Francesca Forrest's Blog, page 144

Crystal trees at the edge of a tarmac wasteland

Are they fragile or are they strong? (Are they as deadly as the crystal trees in sartorias and rachelmanija 's novel? I don't know; they didn't get *me*, anyway . . . at least, I don't think they did. Are these crystals in my blood?)

They are sentinels at the edge of a vast, barren expanse.

Here in the northern part of the Northern Hemisphere, it'...

Here in the northern part of the Northern Hemisphere, it's dark in December, and so we treasure stars and candles and other things that shine. browngirl sent me a beautiful card her friend made, of Santa Lucia--Saint Lucy, with her candle crown:



I love the light over the bridge of her nose, and her eyes full of all the mysteries she sees.

(This friend has an art tumblr here and an online shop here.)

browngirl also sent me some absolutely beautiful art of her own creating, which I want to share,...

Internet Goodness: Coyote Still Going

I’ve just finished Coyote Still Going, a collection of Native American legends and contemporary stories by Ty Nolan. Actually it’s much more than this. It’s the thoughtful reminicenses and personal history of Nolan, along with recipes (delicious! I have tried them), links to pictures of artifacts and artwork (and sometimes just to funny stuff—like a closeup on a rabbit’s nose), in addition to the folk stories. It’s a **wonderful** book in every possible way—so intimate and generous.

On a coupl...

Mandela and Xanana

Among the many good things Mandela did, he advocated for the release of Timorese freedom-fighter Xanana Gusmão from prison:

Mandela not only called for the release of Xanana Gusmao, but also insisted on meeting with the latter – and got his way […] Soeharto at first refused Mandela’s request to meet Xanana with the question ‘Why do you want to meet him? He is only a common criminal.’ When Mandela responded by saying ‘that is exactly what they said about me for 25 years,’ Soeharto promptly and...

A lecture by Zadie Smith: Why Write?

Zadie Smith (author of White Teeth and other novels) gave a guest lecture today at the nearby university, and she said some extremely gratifying things—gratifying because they're things I feel but don't hear said much, about writing. The thing I underlined and circled most enthusiastically in my notes was this:

Writing lets you have the one thing that society offers in theory and obliterates in practice: self-determination. When I write, I escape [hard-and-fast roles as wife, mother, teacher,...

Pen Pal update

If you're publishing independently, sending a novel out in the world is like releasing a message in a bottle to the waves. Who--if anyone--will find it? Or will it just bob around in your own small neighborhood?

At some point I turned around from thinking of this situation as a hardship, though, to thinking of it as magically, and perfectly, right for the book. There is adventure in this!

So! Now the ebook of Pen Pal is out in the world at three out of the four locations it'll be available at-...

Black Liquor

Now there's an evocative phrase. Black liquor. What could it be? Do you imagine a mountain still? Or a byproduct of drug manufacture? Maybe just molasses?


black liquor (image courtesy of wikimedia commons)

coldhighmountai and cinda_cite will know. Maybe many of you know--but I didn't, until last night.

It is a byproduct, yes, but not of drug manufacture: of paper manufacture. After trees are felled and ground into chips, they are then soaked in chemicals and cooked in order to digest (the techni...

How I saved my friend from certain death and withstood torture with THESE TEN EXERCISES

I did a [very small] hard thing yesterday. It was just a kind of exercise, like pushups (only not pushups), something I'm not very good at. Normally I can do about six, and then I fall in a heap on the floor. But I said, I can do ten. I can--I can make my body do ten, I'm sure.

And then I motivated myself by imagining ALL THINGS DIRE! Like, like, my friend and comrade had been CAPTURED and I must rescue them, or *I* have been captured and must NOT REVEAL ANYTHING NO MATTER WHAT THE TORTURE.

And...

The otterskin

The boys came across him on their way back to the encampment, him, the man who walks the winter woods in a tattered coat and fishskin boots, with an otterskin round his neck. Fear fuels aggression: "Yai, tramp!" they shout, prepared to dash off as fast as the snow will let them, if he turns on them, or else to pelt him with sticks and ice, if he should quail.

Then the otterskin rises up, and they see it still has feet and head and tail and even teeth--it's a complete shell of an otter, with on...

Keeping Warm: The air duct

Seventy years ago, all these row houses were heated by coal. The husbands would go down to the shared basement that stretched the length of the row to feed the furnace, smoke, and shoot the breeze.

The furnace sent hot air up through vents with curious grills depicting fabulous flying beings-- Garuda, Quetzalcoatl, Azrael--and the children would cluster round the vents to catch those exhalations.

There were occasions, when the furnace was fully stoked, that the hot air would so inflate a toddle...