erin

nine things for the ninth day of the ninth month

  1. I sent my completed revisions back to Agentland last week.
  2. My revisions did not reach Agentland last week, due to the inconsistent wonderment that is the internet. I blame Mercury in stupid, stupid retrograde.
  3. Revisions are safe & sound in Agentland now, for real & for true.
  4. Instead of being a normal person & taking some time off post-Revisionland, I currently have 22k of a new novel that I started last Wednesday. Yeah.
  5. I really don’t know why I didn’t get Florence + the Machine’s Lungs ages ago instead of this afternoon. Am in music love. Reminds me of Bat for Lashes.
  6. Still fooling around with the new camera lens, thus, low-light photo of the statue of Thoth next to the computer:
  7. I wish I’d discovered that BPAL sugar notes smell divine on me years ago, because I feel like I’ve missed out on a lot of lovely scents. I have the 2010 version of Sugar Skull on right now and it’s gooooooorgeous.
  8. Nine things was probably too ambitious, wasn’t it? I just liked the theme, what with the date.
  9. Yeah, I got nothing. Ah well.
By erin, ago

flax-golden tales: preamble to an unwritten fairy tale

preamble to an unwritten fairy tale

She buys the rose from a traveling merchant selling all manner of wares, likely plundered from pirates or stolen from other more reputable merchants. A twitchy sort of man, glancing nervously over his shoulders and ready to pack up his cart at any moment.

Normally, she would not do business with such a seller, but the rose itself is irresistible.

Not a real rose. A contraption of softest fabric and gears that blooms with a twirl of the hand and closes back in on itself with another twirl, moving from bud to blossom and back again.

But its scent is that of a perfect, garden-fresh rose, real and rich and deep.

She spends her last coins on it, though it is a foolish, unnecessary purchase.

She twirls it as she walks, smiling as the petals close and unfurl.

Not yet knowing that the rose’s proper owner wants it back, and has the means to track it down.

Eventually, there will be a love story, but that is a tale for another time.

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

By erin, ago

beyond revisionland & also an albino squirrel

I am out of Revisionland for the moment. Beyond Revisionland looks an awful lot like Revisionland, but Septembery.

I spent most of last week finishing & polishing & re-polishing. I’ve lost all perspective, which is usually a sign that I need to stop looking at it for awhile, so it’s gone off to Agentland.

I spent all day yesterday reading Mockingjay. I’m very conflicted about it, and I suspect I’ll be processing my thoughts on it for a good long while. I mostly enjoyed it while I was reading but I just didn’t love it the way I loved The Hunger Games & Catching Fire. I think part of it is the scope. While HG & CF had a lovely, intimate immediacy to the circumstances,  Mockingjay is much more vast, and I’m not sure how well it wears it.

Also, during Revisionland internet hiatus, I got my albino squirrel from Sleepy King.

Because, well, I needed an albino squirrel.

Squirrel photo taken with my new camera lens that just came in the mail today. I’ve been meaning to take more photos & I always get good Salem shots in the autumn, so I figured I’d invest in a new lens. It’s a Canon 50mm f/1.8 II and no, I totally don’t know what it means other than it does that fuzzy background thing I love, and from a few minutes of playing around with it, it takes gorgeous photos of kittens.

This may be the first time I’ve ever caught the Tessa yell on camera.

Still getting used to it, but so far I kind of love it. A few more shots of Tess are over on my oft-neglected Flickr photostream.

In other news, summer decided to have a last hurrah so it is far too hot, and I kind of don’t know what to do with myself now that I’m out of Revisionland. Maybe I’ll take more photos of kittens. Or peek at one of those WIPs that I’ve been neglecting. Or knit. Or something.

By erin, ago

flax-golden tales: technicolor enlightenment

technicolor enlightenment

We always drive without a destination. Destinations are overrated.

The most interesting places are never found on purpose.

Or they don’t seem interesting unless they’re unexpected.

Decaying mini-golf courses. Laundromats. 24-hour diners that consent to grilling bagels.

Mundanities in daytime made mystical by moonlight and neon.

As we search for technicolor enlightenment at 3am.

Wondering if we’ll remember it in the morning should we find it.

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

By erin, ago

mini-hiatus

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!

By erin, ago

flax-golden tales: maxfield parrish sky

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.

By erin, ago