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Porch is now open for business.
Last week it was snowing - this week it's in the 80's. I had no choice but to dust off the candles on the porch and make the annual migration from kitchen table to jasmine covered porch. Last night, I sat there scribbling in the notebook for an hour or so and noticed that a length of jasmine had wrapped itself around my arm. Always the writing arm. I forget about this over the winter and discover it again each year like a secret botanical love affair. Someone might be able to give me a lofty, scientific explanation for why my jasmine reaches out and tangles in my hair, taps against my fingers and hooks itself into my clothes - but I really don't want to hear it. This jasmine is the ideal consort - always happy to see me and pleased to see me writing. It never asks me to fix things or organize a schedule. It's not a boy-crush or a girl-crush, it's a jasmine crush.
Fixing things: Apparently my eltro-magnetic field is off because everything is breaking. I need only stand near a jump standard in the riding ring and a gust of wind will blow up from nowhere and knock a jump down, cracking the thing in two. Double-ended snaps, padlocks, electric fencing, not working at all. After sitting untouched for days, a light in the truck came on and nothing would make it turn off. I'm running into door frames and getting splinters in my fingers. Grace is a word that's been used to describe me only if the friend is half-drunk and laughing their ass off after seeing me stumble on air - but enough is enough.
I think I've forgotten how to write (feared this would happen) but the word count is holding steady at 69k for the year. I used the porch and jasmine to write a good portion of FT Chap 3 last night and I hope to have it revised by the end of the week. But - god I write battles like a girl, all thoughts and feelings and not nearly enough hacking and gore. I've come to terms with the fact that I'm really only interested in love stories and will soon be back to the original point of the fic in due time. Who needs plot?
So I will go revise, but only after I watch this video of monkeys riding giant ROUS's in a Japanese zoo. Sent to me by a fellow monkey-phobe, the only thing that could make this worse for me is if there was a clown standing in the corner of the frame.
Monkeys Ride Giant Rodents
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*faints again*
This is, without a doubt, the best image ever. This is our Erestor. And when he's older and crabby and hardened by the world and desperately missing something that he'll never say out loud, the jasmine will remind him that "Hope was behind, and ahead . . ." (love that, by the way).
Everything you touch is filled with such lovely, careful hope - just enough, never too much. You hold the sadness and transform it into a subtle reminder of beauty. Your images always bring me into the present and won't let me forget that something remarkable is about to happen.
". . .the light of a thousand candles." I can feel this, and then the coolness as he climbs up, and the water.
Forget the week, this little story made my month/year. Have you considered going into the muse business? I hear there's quite a need for it right now.
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and thank you. You write lovely things that make me smile.