So, if you've been following along you already know I live in a whirlwind of small children, husband, dog, graduate school, tiny house, and soon to be jobs, plural. I'm not very good at keeping it all straight. I'm not very good at telling the small children-husband-dog-jobs-grad school to take a hike so I can write for a while.
I think even the baby would laugh if I told her to take a hike so I could write. Besides, where would she go? It's 5 degrees outside.
I would not trade this life. Not for nuthin', honey. But still. It's a lovely little mess.
Would you like to see where I write in this mess?
Awesome. Here's my desk. It's in the corner of our living room, which along with the kitchen is one L-shaped room:
I'm in the process of New Year's cleaning. Pretty much everything that was on that white shelf to the left of the desk has now been dumped onto my desk and dumped on the floor to the right of the desk. I'm not sure why it's all still there, and such a pig sty. I told my cleaning lady and my life coach to take care of this already. See the bright orange, Columbia Omni-heat jacket hanging on my desk chair? I can't zip it up (baby weight. argh) but it's saving my fanny this week, nonetheless.
Here's another shot of my writing corner:
Keep in mind that this is in the same room as the living room, the fireplace, and the kitchen. I'd hem and haw and try to convince you that it's usually much, much tidier than this, but even without all the junk that had been taking over the shelf, it's usually pretty messy. See: I'm speaking my truth in 2014.
But I agree with Albert Einstein: "A neat desk is a sign of a sick mind."
Okay, so the quote's been mangled a bit over the years, but surely that's what Einstein meant.
Here's a shot of the desk itself. I don't understand why I'm behind on "thank you" notes and still sending Christmas cards out in late January. Really, it's a mystery.
Last but not least, my unofficial writing partner for the past 10+ years. Her bed is next to my desk. She's faithful, steady, true, and completely unbiased.
But I am in the process of an overhaul, so pictures of the (heaven help me) clean and organized and pretty-pretty writing area to come after the weekend. And if you have any ideas for how I can make this space work better, send them on! Happy Weekend, all!
Woke up this morning to find a new review of Keowee Valley over at Book-alicious Mama, a fantastic--and fantastically thorough, interesting, and smart--book blog written by Jennifer Smeth. I'm a follower, because Jennifer blogs daily about great books, answering all the questions I tend to have when I'm looking for a new read. I'm in awe of the amount of time and effort she spends posting: she truly delves deeply into each book, getting at its unique center. She must have stacks of books waiting to be read!
It really does make me happy to know that people are still reading and enjoying Keowee Valley. To read the review, go here. And if you're looking for new reads, I highly recommend following her blog!
These are pictures a Russian photographer/mama took of her two young boys on their farm. They are ethereal and yet grounded in earthly things: the family dog, a pond, the texture of the boys' sweaters, snowfall, a rabbit. Incredibly beautiful, and proof of the sheer magic in our everyday lives. Check them out here.
Idaho is planning a wolf slaughter, and they're using tax-payer money to do it. This is nothing new.
One of my favorite organizations, Defenders of Wildlife--which also rates as one of the top organizations to donate to, where most of the money works toward the organization's environmental and conservation mission--is fighting the massacre. I'm not being dramatic: it is a massacre, and the removal of grey wolves from the Endangered Species Act is one of my heart issues. If you get a yen to donate, or to check out what Defenders does, go here. 3.) Maya Angelou reading her poem "Phenomenal Woman"
Maya Angelou is an American treasure. She literally glows, showing us what it means to be truly beautiful. It doesn’t get much better than this. Thanks for sharing, Poets & Writers Magazine!
4.) And don’t forget, if you have any ideas about what I should call the new parenting/outdoor column I’ll be writing for The Greenville News in South Carolina, send them my way.
I’m happy to announce that soon I’ll be writing a weekly column for The Greenville News in Greenville, South Carolina. Greenville is where I grew up, and The Greenville News is the place where I earned my first paycheck as a writer.
The column will focus on parenting, the outdoor life, empowering girls (especially) and anything in-between, all with a personal and regional touch. It’ll appear every Thursday starting in late February.
If y’all have any ideas for what to call the column itself, I’d love to hear them! (I’ve never been any good at titles.)
Happiest of Fridays to you all! After 11 days in Vermont in sub-Artic temperatures, 3 plane trips and delayed luggage, I'm finally back home with my family. Happiness!
More on my time at the Vermont College of Fine Arts in the MFA in Writing program soon, but for now:
Keowee Valley is the Daily Deal today at Amazon, only $1.99! I'd greatly appreciate it if you'd share with your friends and fans of historical adventure, on any social media sites you frequent. I'd love to introduce Quinn and Jack, and the Revolutionary-era Southern frontier, to new readers!
On this New Year's Eve, I wanted to thank you all for being so good to me over the past year--for reading my novel, Keowee Valley, and falling in love with its characters--especially Quinn and Jack--and the wild Carolina frontier, for taking the time to visit me here and to correspond with me about so many different topics, not the least of which has included the novel, history, politics, parenthood, football, pursuing a MFA in Writing, and how to make the world's best tomato pie.
Your interest and friendship has been kismet and blessing both, and I hope you'll hang in there with me over the next year as I attempt to conquer the world. Kidding. I mean, as I attempt to parent two wee ones, finish my graduate program, and write the next adventure in Quinn's story.
