Ned Hayes's Blog, page 105

"I am terrified by this dark thing that sleeps in me."

“I am terrified by this dark thing that sleeps in me.”

- Sylvia Plath (via hall3lujah)

Photo

"Cold tears as salty as ocean spray wet my face. I remember the...

"Cold tears as salty as ocean spray wet my face. I remember the day before she died, my mother took me out in our little fishing boat, out on the open water of the sea—the thrum and hiss of surf upon the shore behind us, the rhythm never ceasing. And she taught me something: strange and secret words in a foreign tongue, a lilting singsong cadence to it."

— from the novel Sinful Folk

PHOTO: elriz

"Being a writer is a very peculiar sort of a job: it’s always you versus a blank sheet of paper (or a..."

““Being a writer is a very peculiar sort of a job: it’s always you versus a blank sheet of paper (or a blank screen) and quite often the blank piece of paper wins.””

- Neil Gaiman (via knitewriter)

“The day wanes until the sun is caught once more in the net of...

“The day wanes until the sun is caught once more in the net of the darkening sky. I struggle ahead of the cart now, into the tracks. I pretend the wind covers his words, that I cannot hear him. Ice cuts through the canvas rags on my feet, but still my curiosity compels me. I pretend to stumble, and I fall to the ground so my face is close to the trail. I will find the truth.”
— from the novel Sinful Folk

Photo

"A bird calls, distant and wounded. The woods are still as...

"A bird calls, distant and wounded. The woods are still as death. Quick steam huffs in and out of Geoff’s open mouth. And with that, the dangerous moment seems past. We gather wood and help Tom build his fire. As I pick up spare twigs and dried bracken, I wonder how far our sounds penetrate into the black forest, and how far our shouts echo along the White Road."

— from the novel SINFUL FOLK

PHOTO:  untitled by Gabriela Grossmannová on Flickr.

Photo

Playing with Chaucer in my novel…."April comes to us with...

Playing with Chaucer in my novel….
"April comes to us with her showers sweet. I wake to the cries of little birds before the light comes across the heath. I turn back the rich brocaded cloth of gold on my bed and walk to my glazed casement window. I imagine my mother calling to me in the plaintive voice of the wood fowl, her words echoing across the years. I wrap myself in a Moorish robe of intricate design and gaze beyond my solitary window. Raindrops speckle the costly glass."
— from the novel SINFUL FOLK

(with a nod to the Canterbury Tales)

"She was the golden thread running through everything, a lens that magnified beauty so that the whole..."

“She was the golden thread running through everything, a lens that magnified beauty so that the whole world stood transfigured in relation to her, and her alone.”

- Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch (via booksijustread)