Today is the Feast of Easter. Viriditas or, The Greening. We just returned from a visit to see our grandchildren and son, who live 800 miles away. We soaked up their dear presence. We were away for only seven days, wherein I  looked at my writing only once or twice, their being the Great Distraction that warrants my attention. So when I returned to my writing hut for a morning of work, I was mortified that I couldn’t recall which folder held one of my computer files. I finally found it, but still… Lesson learned. And it is this: since embarking on this writing life (read Voyage) in January ’15, I have taken very few days off. Even on official “vacation,” I worked mornings, to experience how a different setting might feed the work. And it does. (How could it not? Pecking away, with the Pacific Ocean pounding before you? and nothing but sand in between?) A bit trickier when conversations and concerns pull, like a grandchild on your pant leg. “NeNe, NeNe, NeNe…” So, no contest. Nor a problem. It’s like rising in the middle of the night to comfort a child. You simply do it, for love. Or, don’t do it; in this case, work.

I am thrilled (!) to say I’ve been awarded a grant–toward the edit of my first novel. I am indebted to the Wyoming Arts Council, and the NEA, or, National Endowment for the Arts, for this assistance. I wanted to be sure to mention this, as it represents a milestone along my story’s path. And, I want to recognize my editor, Sarah, who is become midwife of sorts, to my baby. (Excuse the facile metaphor.) We enjoy similar taste in literature, and for those interested, the latest books discussed are: Little Bee–or The Other Hand (U.S. title), by Chris Cleave; and his newest, Everyone Brave is Forgiven. 
What about the writing enthralls? Sensibilities, turns of phrase, poignancies, beauty–and by extension, truth. Another two books I must recommend: Lincoln in the Bardo, by George Saunders, for its unique presentation, as well as the above criteria, to which I would add–its stark, yes, horror. But of  a slightly different sort than we’re (perhaps) accustomed to…(there be no zombies, nor chain saw massacres). And, the most recent, which won a Pulitzer Prize--All the Light We Cannot See, by Anthony Doerr. For its beautiful description of what it means to be blind during a war, and, on the other hand, leaning on radio-broadcasts, while growing up in pre-war Germany. My ancestors came from the St. Malo region in France, where much of the story takes place, so it was doubly moving.
Since this seems to be evolving into a post on inspiring writings, visits, seasons, I joined a writing forum recently, to be in touch with like-minded individuals, and was awarded (must look at my Stars!) with a response by one of my favorite authors, who will remain anonymous, with respect. I credit her with the nudge–alright, shove, to get on with it. But I had to steep myself in her works first. It was a kind of energy transference, I suppose. I’m sure physics could explain it.
Finally, a short Field Note, since, ostensibly, it is one of my subtitles to these posts. A good friend died a year ago, this week. He was an artist, Tom Waugh was, and I would like to post a photo of one of his paintings, and, as I am still learning how to insert into the post, it may or may not make it. If not, I will include it in the Gallery photos. He left a beatiful body of work. Rest in Peace, Tom.leap 
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