Today, and as an American Scot, I've got to pan the stage light over to the great Scottish bard Robert (or, as the Scots called him, Rabbie) Burns, who's responsible for the timeless and perfect poem "Old Lang Syne." This poem, of course, has become the anthem of New Year's Eve in American and across the world.
Auld Lang Syne Should auld acquaintance be forgot And never brought to mind? Should auld acquaintance be forgot And auld lang syne?
Chorus: For auld lang syne, my jo, For auld lang syne, We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet For auld lang syne. And surely you'll be your pint-stowp And surely I'll be mine And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet For auld lang syne!
Chorus We twa hae ran about the braes And pu'd the gowans fine But we've wander'd monie a weary fit Sin' auld lang syne.
Chorus We twa hae paidl'd in the burn Frae morning sun til dine, But seas between us braid hae roar'd Sin' auld lang syne.
Chorus And there's a hand, my trusty fiere, And gie's a hand o' thine, And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught For auld lang syne!
Chorus
BBC News Scotland
Burns was a hugely popular poet in his day (the late 1700s); he was also a lyricist and an exciseman, which meant he was in charge of checking on and reporting import items to Scottish ports. And wasn't he a good-looking fellow, too? Like so many of his fellow 18th century poets, he died young. He was 37. But Burns is credited with sharing the Scottish dialect and language with the world. "Old Lang Syne" is said to be a Scottish folk song that he adapted. BBC News Scotland posted a fantastic article yesterday, about Burns, the song, and how it all came to be.
Burns once wrote:
"My way is: I consider the poetic sentiment, correspondent to my idea of the musical expression, then chuse my theme, begin one stanza, when that is composed—which is generally the most difficult part of the business—I walk out, sit down now and then, look out for objects in nature around me that are in unison or harmony with the cogitations of my fancy and workings of my bosom, humming every now and then the air with the verses I have framed. when I feel my Muse beginning to jade, I retire to the solitary fireside of my study, and there commit my effusions to paper, swinging, at intervals, on the hind-legs of my elbow chair, by way of calling forth my own critical strictures, as my, pen goes."
And a better way of describing a writer's creative process, I've not seen.
I hope that tonight you're all able to give thanks for the "good old days," to meet with dear friends, and to take a cup of kindness for the coming year!
So, I had a birthday on Saturday, and it was a darn good one.
I stayed in my pajamas all day long, and well into the next day. (Yes, I skipped church. No judging.) They were my really cute, Victoria Secret Fair Isle pajamas. And currently fit me a heck of a lot differently than when I first bought them, but that’s okay.
I lay on the couch in my pajamas with my dog, drank copious amounts of coffee and looked at the Christmas tree while my husband did the lion’s share of caring for our girls.
See–here I am. My dog really likes it when we twine up together on the couch. Man, I love that dog.
May I get up?
I didn’t have to cook at all that day. Now, I realize that by writing this, it makes it sound like I cook a lot. But hey–putting ANY sort of food together is cooking, right? And I didn’t feel like doing it on my birthday. So we ordered out for lunch and dinner. And then I got to watch The Family Stone, which has become one of my personal Christmas classics movies. The casting alone in that movie is perfection. And the writing? Sigh. Just wonderful.
Moving on….
It was a pretty awesome birthday. A birthday, in fact, that I would’ve completely forgotten about if my husband hadn’t reminded me the day before.
Come the end of this week, things are going to get a little nuts in my world. We take off for Christmas travels to both sets of parents/grandparents, come home for a day or two, and then I fly to Vermont for my 11-day winter residency at the Vermont College of Fine Arts, and my MFA in Writing program.
This is what I think about every time I pack for Vermont in the winter:
So, there may be no regular posts here for a bit, seeing as how the day after I return from Vermont I begin teaching again, and am back to work on my MFA. Plus, you know, the parenting of the children.
Basically, I ain’t makin’ no promises. (Imagine I just said that in the voice of Sam Elliott. Whom I love with all my heart and soul.)
Which comes to my first thing to share:
filmous.com
1.) The movie Prancer
Yes, this is the cheesy movie from 1989. But I swear to you: watch it again, look past the cheese, and your sweet little Christmas heart will swell to its rightful size. I promise. And listening to gorgeous Sam Elliot in his gorgeous gruff voice and that sexy moustache read “A Letter to Santa Claus” won’t hurt.
Here’s a taste (skip to 2:00 to hear him read the letter):
I turned 12 years old in December of 1989, when Prancer came out. We rarely went to movies as a family, but when we did it was usually at Christmas time. I will never forget walking out of that movie theatre and into the dark parking lot, my family laughing and talking about the movie. I looked up into the night sky, and there was a huge silver white moon, clouds streaked across it. It was magic.
Late last night, when I was sitting at my desk, my husband came rushing in with his laptop. “You have got to watch this,” he said, smiling. If this ad from Apple, called “Misunderstood,” doesn’t make you wipe your eyes or even sniffle, I’ll eat my Santa hat. (After we watched it, my husband he told me he wanted more kids.)
3.) My Christmas playlist
I love a good Christmas song. Over the years I’ve collected Christmas albums, including mixed CDs from friends and family. Here’s an eclectic list of my favorites this Christmas season:
