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 & 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.
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.
