Erin Morgenstern's Blog, page 53

this is why we never get a tree

flax-golden tales: angel tech support (ATS)

angel tech support (ATS)

Anyone who finds out is usually surprised that angels need tech support, that it's even a job. But that's because we're good at it.

You'd never know we're here, that's the point.

Have you ever seen a cherub? They're chubby. Those fluffy little wings aren't enough to keep them up, but they wouldn't be as cute with a proper wingspan, so adjustments have to be made.

We have other ways to keep them airborne.

It's all about appearances.

Miracles have to look miraculous.

No one wants to see the wires.

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.

now it is actually wednesday

I am slightly less congested, and Tessa has a new box.

boring, with computer & kitten.

I have had this update window open for hours. I can't decide if I have nothing to say or too much to boil down to a proper post.

I went from being crazy busy to not busy at all last week, so of course I managed to get a head cold. And now I'm busy again. I keep forgetting what day it is. I thought it was Wednesday for most of the morning, but apparently it is only Tuesday. That's good, probably.

Here's another view of Friday's visual aid:

Shiny, shiny new MacBook Air. I keep thinking I'm going to put it down somewhere and lose it, it's so skinny! Still getting used to it, but so far it's been fabulous.

And now I've had this half-a-post in progress for several additional hours.

I might have to just face facts and admit that I am boring today. Or possibly this week. I am all to-do lists and Kleenex and learning about accounting. None of which makes for interesting blogging.

And the mailman neglected to pick up my outgoing mail. That is the height of excitement around here today, dear readers.

Here, in lieu of more interesting content, have a Tessa. She looks how I feel:

And she's sitting on my book contract. Sigh.

visual aid

flax-golden tales: frosted like cookies

frosted like cookies

He paints his roof every December, but no one ever sees it actually being painted. One chilly night the sun sets on shingles faded down to almost-bare wood, and the next morning it rises over a rainbow. A shock of color amongst the leafless trees.

They say he must hire painters, since he's too old to manage it himself. If there are such things as nocturnal roof painters.

He never says how it's done. He just smiles and offers any inquiring neighbors brightly frosted sugar cookies.

Each year it's different. Puzzle pieces or patchwork or looping swirls, but always vibrant and cheerful.

Some people call it an eyesore, but I think it's nice to see something so warm as the cold settles in.

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.

in which there is sadness & laughter, cake & champagne

The universe seems to have this odd fondness for everything happening at once, I've noticed.

Last Tuesday, I handed in what I'd thought might be my final edits.

On Wednesday morning, I got another round of notes, the changes due on Monday.

On Wednesday afternoon, my grandmother passed away.

I don't know what to say about Grammy, really. I will never be able to say anything as poignant and perfect and aptly funny as the eulogy my uncle delivered on Monday.

I could mention some of the same things, like the absurdly buttery cakes that seemed to self-generate on her kitchen table (she baked one every three days), or how she wrapped brownies individually in wax paper.

How she adored all things Peanuts and I'm pretty sure every card I ever received over 30 years had Snoopy on it, and I doubt there were any repeats.

She showed up unannounced at the door on Hallowe'en when we were little, traumatizing my little sister. One year she was Snoopy, of course. Another she was Peter Pan.

She claimed she was 39 her entire life. When I was 9, my dad turned 40 and I was very confused as to how he could be older than his own mother.

My grandparents' 60th anniversary was the same weekend as my wedding. I gave Grammy my bouquet. I didn't want to throw the thing, anyway.

And as fabulous as she looks here, she wore an even more fabulous metallic blue suit to other weddings.

In the aforementioned eulogy, my uncle said she was remarkable. He was right.

There's not a better word.

I spent the two days in between Thanksgiving and the wake writing as much as I could. I handed in the draft just before I left.

For one of the points I was unsure of how to address, I added a conversation between a character and his grandmother. It was something I'd actually considered before, but hadn't written down.

I think it must have worked, because Monday afternoon, after the remnants of the post-funeral brunch crowd had migrated into the bar, when I e-mailed my editor to tell her I wouldn't be home as early as I'd thought, she wrote back to tell me not to worry about it. My edits had been accepted and the book had gone into production.

So, in an unusual but oddly appropriate way, I officially ended a very long stay in Revisionland sitting by a fireplace in a bar, listening to my dad and his siblings tell hysterical stories about my grandmother.

I think storytelling runs in the family.

Someone bought a round of champagne for about twenty people when I told everyone. There were toasts.

I'm sure Grammy would have loved it.

our apologies

Due to unforeseen circumstances, there is no flax-golden tale for Friday, November 26th. This is the very first missed week since flax-golden tales began in July of 2009. I'd tell you how many weeks that is, but I'm not up for the math at the moment.

There will be a new tale next Friday. And of course, you are welcome to peruse the archives at any time.

Thank you for understanding!

final shapshots from revisionland

An Eventide Edition of what very well may be the final* Snapshots from Revisionland**.

Shiny new fountain pen that my in-laws brought me this weekend. It is my very first new-new fountain pen! All my other ones are vintage.

Left over papadum from dinner:

Hair dye, because my roots were looking confused again:

And champagne, because I got my first advance check in the mail today. That makes me some sort of official author person, doesn't it?

*for this book, at least.

**I know, I know, I escaped Revisionland on Friday. I'm back in it for the next 24 hours or so, and then… well, we'll see. I'll probably still be hanging out in the Revisionland Hotel Bar.

flax-golden tales: helping hand

helping hand

The sign said they were Extra Hands, without elaborating on their purpose.

So I asked the shopkeeper what they were for, after he finished getting a stuffed jackalope down from a high shelf for a blue-haired lady.

He told me that they were exactly what the sign said. Extra Hands, for doing anything you might need a hand with.

The blue-haired lady bought a dozen.

I only bought one, even though I felt like they should stay in pairs, because they were kind of expensive.

I was going to give it to my sister for her birthday, but now that I've had it for awhile, I think I'm going to keep it.

It opens jars and pours my coffee. It signs for packages and pets my cats.

It's actually quite helpful.

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.