eventually or if they’re just waiting for the right moment to swoop down and peck my eyes out.

I wish someone had told me who he was before I turned him down.

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

salem in october

We went to the Salem Haunted Happenings Grand Parade tonight.

Most of my photos are blurry, but some of them are fun anyway.

I think the best part was likely the East Beverly All-Star Lawn Chair Drill Team, as always, but the band playing industrial goth covers of 80s songs was also made of win. I never knew Genesis songs could sound so hardcore.

There were also a number of adorable doggies. Some of them in costume.

And pirates.

And after getting a Pumpkinfest beer, we passed this guy on the way home:

I love this crazy town. A few more occasionally blurry photos are over on my Flickr photostream.