A writer's library

Oh to have back my library, walls lined with books, one extraordinary comfortable chair, and the sun shining into the tall windows.  But, I gave it up for the road and the end of academia.

But Jack London's library

London's Library, via the William Brown Project ©

brings me back, crawling on my hands and knees to writing.   I'd not quite given it up as I write for the local art alliance, and wrote for more than 5 years for the local newspaper, but I had forsaken my daily writings, glimpses into larger works, noodles of thought, lists, and all in one single journal, often leather bound, and in more recent years in a Moleskine sketchbook.  I didn't draw in those journals, but wrote and wrote.

In 1992, I was determined and succeeded in writing 1000 words each day and not answer the phone or receive visitors until the words were planted on the page.  I did this after Rebby and I did morning pages and worked our way through the Artists Way, Julia Cameron's singular masterpiece of get it going. 

When Rebecca suggested we buy this book on a drive down to Newport (RI) I was aghast and said let's buy one copy and share it.  Then when we began it was clear that we needed two copies and I had to run, or rather drive over to Brown's Bookstore (I still had my faculty ID) and buy a second copy.

Perhaps it was just this sabbatical year or serendipity, but in 1992 I did these exercises, took a workshop on Proprioceptive Writing in Portland (ME) and wrote every day. 

I followed this workshop with a sojourn to Liberty (ME), a quiet place, and a room with a view, in what was once a wreak of a chicken coop, turned into a masterful 3-level house by a fellow aspiring writer.  Each room had floor to ceiling windows and small outdoor porches, all of which captured the light, often dim in Maine.

Liberty Post Office © Michal Flisiuk

M, my friend worked 50 miles from Liberty, left early in the morning and arrived back late in the evening, giving me the house all day to write, and write, and go into Belfast for typewriter ribbon (yes that long ago) and buy great food at the local food cooperative.  But it was writing I was after and writing I got.

One great cooking adventure was when on a weekend we visited a neighbour friend and gathered together tons of just ripened tomatoes.  The two, M and Y had been partners in a herb business and the right pot and lovely dried herbs were waiting for us at home.  I did up a marvelous sauce while wringing out Parsifal's Adventures on a slow moving electric typewriter. be continued...


So Painful! Does anyone hear?

It's early morning. 

I am not at home but enroute from Scotland, Pa  home.  I am stalling because I don't really want to get on the highway and face another 225 miles.

I read the paper, instead and read this story.

Daniel Barden © Washington Post via Barden Family

I find myself distraught.  I nearly cry aloud.  Does anyone in government hear the pleas of those who want a change in gun control?

Just the other day, out on another highway, I heard only a snippet of yet another massacre in Santa Monica, California.  Several dead.  Perhaps more.  The gunman was not identified.  His rage and an automatic weapon palpable.

My father lived in Santa Monica once.   He could have been on those streets, a victim of an armed man with no purpose other than to wreck vengeance on his neighbours or strangers.

What does it take for the US to change its notion of John Wayne, the Wild West and the 2nd amendment?


All the buildings in New York City

What a project!

Flatiron building, NYC

Blog or book by James G. Hancock

Itching Amsterdam

Bloemgracht, Amsterdam

Twenty free things to do in Amsterdam so makes me home sick for my life gone by in City I not only loved, but was loved in  and gave birth.