It’s a tad nippy currently, the sort of cold that makes me consider sleeping with the pipes in the basement to encourage them to stay warm.
I’m going to start something new here, hopefully next week. I’m lining up writers to interview about their writing, and their approach to writing, and where their writing grows from, and anything else that makes its way onto my list of questions. I’m unbearably curious about most things, and writing even more so. Not so much the “and then I sent out ten queries letters and got an agent and had an auction” end of things, but rather the itch that makes a writer write. And conducting interviews gives me an excellent excuse to be nosy. I have my first writer ready, a wonderful poet, and I can’t wait to start.
I’ll be back tomorrow with my post for The Next Big Thing blog hop. If you’re not familiar with it, check out M.E. Garber’s post here.
Actually, let’s say that I’ll be back here tomorrow as long as I don’t end up an icicle first.
I’ve been married sixteen years this week. We’d been together for four years before we got married, and there hadn’t really been any question in our minds that it would be a permanent sort of thing from the beginning. The wedding was more an opportunity to let everyone else in on the secret.
But, also being kind of into the fun of things, we decided to get engaged first. That piece would only last for three months–I had a very ill grandfather who I really wanted to have present at the wedding–but it felt like the sort of thing we’d only get to do once in our lifetime.
This is how the becoming engaged bit went down for us. On a fine Wednesday night, at roughly 9:30, as we got ready for bed, Jon asked if I wanted my surprise now or at dinner on Friday. (Did I mention Jon has a bit of an impulse control problem when it comes to surprises?) Me being me, I shrugged and said “whenever.” Jon, in underwear and a t-shirt, hurried off to the dresser and pulled out the ring and asked me to marry him. I, perhaps lacking a bit in the girlish excitement department, said “are you kidding?”
Somewhere after that we managed to get everything straightened out.
That’s sort of been how things go for us. A first attempt at a romantic dinner ending with Jon accidentally dumping an entire pot of spaghetti down the drain. A wedding in which we forced one of my brothers to sing a song written for a soprano, and the other to read an poem that was perhaps a bit more of a challenge than we had thought. A ceremony of passing our rings to everyone present so they could bless them that ended with my fairly deaf grandfather shouting “What the h*** am I supposed to do with these?” A sort of endless tumbling chaos that we somehow manage to sort our way through together.
It’s been an adventure so far, Jonathan. I wouldn’t trade a single step of it.
Just a little something to go with the solstice and the general lack of total apocalypse today. Wren–knife-wielding, mind-reading, girl-loving Wren–has an agent. I suppose it would be more correct to say that I now have an agent, but that feels funny to me. So we’ll say the honor is Wren’s today.
I’m excited about this new partnership. Once I’ve had a chance for the idea of it to settle in a bit, I’ll tell more. I expect I’ll be scarce for the next few days to a week as I spend time with family, and compress a year’s worth of baking into a weekend.
In the meantime, I wish you all the blessings of warmth and love. May there be joy coming for you. May you look up into a night sky full of stars. May you have peace.
I’m home. We have a working source of heat. Unfortunately, the house is roughly 50 degrees at the moment, which means hugging my cup of tea is less luxury and more necessity right now. There are far worse situations to be in, so I’ll hug my tea happily.
Good things of note: kind people are wonderful. I really don’t have any more to say on the subject. They just are.
I’ll come back soon to post something other than griping. (No, no exciting news or anything, just a promise to do more than complain.) In the meantime, I have to go rewrite a synopsis for Wren, and reassure the cats that they will not have to go live in a strange basement again anytime soon. Although the thought of napping in my own bed is a tantalizing one….
So, I said twenty-four hours, but apparently I meant a week. Sometimes life goes like that. Sometimes you discover you have ten thumbs, and writing is all but impossible, even when you just want to write something brief and helpful.
Strange Horizons is holding its annual fund drive. All the important details can be found here. Remember, Strange Horizons is staffed entirely by volunteers. All money raised goes towards things like buying stories and poems and nonfiction. This year their goal is higher than in past years, as they would like to increase their pay rates for poetry and nonfiction, and I’d love to see them achieve it.
A well-edited magazine creates its own world, just as surely as a writer creates hers with her writing. The one to be found at Strange Horizons is alive and thriving, honest and beautiful. Please consider supporting it.
I drink a lot of tea. I drink tea from the largest mugs we have, more like baby beer steins than mugs. Gray, with brown and blue stripes, and handles large enough to keep my knuckles from pressing against the hot surface.
I have a wonderful small cast iron teapot that I used to use for masala chai. Then I discovered that I really can’t handle the caffeine in black tea. I could switch to decaf, I suppose, or I could put some other looseleaf tea in it, but I don’t. For me, the pot exists to hold just one kind of tea. Hope, it also holds my hope, funny as it sounds, that someday I’ll be the sort of person who can drink caffeinated chai without ending up in a panic.
Instead, I drink peppermint tea. I drink jasmine. I drink decaf black tea, with honey and milk, which is nothing like masala chai, and not really even much like something I enjoy, but I pretend because it makes me feel like a grownup. Sometimes I drink ginger tea, made with grated ginger root.
I drink tea because I enjoy it, but also because of the ritual. Slow down, it says. Be here for a moment. Mug, water, tea, honey, spoon. Nothing more is necessary.
I’m leaving comments because I’d love to hear about necessary rituals, writing or otherwise.