A Single Layer

When in doubt as to what I do of a Sunday night, do inquire here . The new BBC adaptation of Emma is everything that one could want from our favorite production company. Granted, there are moments when one wonders if the dialogue is being intentionally drawn out to make the story last for six hours, or however long this thing turns out to be. It's a bit amusing to me that there's a fanbase in the world that would be disappointed if their films were any shorter.

This comes out today. I've had an advanced reader on my coffee table for about five days now and still haven't managed the time to read it. What have I been doing? Working? Writing? It's a mystery. Anyway, I'll see what I can do about that. I haven't written a YA review (or any review for that matter) in many months. It's about time! I'd also like to mention that my advanced reader isn't your typical mock-up. It's a real hardcover with pretty pages and a shiny dust jacket. Meaning that if it didn't have 'ARC 2911' in sharpie on the textblock, it would look just like the real thing. (And what's this with sending advanced readers five days in advance? How's that supposed to give us any reasonable headstart? How are we supposed to circulate the thing and build up hype? No idea.)

I think it was George Eliot who wrote this, but I may be wrong: 'If I could, I would always write in silence and obscurity and let my efforts be known by their results.' This has been in the back of my mind for the last decade as a kind of artist's creed. You can see how it's worked out for me. I have been writing for a while now, with inconsistent effort and little result. Recently, I started writing with a few friends, employing considerably more effort and considerably less silence. Today was our last day on our first project together. It is finished. Thank you, boys. I am unspeakably grateful to be with you both.

Because everything has to be made into a movie. Everything.

from Father Stephen's blog . I know, I just linked there the other day. So rather than make you read the whole post, I'll quote the bit that struck me: 'We are living in a time of history in which saints are required. We have long passed the time in which rational arguments will carry the day. Nothing less than lives which manifest the existence of God will do. The world has heard centuries of arguments – has been subjected to crass persecutions and atrocities in the name of God.... That the world is hungry is beyond doubt. But the world is not hungry for a new and winning argument. The world hungers for God (whether it knows this or not).'

Honestly, I've been wondering how long it was going to take for someone to make one of these. Look for it on March 16th. Yet again, Stephenie Meyer, I thank you for my paycheck.

I don't regret not being the sort of person who goes to concerts all the time, except when I remember that Sufjan Stevens and Joanna Newsom are real people who perform on stage as well as on cds. Then I regret. Why was I at that wedding instead of at his concert? Why did I not catch Majesty Snowbird (and will that song ever be released on an album? has it already and I just don't know?), and why are Joanna's shows always so far away? Here's a new song. Can't wait for the album next month!! Don't try watching the video. Just listen.

Don't hate me for posting links without exposition.

This was good for today.

I haven't read a novel in a month. When my present writing project is over, that's what I want to do. Read a good book. A really good book. And no, I'm not looking for suggestions. I have a bookcase full of options. So just bite your tongue.

I have been writing a lot lately, just not for this blog. Every now and then my favorite bloggers disappear for a while. I either get in a huff, wondering and worrying where they've been, or I fail to notice altogether. There's always another blog to read, another brain to spy into. I hope you've found your curiosity about others' worlds satisfied in others' blogs. And no, not every post from now on will be an apology for the number of days that have passed in between. I am presently curled up on my bed with my cat. An mug of hot chocolate is beside me. I'm thinking about my plans for the coming weeks. Most of them involve editing. Editing a screenplay, editing a novel. But there's also reading to do. And meeting a lot of different people for coffee. And calling a lot of other people back. I would feel overwhelmed, except that I'm curled up with my cat and a mug of hot chocolate. I've also spent most of the day reading my Bible and praying. Who can ...

You're all wondering where I've gone, and I will tell you soon. Soon! In the meantime, please know that I have gone to a happy place. A good place. A place where there is joy and love and everything wonderful. And no, I have not actually moved to Italy. (Better than that.)

dear ridley scott, please make all my movies.

Two weeks is almost a record of unblogging for me. Many apologies to my faithful readers. I have been working a good deal, of course, what with the holidays. And my yesterday was filled with all the warm delights of a cider party at Emily's. This meant two kinds of cider for me (Strongbow!!!) and lots of sugar cookies! Thank you, Holly, for coming with. It was a good drive there and back again. The Christmas season is a little strange this year. The parents were going to be in Israel, so we made all our plans without them. Now they will be here after all, so our plans are split in two. It will be confusing and odd, but still Christmas. I didn't do my usual Advent posts this year, and I confess that I'm not quite holding onto the season as well as I usually do. It seems full of retail this year, and I regret that. I'll try to do better this week - despite it being the busiest, money-filled week of the year. All my Christmas love to everyone.

Because you all need more blogs to follow, this is my sister's blog from Africa. It will probably be updated very infrequently, considering the limitations of her internet access, but it's worth checking. I promise. Hopefully there will be pictures soon. I've seen some, and they're beautiful!

I'd like to give a shout-out to my neighbor, two houses down. He's an amazing man. To begin with, he entertains the neighborhood to no end by walking, jogging, or biking his dogs around several times a day. One of these dogs is an Irish Wolfhound the size of a small motorcycle. It's a wonder to behold. Impossible not to stop what you're doing and stare every time they go by. But this man does more than entertain. He's got some sort of tendre for the community. He picks up after everyone else's dogs. He gathers their litter every week as he makes his rounds. And right now, in the beastly pouring rain, he's standing on the corner fishing dead palm fronds out of the gutter with a rake so that the streets will stop flooding. I feel like I should be bringing him hot cocoa, but he's too busy to drink it, and his hands are full. Cookies, perhaps. Or some of that gingerbread already made. Everyone else is at work. No one knows what he does but me, curled up with...

The miracle of Till We Have Faces is that every time I read it, I swear I am reading about myself on every page. Walk away, and there is small resemblance between me and that veiled sister. Open it up, and it is me again. It is me. It doesn't matter that I know the end. It doesn't matter that I know she's mistaken and bitter and blinded and wrong wrong wrong. Talent cannot write this stuff. It is made out of miracle. Out of an uncanny sight.

My new favorite sentence, from my always favorite author, on the danger of poets being the only qualified critics of poetry: 'The republic of letters resolves itself into an aggregate of uncommunicating and unwindowed monads; each has unawares crowned and mitred himself Pope and King of Pointland.' - Lewis, Preface to Paradise Lost Yes, Edinburgh fellows, he just used the word 'monad'. And Walter Benjamin thought he was being all clever...

thank you, benji.

If you're going to share your special version of the good news, aim for convenient timing. If you see a woman in her backyard, she might be at leisure to receive you. But if you can clearly see that she's in her backyard cleaning out the cat litter box, that's just not good timing. Moreover, if you realize she's been dealing in cat waste, it might not be the most dignified thing to ask her to handle your holy Scriptures. I would personally prefer to wash my hands before I held any Bible, especially after such activity. If I didn't know that yours was translated with specific text manipulation, inaccuracies, irregularities, and the like, I might have refused the offer. One other point of decorum you might consider. It's not exactly good manners to invite someone to have a seat on their own property. It's my house. I'll sit down if I damn well please, thank you very much. You are no rabbi for me to huddle at your feet on the patio steps. Ahem. Anyway. I do...