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I've been trying to apply Nicki's wisdom to the query letter, and it gets more and more like a synopsis. Fooey. I guess it'll have a bunch of synopsis in it.
Mostly though it's been a lost weekend so far. I've been eating too much and veging. But I read Spirits in the Wires by Charles de Lint and re-read Seven-Day Magic by Edward Eager.
I don't quite have a handle on Charles de Lint. He's got great ideas, and he appears to be intending to write down there where I like stories to be, but everything and everybody in his books are so precious. Nobody ever eats macaroni or chow mein -- everybody eats tomato-basil-feta salad. They drink chai and espresso. But all the time. Everybody has a cute name. Half the population of the town is a cute supernatural. I mean a cute supernatural. And everybody's either in their twenties or ancient beyond reckoning. And they're all artists and writers and musicians -- the most prosaic is a book editor for the newspaper. No, the most prosaic is a super hacker computer nerd at the newspaper. And he romanticizes street people. I think he's intending not to, but he does. I hope The Conduit doesn't seem like that. I mean, I have some of the same elements: supernatural character, a musician and an artist somewhere around the story, some chic food, homeless people. But well. I hope not precious.
What's a vegetable dish that people eat for Easter? My inlaws always do ham and stuff and I'm supposed to do vegetables and this year I'd like it to be something traditional.
Meanwhile, the nice fellow and Frank are marvelling at the milk I bought at Trader Joe's, which does not appear to have been homogenized.
And we didn't go to Point Reyes because of the rain, but now we're thinking to go to Death Valley right after I have a couple of teeth pulled next week so we can see the wildflowers.
Mostly though it's been a lost weekend so far. I've been eating too much and veging. But I read Spirits in the Wires by Charles de Lint and re-read Seven-Day Magic by Edward Eager.
I don't quite have a handle on Charles de Lint. He's got great ideas, and he appears to be intending to write down there where I like stories to be, but everything and everybody in his books are so precious. Nobody ever eats macaroni or chow mein -- everybody eats tomato-basil-feta salad. They drink chai and espresso. But all the time. Everybody has a cute name. Half the population of the town is a cute supernatural. I mean a cute supernatural. And everybody's either in their twenties or ancient beyond reckoning. And they're all artists and writers and musicians -- the most prosaic is a book editor for the newspaper. No, the most prosaic is a super hacker computer nerd at the newspaper. And he romanticizes street people. I think he's intending not to, but he does. I hope The Conduit doesn't seem like that. I mean, I have some of the same elements: supernatural character, a musician and an artist somewhere around the story, some chic food, homeless people. But well. I hope not precious.
What's a vegetable dish that people eat for Easter? My inlaws always do ham and stuff and I'm supposed to do vegetables and this year I'd like it to be something traditional.
Meanwhile, the nice fellow and Frank are marvelling at the milk I bought at Trader Joe's, which does not appear to have been homogenized.
And we didn't go to Point Reyes because of the rain, but now we're thinking to go to Death Valley right after I have a couple of teeth pulled next week so we can see the wildflowers.
no subject
Where I am, we don't have "dead of winter" -- we have "dead of summer," although it's completely mitigated by only being in the graslands: the forest is just quieter, and the farmlands of course are in high harvest mode. But we do have this sense of expectancy as the greeen gets taller and taller through the winter and first one thing blooms and then another and by the time we get to here, with the equinox, the world is all color, so we get to share in the excitement that people in places like yours get with the first crocuses or forsythias -- it's different, but it's there. And the light -- well, I guess I say it at every season, but the light is so profound.
I love the story about your gradfather and grandmother, it's gorgeous -- I think your father allowing himself all the way into the story every year is a very good thing (unless he was a crabby kind of depressed).
I think I will look for tiny potatoes and peas (we call them "English peas" around here, did you know that? To distinguish them from snap peas and snow peas and sugar peas and black-eyed peas, I guess). And other baby vegetables. I have the mint in my garden, but it likes to hunker down when it's wet and I suppose store up its energy for growing when it's bright and drier.
Thank you!
And Ken, thanks for the idea too.