erin

flax-golden tales: polar

polar

I was three when I fell in the polar bear pool at the zoo.

My parents say it’s a miracle that I didn’t drown.

Always that I didn’t drown. Not that I didn’t get eaten by the polar bear. Maybe they don’t like to consider that possibility.

I don’t remember much of it. I’m not even sure how I managed to fall in, and everyone else’s recollections of the actual air-to-water transition vary.

I remember how bright and blue the water was.

I remember how desperately I wanted the polar bear to be friends with me.

Sometimes in my dreams I am back in that impossibly blue water, and sometimes it feels like home.

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

By erin, ago

concord

I wanted to go on an excursion today, so we took a drive out to Concord.

It was a gorgeous day for it, sunny but not hot. We saw lots of adorable dogs and almost ran over a great many cyclists. Also, there were very loud geese.

We walked around the Old North Bridge area for awhile, and then went over to Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, so now I have my own photos of the graves from Author’s Ridge that are more or less exactly the same as the ones from the Wikipedia entry. (Apparently they forgot Hawthorne, just like I did.)

There are more photos on my Flickr photostream. And I have a new photo of me up on my about page, too, so that’s actually up-to-date for a change.

It’s an odd sort of day when you find yourself standing on Ralph Waldo Emerson’s grave. Good, but odd.

By erin, ago

flax-golden tales: enjoy your stay

enjoy your stay

The Hotel is a place that is stumbled upon, often unexpectedly, by anyone who is in need of a stay.

There is already a reservation in their name at the desk.

A suite awaits with wrapped chocolates poised precariously on perfectly fluffed pillows.

Room service brings anything a guest might desire, completely free of charge.

(And they do mean anything.)

The light in the hallways is soft and pleasing to the eye, no harsh fluorescents casting twitching shadows.

The entire Hotel, from the lobby to the penthouse, is glowing and serene.

It is an oasis from the outside world. A respite in which anything can be accomplished.

And still, guests spend most of their time in the bar.

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

By erin, ago

post-revisionland

And revisions are done. Beta-ed, adjusted again, re-beta-ed & polished to a high shine.

It is almost disgusting how much better it is than the last draft. Seriously.

I’m not leaving the Revisionland Hotel because I have too many friends here and I like the bar. But I’m done. Done done done.

Sending the New & Improved version back to agents first thing tomorrow. Kind of baffled that I’ve finally reached this point.

Anyway, while I was unplugged last week I did mostly nothing but rewrite and rework and make good sentences great and listen to so much Pandora radio (Arcade Fire station) that I blew my 40 free hours for the month. Might have to invest in fancypants Pandora.

Y’all were also spared a rant about last week’s LOST. Um, I still love it like candy but that episode made me mad. Like, livid, throwing things mad. And not just because I love Frank. Sigh. Am nervous about the rest of the season. I didn’t think they’d be able to lose me at this point, but now I’m kind of concerned.

I also started knitting a new scarf, because nothing says spring like new scarves.

Not sure what I’m going to do with myself once this thing is out of my hands again. Reading & yoga, most likely. For now I have champagne sorbet.

By erin, ago

flax-golden tales: this is not twue wuv

this is not twue wuv

You send me all these roses.

Every time I think the last bouquet has arrived, finally, another turns up.

I’m running out of vases.

I didn’t know roses came in so many colors.

You say they’re the perfect symbols of love because they have thorns and love is pain.

I say life is pain, highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.

And you don’t get it.

You say you love me, but you don’t speak my language.

You don’t even realize I’m an orchid girl.

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

By erin, ago

unplugging again

I am sequestering myself in the Revisionland Hotel this week.

I am very close to done with my additional, post-beta reader revisions. I am extremely pleased with all the changes so far, and what’s left is all sorts of thoughtful detail stuff. I’ve rebuilt the entire room and now I have to finalize the window treatments and upholstery and possibly move that one chair into the other corner where it will get better light.

Excuse me whilst I make interior decorating analogies about writing.

Anyway, in order to focus on revisions I am taking the week off from the internet.

I will be checking my e-mail if you need me for anything.

I will be back on Friday with this week’s flax-golden tale.

I hope y’all have lovely weeks!

<3

e.

By erin, ago