Sun

February Photo A Day

Sunset, Stealing Light

I only have to walk one short block. First I look right. Then I look left.

One burst of orange approaching, another receding. A city steals the escaping light.

I feel lucky to live where I live at most times of day but especially at sunset.

Summer Fury and Starting to Write Again

The days are hot here in New York and I haven't been blogging as much as I would like. I lost my camera early in July and began to realize how many of my posts come from what I see and how that makes me feel.

I've taken, perhaps, the longest writing break I've taken in a while. From the moment I finished the revisions to RABBIT ISLAND back in the first days of June, to today, I've written vritually nothing. Some journals. Some thoughts in this internet space.  I fooled around with a short story and decided to send it off into the wild to see if someone out there will publish it somewhere out there but, beyond that, I have been free of characters and plot for a long while.

I don't quite know how I feel about that. I've been dreaming a new novel for many moons and it, finally, feels like the right time to find the words for it. To think that I haven't worked on a new project with new characters and new story threads since before my wedding, over a year ago, my breath and heart quicken, wondering, what will it feel like to start again? To lean over the page and let my hair fall over the swirling s's and crossed t's of my thoughts.

I don't know.

As I originally thought of what to post here I could only think of the heat, the crowds in the subways, the way we're trapped in between buildings in this ferocious July.  This has been the fury of the sun each day from my iPhone. #NoFilter. As they say.

I leave for Ireland soon. A much needed escape.

I hope your summers are full of happy surprises. Or lazy sameness. Both great in their own ways.

Beyond the Fair

Yesterday was a full, whirlwind day.  Long meetings in the morning, walking the floor of the Javits Center for the annual American International Toy Fair in the afternoon, then running off to a workshop in the evening to learn about writing the news for kids.

Toy fair is a fluorescent lit, starburst try-me shout, wow wow, look here spectacle.  Never good for someone who has a fear of crowded spaces, who panics when over-stimulated with bright lights and loud noises.

At some point, I became delirious, nearly falling over in tearful laughter when someone pointed out a baby-doll with a toilet and a little poop inside it that disappears when you flush, leaving me with flashbacks of a doll I had as a little girl, who came with green-slime baby food that went straight through her pliable pink lips and out her butt into a diaper, which was both thrilling and repulsive at the same time.  

So with head aching, armpits sweating (crowds, crowds, too many crowds), thinking about rubber-bodied baby dolls regurgitating green slime, I found myself in some dark corner of baby sippy-cups with flexible handles and looked up.  Windows.  I had forgotten the Javits Center had windows. I could see sky. And the hint of some gray cloud.

Of course I shouldn't have, of course I'm sure that my badge didn't allow access there, but I walked behind the black curtain skirting this building of trade booths, and there, beyond the spit up and break down of the show behind the show, beyond carts and boxes and tape and scrap, beyond a building of people buying and selling and shouting the magic of play or childhood or something so irrevocably lost it hurts my heart, was one of the most beautiful sunsets I'd ever seen.