September 2010

flax-golden tales: advice for the sixth task

advice for the sixth task

There are only seven Tasks.

Not that many, really.

And they do not necessarily need to be accomplished in numerical order.

Truly, it would be easier to obtain the Copper Chalice (Task three) if you already possess the Cloak of Sorrow (procured in Task five, if you do it properly).

If you succeed, wonders beyond your wildest dreams shall be yours.

That is, if you manage to get past the flamingos in order to complete the sixth Task.

The flamingos defeated so many who have gone before you.

I’ll give you a hint.

They’re not really asleep.

And they’re not really flamingos.

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

By erin, ago

tousled & autumnal

It’s autumn! For reals! I have socks on! My coffee was pumpkin flavored this morning! It was iced coffee, but still. Autumn! Oh, how I adore you, season of mists & mellow fruitfulness.

The circus is officially out of my hands. It’s strange, but it’s been a long time coming. So while occasionally glancing wistfully in the direction of the Revisionland Hotel, I’m working on a new novel. Right now it’s grown-up Alice in a 40s noir-inspired Wonderland. I have a couple of languishing works in progress that I probably could have gotten back to, but my brain was craving something new. I’ve written 25k in just over a week. I need to read some more detective novels to get the flavor right, but so far it’s interesting.

And I decided I needed some updated photos of myself, so the boy indulged me in a photo session yesterday. Still getting used to the new camera lens, but after some trial & error, I’m pretty pleased with the results. The best ones are now on the about page, and here’s how the rest of that hair tousle went:

By erin, ago

flax-golden tales: risk & reward

risk & reward

A game is not really a game unless it has proper stakes, she says.

If I lose, she gets my heart.

I ask her what I get if I win, because I don’t particularly want her heart.

She laughs.

What do you want? she asks. More than anything in the world?

I tell her.

She considers my request for quite awhile, but then she says it can be done, should I win.

So I agree to her terms.

I don’t tell her that I never lose, but she figures that out within the first few moves.

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

By erin, ago

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