erin

tales from the revisionland hotel

I’ve been missing in action because I’ve been sequestered in the Revisionland Hotel.

It’s a lovely place, really. The bar is lively and full of characters and complimentary beverages of questionable content. Room service brings pens and paper, chocolate and caffeine.

I’ve been here so long I started managing the place. I wish I was kidding.

But really, I knew I was going to have to rip my manuscript apart and rework it heavily in November.

I took November off to write the first draft of a different novel.

I took December mostly off because it was holiday-ridden and cold.

I started working on it, really working on it and not just thinking about it and jotting down notes, in January.

It’s going to be done tomorrow. This is not an April Fool.

I still have a few things to change and I think I need to adjust the end a bit, but it’s novel-shaped again and I think it’s shaped like a better novel than it was before, but I need some second opinions.

Sometime tomorrow this massive overhaul of a revision will be sent off to the wonderful world of beta readers.

Once they have it I think I’ll be hanging out in the Hotel bar for awhile.

By erin, ago

flax-golden tales: seasonal technicality

seasonal technicality

seasonal technicality

The equinox has come and gone but winter didn’t seem to pay it any mind. Perhaps it likes it here and wants to stay. An extended holiday.

So there are no singing birds. No crocuses pushing up anxiously through the dirt.

Not yet.

The ground is still mostly frozen and boot-crunchy underneath the leafless sketchbook trees.

Bare branches reaching for blue sky.

Longing for spring.

When technically it’s already here, as far as the movement of the sun is concerned.

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

By erin, ago

bucket in spring

Today is Bucket’s birthday. She is seven years old.

Normally she is an equinox baby, but this year the equinox was yesterday. Maybe that’s why she was so cranky about letting me take birthday photos.

bucket age 7

I tried. I did. She would not look at the camera no matter how I pleaded and waved things. I think she was shunning me because I brushed her first.

Ah well. She is not as much of a camera lover as her sister, but she’s still a pretty princess.

bucket age 7 closeup

Happy Birthday, fluffiest of Fluffy Buckets!

By erin, ago

flax-golden tales: fairy trap

fairy trap

fairy trap

All you need to catch a fairy is an old birdhouse and some shiny stuff. You know, like glass and glitter, or pieces of colored plastic or metal things that’ll sparkle when the sun hits them.

You can paint the birdhouse, but it doesn’t really matter what color. It’s not like how hummingbirds like red things, fairies aren’t that picky.

So you take your birdhouse and shiny stuff and just hang it somewhere. High but not too high. Trees are good but fairies are everywhere so trees aren’t like, a requirement.

You don’t even need to put anything over the birdhouse entrance. Once they get in they won’t be able to figure out how to get out.

Fairies are kind of stupid.

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

By erin, ago

more about cookies than LOST

The boy and I are LOST junkies, but you knew this.

We have a little bit of a bet going this season, regarding the identity of a certain character’s ex-wife.

This is the wager:

milanos

If I’m right, I get the entire bag of Milanos.

If I’m wrong, he gets the entire bag.

Why Milanos, you ask? Because earlier this season in a relevant episode a character opens a bag of Milanos and only takes one cookie. Seriously, who does that? Only one Milano? Milanos are like, cookie heaven. You take the entire shelf if you’re not going to just succumb to eating the entire bag. One solitary Milano cookie is a sad, sad thing.

The only problem is we have no idea when the answer will be revealed. We’re probably going to have to hide the bag.

By erin, ago

flax-golden tales: mr. buggy bear

mrbuggybear

mr. buggy bear

My little sister has this bear, this really grumpy looking teddy bear that she pushes around in an ancient baby carriage she found at a yard sale. She calls him Mr. Buggy Bear, even though I’m pretty sure she had the bear before she had the buggy to push him in, but whatever.

I had this really lousy day the other day and she insisted that I push Mr. Buggy Bear around. She said it would make me feel better.

Normally I wouldn’t be caught dead pushing a teddy bear around in a baby carriage, but we were in the backyard and no one was around and she seriously never lets anyone touch the bear or the carriage, ever.

So I pushed Mr. Buggy Bear around the backyard in circles while she sat and made daisy chains.

I don’t know how long I pushed him for; I kind of lost track of time.

When it got dark she put a daisy chain on my head and said Mr. Buggy Bear had to go to sleep and then she pushed him into the garage.

And you know, I really did feel better after pushing that creepy bear around. Weird.

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

By erin, ago