Ned Hayes's Blog, page 172

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"Stories never really end…even if the books like to pretend they do. Stories always go on. They don’t..."

““Stories never really end…even if the books like to pretend they do. Stories always go on. They don’t end on the last page, any more than they begin on the first page.””

- Cornelia Funke (Inkspell)

“April comes to us, with her showers sweet. I wake to the cries...

“April comes to us, with her showers sweet. I wake to the cries of little birds before the light comes across the heath. They wait all night with open eyes. Now, with the rain at dawn, their voices make melody.

I turn back the reveled cloth of gold on my bed and walk to gaze beyond my glazed casement window. In the plaintive voices of the wood fowl, I imagine my mother calling to me, her words echoing across the years.

Every night, I slip into the empty winter land of memory.”

     —from the novel Sinful Folk, by Ned Hayes (forthcoming in 2013)

Our home library (at least, part of it!)Can you guess which...

Our home library (at least, part of it!)

Can you guess which shelf is horror, by its adornments?

"Go into the arts. I’m not kidding. The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human..."

“Go into the arts. I’m not kidding. The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable. Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven’s sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possible can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something.”

-

Kurt Vonnegut, with your friendly weekend reminder to get creative.

[Quote from his 2006 essay collection A Man Without a Country]

(via jasonweinberger)

”The old stones under my feet, the open breadth...

         ”The old stones under my feet, the open breadth of the sanctuary, the over-rich scent of incense, the great lines of white candles flickering in a winter draught. It seems no time has passed at all since I was last here, a decade past.

           I had forgotten how palatial is that vast dome of a narthex and a church – like a hollow meadow found in the midst of a grove of ancient trees, reaching up towards heaven into murky depths where great beams are dimly glimpsed and the tiny patterings of a sparrow or a bat echo in the campaniles. My footfalls resound on the flagstones of this great cruciform hall.”

            — from the novel Sinful Folk

PHOTO FROM: hermitguides: Belgium, La Cathedrale Naturelle by Lars Van De Goor (via Paths)

FOR GOOD FRIDAY Bury me on a rainy afternoon. Bury me on the...

FOR GOOD FRIDAY

Bury me on a rainy afternoon. Bury me on the threshold of all things, waning. A glance, a hand, feel me slowly like a wind, now in the trees, now in your hair, now a word too small for all this here; bury me a blurring of skins. —Jennifer Militello, from “The Museum of Being, Ended”

rromir:Portrait of St. Mark the Evangelist in an 11th century...

rromir:

Portrait of St. Mark the Evangelist in an 11th century manuscript on Flickr.

Via Flickr:
St. Mark is known as the author of the second Gospel in the New Testament. St. Mark became the patron saint of this city which adopts his emblem, the lion, as its own.

In most of the standard medieval iconographic compositions, St. Mark the Evangelist is presented accompanied by a lion which sometimes is with wings. The lion figure is present presumably because his Gospel emphasizes the royal dignity of Christ, the Lion of Judah. He is shown most of the times seated with a book or pen presenting his character of Evangelist and secretary of St. Peter.

Link to “St. Mark the Evangelist” set

Period: 11th century

Image source: St. Gallen, Stiftsarchiv (Abtei Pfäfers), Cod. Fab. 2, p. 16v – Liber aureus (Evangelistary) (www.e-codices.unifr.ch/en/ssg/fab0002/16v)

PHOTO SOURCE: from-the-roots-to-the-sky — via Beauty in...

PHOTO SOURCE: from-the-roots-to-the-sky — via Beauty in Everything - Photography

       ”Spring grew into summer. Nell’s secret thyme beds and her mint were deep in the woods, out by the chuckling stream that disappeared underground.

       She danced in the sunlight and the shade. She gathered plants she needed every day, but it was as a child who gathers flowers in May, setting them in bundles, choosing with caprice, singing to them, naming each plant and leaf with fondness. Even watching her a moment, my spirits lifted. All through that year, the days were dappled light and grand. Nell whispered and giggled in my ear, like a small child. “Come,” she said, on a sudden. “Let us dance!” And she whirled me around like a dervish in the woods, laughing, giggling, carefree as any child. “

        — from the forthcoming novel Sinful Folk

Book Quote: Sinful Folk ”Spring grew into summer....

Book Quote: Sinful Folk

       ”Spring grew into summer. Nell’s secret thyme beds and her mint were deep in the woods, out by the chuckling stream that disappeared underground.

       She danced in the sunlight and the shade. She gathered plants she needed every day, but it was as a child who gathers flowers in May, setting them in bundles, choosing with caprice, singing to them, naming each plant and leaf with fondness. Even watching her a moment, my spirits lifted. All through that year, the days were dappled light and grand. Nell whispered and giggled in my ear, like a small child. “Come,” she said, on a sudden. “Let us dance!” And she whirled me around like a dervish in the woods, laughing, giggling, carefree as any child. “

        — from the forthcoming novel Sinful Folk

PHOTO SOURCE: from-the-roots-to-the-sky — via Beauty in Everything - Photography