Been away writing

PEI Lighthouse by Raceytay

3-ring binders, Make Your Nest

Kodak Brownie camera, luncheonettevintage

rotary dial phone, Calloocallay

1950s shot glasses, luncheonettevintage

College diner sneakers, luncheonettevintage

Rosehip soap by Rockytop

jadite plate

Crescent Beach postcard, Oregon, the old barn door

Truth is, I've been writing right here. At the kitchen table. Truth is, that's where it works the best. But my brain's been at the beach. That's the only way. At night, dogs milling around me, we all take a walk and watch the evening pushing the field grass towards the fence that divides us from the old meadow. The sun starts going down. I hear water.

Fast forward a hundred and something weeks


To be honest, I had this blog for the sake of my book being out, because I wanted it to function as a kind of trumpet section, tootling fanfares for anyone who happened to notice. But since the book came out my life has changed, let's say, immeasurably. And being unable to measure just how amazing those changes have been, I just decided to let the trumpets toot until they got tired, and then fade out gently. And I imagined a little deserted yard filled with trumpets in varying stages of tarnish and decay, and noone to pick them up and point to the sky. But I couldn't maintain that idea. I felt terrible about it.

Meanwhile the changes kept changing and the book kept living and oddly enough, when I least expected it, there was that bleating sound again, the Vivaldi of hope curling all over the place with its little frippery of notes. So I decided what the hey.

Ever since the age of 4 I have been wearing sailor dresses and writing and that is not going to change. At the age of 10 I was given a gold horseshoe with a little bell ringing from it, and I hung it around my neck as I trotted around a ring on palomino morgan whose name I swore I'd never forget. But I can wear the bell again. And will.