Yes! In time for a Halloween treat, Interfictions issue 2 is live! It’s dark out, so curl up with a mug of something hot and read poetry, fiction, and nonfiction, or what might be classified as such if you didn’t look too closely at the edges.
With poetry from Nancy Hightower, Sonya Taaffe, Alexandra Seidel, poetry in photography/collage by Maria Romasco Moore, and poems to be listened to or read by Sara Norja, and myself (the poem I mentioned in a previous post, “I am the lost scarf chased by the wind, I am the snowdrift and the snow“).
Oh wow. Books as art… and library space as art. So many things going on with these: I see steampunk (steampunk library, people!), I see absurdism, I see dream and subconscious orientation coming through, the breakdown of reality, the building of reality, and I see books everywhere.
Here’s Giai-Miniet’s page!
What does your dream library look like?
Your prose has a texture, this wonderful quality of sepia flooded by warm light. Mine, well mine is cold and bare bones, a half-scraped white. My writing has no subtlety – everything shows in the antiseptic lighting: the rivets and seams, every dent and imperfection. How to create that atmosphere I breathe when I read your work, that wandering through breaking light so palpable I feel it brush my skin. Its sighing warms my bones. I shiver. I unfold. How to write that tone, redolent, everywhere, like a morning mist: the other world of imagination peeking through, but upon closer inspection it was just a shadow, a nodding flower, a bird taking flight. Yet, that glimmering in the shifting light leaves me wondering.
[Want to know what I mean about Sofia’s writing? Here’s Sofia’s blog; her gorgeous prose enchanted novel, A Stranger in Olondria, through Small Beer Press; recently published poem, “Undoomed“, and an interview at Ideomancer; her “Snowbound in Hamadan” in Stone Telling (which she read at the Open Secrets Poetry Reading at Wiscon37); her “Burnt Lyric” in Goblin Fruit; among many other things…]
I was talking with my friend and writing partner about a WiP I’m currently in the throes of writing and it occurred to me that my anxiety and thrashing about are caused by the scope of the piece. I believed I described it thus:
It feels like going out for a nice wade in a little pond then finding yourself in the middle of a large cold lake desperately trying to tread water and figure out what’s going on (I grew up near Lake Michigan, I think that’s what came to mind). It’s frightening, shocking, and somewhat disorienting.
Yes, my story has turned into something much larger than a 4 – 6,000 word short story. Which is what I set out to write. Which is why I’m stuck and, well, intimidated. Which is an overwhelming position to be in, as I’m sure you could imagine (see above for imagery if you can’t imagine).
Don’t exactly know where the story is headed, but more than that, I don’t know what it is I’m writing. I don’t know it’s size or scope other than bigger than what I’d expected. As if I had signed up for adopting a rescued cat and someone brings the feline over and through the peephole in the front door I see something that might very well be a lion. It’s a bit distorted, mind, but the woman from animal rescue is not holding a little puddy tat in her arms, she’s leading some gigantic beast by a sturdy-looking leash you could haul boulders with (were you in the habit of doing such, for exercise maybe, or because you’re trying out for the part of a strong man in a circus).
Related, perhaps, is a delightful book I picked up from the library: Drawing and Painting Imaginary Animals: A Mixed-Media Workshop by Carla Sonheim (her website here).
I write stories about fantastic people and animals and places that do not as such exactly exist in this world of physicality. And I’m inspired by what I see and hear and eat and feels around me. Thus, I thought this book might be helpful in my creating some of the wonderful fantastic creatures and places I write about.
That and art is fun and creating with brush or pencil in hand is wonderful. And physical.
That and have you looked at the cover… I mean, how cute are those creatures!
It’s the 31st of October…
We’re at the end of a year, entering the space between– between life and death, between consciousness and subconsciousness, between waking and dreaming. We’re in that space and time Shakespeare referred to, why his lovers waited “a year and a day.” Cultures the world over and throughout history have marked this time of year with celebration.
Yes, I love Halloween! Autumn in general: smells of soil and decaying leaves, some winds redolent of snow, some of earth, the many memories associated with the smell of burning wood (and I’m sure they’re not all mine, that smell must be stamped in our genes by now, certainly in our collective unconscious).
Halloween is wonderful for all that plus the community involvement, the decorations, and the focus on what scares us – the unknown things that remind us of the abyss as well as the known which tell us we do not have ultimate control nor ultimate knowledge.
It’s great weather for long meandering walks that lead to wherever they lead. Great baking weather! It’s the time of year to get ready to hunker down, withdraw from outward showing and retreat into the interior – the home and the home of the soul.
Yes, it’s great weather for contemplation, for thinking, and certainly for reading and writing (which is how I do a good portion of my thinking). Good time of year to get together with friends and read poetry aloud, drink some mulled cider or mulled wine, go apple picking, then come back home and cook and eat delicious food from your garden.
NaNoWriMo (starts tomorrow!) is perfectly scheduled – November, right smack in the middle of autumn leaning toward winter, it’s a great time to travel inward, to reflect, to feel the lengthening shadows crawl across the wall, stoke the fire, and tell tales from somewhere even you don’t know where they came from, from somewhere hidden inside only the darkening sky can illuminate. This is the time when fantasy is at our doorstep – we need just have the courage to open the door and step into the unknown beyond.
The Maker, a short stop-motion film by Christopher Kezelos
“From director Christpher Kezelos, this five-minute film about ‘a strange creature [who] races against time to make the most important and beautiful creation of his life,’ has taken the festival circuit by storm.”
Wonderfully rendered, this stop-motion film enchants. It is richly textured, enhanced by a magical score, and full of detail.
Tears did well up in my eyes at the end of the film. I left a message thanking Mr. Kezelos and all for reminding me why art is so important. Because of life.
… and a link to the film’s website here.