Laura Benedict's Blog, page 40

Not Quite the Gift of the Magi

The next eight days or so are going to be very compressed for me. I have word that the first edit for BLISS HOUSE should land in my inbox on or about December 18th, and after it arrives I will need to hide myself away for about a month to work in those changes. I'll also be working in a lot of changes of my own that will tie it into the next Bliss House novel in the series. But for some reason, the people in my life don't think it's a great idea to put Christmas off until I'm all done with th...

Permission to Create

If I don't do it, who will?

If you're walking down an empty street far away from the nearest fire station, and come upon a burning house, you're going to have to ask yourself this question if you suspect someone inside needs rescuing. The question is also going to come up if you're the only adult in the house and a (relatively) giant spider needs to be removed from the bathroom wall. There are times when we as individuals have to act--or the job just doesn't get done.

But when it comes to writi...

Ground-Feeders

The snow was so deep that I had to put on my rain wellies to keep my socks dry when I went outside to feed the birds Friday evening. Thursday, I had added a big scoop of sunflower seed to the main feeder and jerry-rigged a broken suet feeder so the more adventuresome woodpeckers (we get many down woodpeckers at the feeders) could stop pecking at the treated post and eat suet, instead. I have a third feeder that holds thistle for the smallest birds, clingers, like wrens and finches. But by Fri...

Ice and Rain

There's something about an incoming snow storm that makes me feel like nesting. Instead of writing, I spent most of the afternoon scraping our very long driveway of 1/4 inch of sleet. There's a large hill involved, and my beloved had yet to return from teaching his last classes of the semester. I confess I was also thinking of the predicted several inches of snow. It's one thing to have snow on the driveway, but quite another to have a thick layer of ice below it that must melt before the dri...

Can You Unplug?

How hard is it for you to unplug? To turn off your cell phone, computer, tablet, television (yes, television counts)?

I'm finding it increasingly hard to do. The last few days I've found myself obsessively checking Facebook and Twitter. I've begun to suspect it has something to do with my addiction to natural dopamine. In the last few months I've had to cut out all caffeine, the darkest chocolate, long naps, and most alcohol (no one is up for exercising in the evening after a glass or two of w...

Wishlist Anxiety

If you know me, you know I'm all about the lists. Here's a pic of a list my daughter wrote on one of my lists earlier this year. It cracked me up because the poor child has suffered my lists for all 21 years of her life.


I don't make lists for absolutely everything, though my life would be way more organized if I did. Lists get made when I'm feeling particularly overwhelmed. (Just plain ol' overwhelmed is my natural ADHD state, of course.) But now, at this important list time of year, I am sty...

About Stoner: My Apology to a Dead Writer

The writer John Edward Williams has been dead since 1994, but I am apologizing to him anyway. Months ago, I began hearing many amazing things about his 1965 novel, Stoner , which details the life of a midwestern English professor of little fame and consequence. Curious, I bought the audio book just before embarking on one of my many trips between our house and St. Louis. I listened for two or three hours. The prose was easy and declaratory, if it was also occasionally as lethargic as its subje...

The First Loaf of the Season: Rye

My mother's father, Howard Baugh, came from a family of long-Americanized Germans. It never occurred to me that not everyone's family ate pickles in everything from potato and egg salad to lunchmeat. (Don't get me started on pickle/pimento loaf!) Beer was the grown-ups' adult beverage of choice--though I confess I never saw any of my female relatives drink beer. We adored sweet baked goods, and there were plenty to be had in Cincinnati--including doughy, salted soft pretzels. I don't think my...

A Painting and A Story

DAUGHTER


Run, daughter, run.
I cast no blame, my darling girl. The blood that stains our rough-hewn floor will bear no witness: my own deceit has brought me thus. Your hand your tender hand was just its agent.

Run, daughter, run.
While you slept in another’s womb, I spun the golden thread to bind your soul, forged your crimson jewels from the hearts of skyborne birds. I stole you away, raven-haired and precious, a comfort to my ancient bones.
Run, daughter, run.
Your eyes were not my jaded eyes, yo...

After The Exorcist, There Was The Sentinel

(Be sure to read to the end of this post for a fun, not-so-spooky, time-sensitive surprise, okay?)

It's October. Let's talk scary.

There are so many late-20th century horror novels I count as influences on my work, I could spend all day nattering on about them. When I was a young teen, horror novels put over-the-top tension into my comfy, white bread life. They were seductive and clever. They pushed and tested the limits of my uncertain spirituality as well as my imagination.

King (Carrie, et al...