I received a rather rained-on cardboard box this morning.

This is what was inside:

These are Advance Reader Copies of THE NIGHT CIRCUS. Commonly referred to as ARCs, which I’m still not entirely sure stands for Advanced Reading or Advance Reader or some combination thereof. I’m pretty certain that the C is for Copy, though. Even though these say “Edition” on the front.

They’re hard to photograph because all of the silver is metallic and shiny. They’re really gorgeous, and this isn’t even the final cover.

I have been dying to share a look at the interior design ever since saw a preview of it ages ago, because I absolutely adore it, and now I have permission to share.

I’d tell you I love it so much because I think it’s evocative of both the Stargazer and the bonfire, but that wouldn’t make sense to that many of you yet. Ah well.

I only have ten copies so I am thinking very carefully about what to do with each one. There will likely be some sort of contest/giveaway at some point.

And I kind of want to leave one in some mysterious location somewhere and give clues to find it. Maybe after the snow melts.

zombie snow squirrels on the rampage

“There is no such thing as a zombie snow squirrel,” I say, even though he has his serious eyebrows on. Normally the eyebrows are a good indicator as to whether or not he’s kidding.

“You don’t get out much, do you?” he asks, rhetorical because he knows the answer. “The squirrels go mad from lack of acorns and too much snow and when they can’t take it anymore they go into this sort of undead coma thing and then they rampage.”

“They rampage?”

“Yeah. Rampaging zombie snow squirrels are always a problem this time of year. I can get you a slingshot if you don’t have one. It’s a halfway decent way to fend them off unless you get ambushed.”

I wait for him to laugh, but he doesn’t.

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

february music

Told you I had all sorts of things to write about.

Downloaded the new Radiohead, The King of Limbs, on Saturday. Not loving it the same way I loved In Rainbows, but it’s growing on me. It makes for rather good music to leave on and ignore. I mean that as a compliment.

Got the new Adele album, 21, yesterday and I love it like candy. I was already obsessed with “Rolling In the Deep” and the rest of the album is equally marvelous. And it has a cover of The Cure’s “Lovesong” that’s just delicious.

I’m kind of obsessed with the video for “Rolling In the Deep,” too:

It reminds me of the circus in an odd sort of way. Maybe it’s the paper city. Or the broken teacups. Or the room full of powder fog.

I don’t know, but it makes me happy.


A few days ago I felt like I had nothing to write about and now I have a bunch of things, so I’ll spread them out over the course of the week and possibly into next week depending on how distracted I get. Excuse me, I have to get Tessa off of the scanner.

Okay, scanner is now kittenless.  Today’s proper topic now that we’ve passed the misbehaving kitten interlude: photos!

Last week I had a photo session with the marvelous & talented Kelly Davidson for my author photos. I’d contacted her awhile ago about doing them but we had to work around schedules & a whole lot of snow.

We had a wonderful time despite the cold when we braved the treacherous icy sidewalks & the photos turned out fabulous, of course.

The one that’s going to be the official shot is now hanging out on my about page, and here’s a peek at a few of the others:

(The best of the umbrella shots will likely show up somewhere in the future, so for now it shall remain a secret.)

I highly recommend Kelly if you’re in the Boston area & need a photographer for any reason whatsoever. (Also, you should peruse her photostream, her recent photos from Paris are gorgeous.)

And I’m still impressed that my hair stayed mostly well-behaved.

Unlike Tessa, who is now on the printer. Sigh.

always watching

You can’t hide from eyes that never close.

Not even a blink, ever.

We’ve tried distractions, but they don’t work.

Even if the eyes glance to the side for a moment, it isn’t enough time to get the door open. And even if it was, only one of us could get through without being seen. Maybe two.

They say the door isn’t even locked, but no one’s really sure about that because they only got close enough to turn the handle once.

That was before my time, and no one really likes to talk about what happened after that, even though we’re pretty sure no one can hear us talking.

They’re just always watching.


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

I totally don’t care if open umbrellas indoors are supposedly bad luck. It’s too fabulous to save for the rain.

I just need to keep it away from the cats, because they think it’s fascinating when it spins.

carousel elephant

No one ever wants to ride the elephant on the carousel.

Even though he moves just as gracefully as the horses.

The choosing is done before the ride is put in motion, out of necessity.

And first impressions are all the riders have to go on.

The elephant looks heavy, despite the impressive trunk held aloft and sturdy legs poised mid-gallop.

It’s usually the slowest runners, the last to climb aboard that end up on the elephant, with frowns of disappointment looming over his golden tusks.

But when the tempo of the music changes, when the space between feet and floor increases exponentially and the carousel spins ever faster…

Then the elephant riders are pleased with their good fortune.

No one is ever thrown from the elephant on the carousel.

The same cannot be said for the horses.

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

Change of scenery! This is where I’m sitting this week, going over my first pass pages. I will likely not be online all that much while I read and re-read pretty, pretty pages. Tessa keeps stealing my chair if I abandon it for too long, so I should probably get back there.

(And I should really throw away that mini pumpkin on the windowsill. It’s been there since October. It’s probably frozen.)

Also, if you click this link you will find a baby antelope with the littlest legs and teensy feets and I don’t even know how he’s standing up and I love him.

not in narnia anymore

They kept saying that it would stop, making predictions based on patterns in the wind and unseen stars and archaic interpretations of the behaviors of woodland creatures.

Just a few more weeks, they said. Months ago.

This storm shall be the last, they said.

And then there was another, and another.

And another.

The branches are breaking from the weight.

I keep looking for a lamppost, but I can’t tell east from west without the sun anymore, so I don’t know if landmarks would help.

Even the horizon disappears into the snow.

And there’s nothing in the endless cold to point me home.

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