Kristin Cashore's Blog, page 42

Seattle Randutiae

In West Seattle (at Salty's), the views are pretty...
the balloons are demonstrating what happens when you mix primary colors...
and I've decided to have some pepper on my salad.

In Issaquah, an old baby grand...
and a young grand.
(Piano, I mean.)

Little Free Neighborhood Libraries and Mossy Trees....

...near and in Ravenna Park, Seattle.

I like today's A Softer World a whole lot.

See for yourself:

A Softer World: 921

In other news, it is COLD in Boston right now, and so dry that I feel like I could start a fire by rubbing my fingers together.

Tea, flannel, arm warmers and writing.

Stay warm, everyone.

For Those of You Who Don't Get to See Snow

It has just started snowing
in Central Square,
where outside the post office
someone clearly has strong feelings
about
their jacket. Residents are making wise decisions
about their windshield wipers.
Constructions signs are honorably telling the truth of the matter.
Yes, I would agree that that's a significant delay. Meanwhile, the lights are on at the field,
but no one is there.... except for
this bunny.
Happy snowfall, everyone :)

Cambridgeport Scenes

To my wonderful readers in France: I will be at Étonnants Voyageurs (which is an international festival of books and film) in Saint-Malo from 18-20 May, and will be making my second appearance at Imaginales (a stupendous fantasy conference) in Épinal from 23-26 May. I hope to see you there.

To reassure those of you who've been concerned about my plumbing, I did get the damn thing out of my drain. It was very dramatic. As each bristle burst into the light, it flung drain dreck onto my sink, my walls, and my person. Turns out it's really gross down the drain.

So, often when I travel, I share photos, but it occurred to me recently that most of my readers have probably never been to Cambridge, MA.... so why not share a few pictures of home? These are extremely arbitrary -- there's a lot more in Cambridge than this -- but here are some shots. Mostly taken on a gloomy January day in Cambridgeport, on or near Magazine Street.

I think only green cars should be allowed to park in front of this house.
It makes me happy that this house is a different color depending on what side you're on.
It makes me feel like I live in a city that has a soul.
And what I love about this house...
... is what you see when you look closer.
Dunkin Donuts is also a religion in the Boston area.


Two congregations sharing a building.
Sign on the door: "Welcome to Congregation Eitz Chayim."
Sign on the right: "Science Club for Girls."
I like this red van in front of the yellow house.
And this mailbox.
And this beat-up church window.
Fancy.
Apartments.
Solar panels.
Magazine Street.

Some Days Should Just Be Cancelled

Recently, I had one of those days wherein by the end of the day, you've screwed up so many times that you despise yourself and it seems like the only possible way to redeem the day is with a bit of plumbing. Hence, I proceeded to jam a scrub brush down the drain of my bathroom sink, where it became firmly stuck. I can't get it out. It's still in there.



*screams*


******

In other news, here are some of my favorite descriptive and/or character development moments from John Bellair's The House With a Clock in Its Walls (Puffin Books, 1973, illustrated by Edward Gorey):

The last clock to strike was the grandfather clock in the study. It made a noise like a steamer trunk full of tin plates falling slowly and solemnly down a flight of stairs. (16)

Lewis thought a lot about the stained-glass windows and the coat rack. Were they magic? He believed in magic, even though he had been taught not to. His father had spent one whole afternoon explaining to Lewis that ghosts were caused by X rays bouncing off distant planets. (27)

He watched the cannon ball as it whizzed toward the Duke's galleon. It looked to him like a tiny insane harvest moon. (77)

The bell rang again. It sounded like a whiny person insisting on some stupid point in an argument. (116-7)

The door rattled open, and a freezing wind blew in over his bare ankles. There stood his Aunt Mattie, who was dead. (117)

******

Finally, as long as I'm showing y'all pictures of my bathroom, here, atop my toilet, is a beautiful candle metamorphosis, which took place over the course of a couple of months.

B. pointed out that this looks like an eye.


I would like to start a trend of authors blogging photos of their toilets.


Last dying gasp.

In Which the Author Discovers That Her Center Is Within Herself, Not Her Phone. Also, The Hobbit Movie

If it's so easy for Gandalf to call on the aid of the eagles at any moment and in any location, why doesn't he just do so right smack at the beginning of each of these difficult commutes and save everybody a lot of time, discomfort, injury and strife?

The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey was too long and, worst of all, with the exception of a few moments involving Gandalf, young Bilbo, or Gollum, I didn't believe in any of it. Sadness.

So. I've been observing a relevant difference between mornings when I wake up to my alarm (which is on my phone) and mornings when I have the freedom to wake up naturally. When I wake up to my alarm, this means that my phone is the first thing my hand touches. This further means that unthinkingly, in that blurry moment before I'm even truly conscious of being awake, the first thing I do is check my e-mail, and all those various other forms of input my wonderful, but dangerous, phone provides.

Since when is checking one's e-mail (or text messages, or the news, or whatever else is coming in from outside) a worthy first act of the day? I would much prefer if my very first act of the day were to center myself around myself.  Then, once I remember who I am, open myself to whatever the world has for me today. But instead, rather than waking up and looking into myself, I tend to wake up and look into my phone.

I don't think I'm in there.

I wish all of you luck finding your centers today :)

I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got

Every New Year, I try to post something about my resolutions. Realistic resolutions designed to bring me peace and keep me centered; never resolutions that are self-limiting or self-punishing. This year, I resolve to continue on my current path of trying to walk through life with my eyes, mind, heart, and arms open. Or, as Maurice Sendak said to Terry Gross, "Live your life, live your life, live your life."

I'll add one more resolution to that: I would like to blog a bit more than I've managed to in the past few months.

By the way, The Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books has named Bitterblue one of their 2012 Blue Ribbons. One of these days I'm going to take the time to make a page of review excerpts and awards for Bitterblue. I am overwhelmed with the reception my girl has received. It humbles me. How frightened I was this time last year, frightened of letting Bitterblue go. I wrote an e-mail to my sister, codename: Apocalyptica the Flimflammer, telling her that I felt like I was betraying Bitterblue by shoving her out into the scary world. Apocalyptica wrote back that if I didn't let Bitterblue out into the world, she would just sneak out at night anyway.

Thank you to my loved ones. You hold me up.

As the new year approaches...

... I am reading, and loving, Shannon Hale's Book of a Thousand Days.

Happy new year from Florida.

Mourning

What the Body Knows
All night he waits for us and the drawing backof the black-out curtains to fill himwith sunlight and hope.
Daily, we bear a copper bowl brimfulwith hot water, finest triple-milled soap,sponge and a thick white towel.
Hands heavy with oilswe massage his back in a rhythm constantas tides, count the abacus beadsof his spine
and circle his calves with wobbly O's,then pull his perfect toes untilhis breath matchesthe hushed escalationof eucalyptus leaves outside.
The night he dies, we lay hands onhis body, such a small boat, claspingit firmly to the shore of the livingso that his spirit can risefreely, even now loved.
- Madelyn Garner

(From my 2012 datebook.)