I'm in the process of reading Tam Lin by Pamela Dean. It's part of the Fairy Tale series, which is a collection of modern retellings. So far, it's been rather enjoyable, not only becasue if the fact that I tend to be fascinated by fairy tales, but also because the writing is quirky and interesting. At times, the characters seem as though they could be hanging out with the pretentious Classics scholars of A Secret History, but in general, they seem geniune enough, and less inclined to murder each other. (not that A Secret History was not enjoyable as well...) I'm not far enough into the book to really say much more than that.
I watched a shamefully large chunk of episodes of this past season of "Lost" last night. Very interesting stuff, though I wish the finale had answered more questions than it did. Hurrah for TV, that this sort of thing can be mainstream. It's no Twin Peaks, but it's better than most of the schlock that's been on the past few years.
Saturday, May 28, 2005
Friday, May 27, 2005
Too Late the Phalarope
Found this book while doing some spring cleaning... It's been years since I've read it.
What the phalarope actually has to do with this blog entry is debatable. It's a small, sleek shore bird that, if Alan Patton is to be believed, can be found in South Africa. In other words, it has nothing to do with it.
But it IS too late. I ought to be sleeping since I think I may be, once again, on the brink of getting sick. Which reminds me:
At the event of my grandfather's 90th birthday (!) this week, a cousin's significant other asked what was happening musically, and I was sort of horrified to find that I was giving him the same answer as I had last time I saw him--a year ago. He raised an eyebrow and commented that if we don't use a gift, the Muse will take it away. I'm hoping the Muse just has a little more patience, because after a year of working a job that devoured my personal life, I'm finally at the point where I can begin to reaquaint myself with the people I care about, and begin to write again.
I feel as though I'm starting over in many ways-- I'm desperately hoping that I don't have to go through the long period of exceedingly sucky writing in order to produce anything worthwhile again.
Challenges:
1. tune your damn piano
2. restring your dusty guitar
3. write something decent enough that you're not tempted to gnaw off your own arm rather than read/listen to it.
Ha. We'll see how that goes. Seriously, though... I'm actually optomistic.
What the phalarope actually has to do with this blog entry is debatable. It's a small, sleek shore bird that, if Alan Patton is to be believed, can be found in South Africa. In other words, it has nothing to do with it.
But it IS too late. I ought to be sleeping since I think I may be, once again, on the brink of getting sick. Which reminds me:
At the event of my grandfather's 90th birthday (!) this week, a cousin's significant other asked what was happening musically, and I was sort of horrified to find that I was giving him the same answer as I had last time I saw him--a year ago. He raised an eyebrow and commented that if we don't use a gift, the Muse will take it away. I'm hoping the Muse just has a little more patience, because after a year of working a job that devoured my personal life, I'm finally at the point where I can begin to reaquaint myself with the people I care about, and begin to write again.
I feel as though I'm starting over in many ways-- I'm desperately hoping that I don't have to go through the long period of exceedingly sucky writing in order to produce anything worthwhile again.
Challenges:
1. tune your damn piano
2. restring your dusty guitar
3. write something decent enough that you're not tempted to gnaw off your own arm rather than read/listen to it.
Ha. We'll see how that goes. Seriously, though... I'm actually optomistic.
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