We live in interesting times. This is purported to be an old Chinese curse. May it not be. In this vein, crisis, in Chinese, is made from the ideograms for danger, and, opportunity. In taking up the April thread of springtime and its vagaries (thus avoiding other subjects)~we have in the Hills, so far, avoided a killing frost. Tomorrow is supposedly our last frost date–i.e., the danger of vulnerable apple blossoms being blasted by a freeze is officially moot. So far, so good. So many analogies to draw among the myriad possibilities . . . in these interesting times. . . (tap title for rest)
The apples are loaded with extra-large blooms this year, as I begin the third novel of my Black Hills series. Nevermind that we’ve (my characters) travel to some distant parts; the returning is the thing. But travel is essential, whether figuratively or physically. Two themes of the novel. Senga’s Stars is the second book’s working title. I played with “Stars of Infinite Magnitude,” but it sounded astronomically unwieldy and perhaps overwritten. It is a phrase I enjoy, however.
A bit of fortunate news~I was awarded a grant by the Wyoming Arts Council/National Endowment for the Arts, as assistance with the writing project. So, it is with great, good gratitude to them that I mention this. It certainly focuses the mind wonderfully, to paraphrase a less sanguine possibility. And the editing project continues with Sarah Pridgeon, an absolute treasure of an editor. I can resume the submission process to agencies.
I mentioned somewhere that I might offer snippets of text from time to time, from the novels, or, from previous works, and I shall, as I familiarize myself with this tedious technology, but on this morning, this Mother’s Day morning, I offer a fitting poem by A.E. Housmann, via a friend, Charles Mac Kay, in Glasgow, who keeps me apprised of literary process, and through his own fascinating writings, among which is a revision/reformatting of Recollections of a Tour Made in Scotland 1803: Illustrated and Revised Pocket. The poet’s sister, Dorothy Wordsworth, made the journey with her brother and Samuel Coleridge, wherein she exercises her own prodigious literary talent.
The new blog banner comes with thanks to Candace Christofferson, brilliant artist and friend, for the photo. The scarecrow is named Witch Hazel, (but uses an alias in the book). We both scare the crows. . . And finally, with gratitude to sister Nancy for the photo below (most strange to me, this method of ackowledging a military man’s spouse). . . My father’s inscription is on the reverse, with his last name of course. Our mother was ne’e Blackburn. She was ( among many other things) a nurse. She married my father, S.Paul Latiolais, Col. USAF.
For Mothers Everywhere~Thank You.
From far, from eve and morning And yon twelve-winded sky, The stuff of life to knit me Blew hither: here am I. Now– for a breath I tarry Nor yet disperse apart–Take my hand quick and tell me, What have you in your heart.
Speak now, and I will answer; How shall I help you, say; Ere to the wind’s twelve quarters I take my endless way.~~~Alfred Edward Housman