I've had a very lovely day, reading galleys for Hawthorn House and spinning Jane's alpaca/wool/silk. I'm probably slower at doing each task, since I'm doing both at the same time, but it's a relaxing division of attention--read a bit, spin a bit, then read again. I'm far enough away from this book (it was finished last summer) to be reading it with a fresh eye, and appreciating it with a fresh mind. It's my favorite so far of the Cottage Tales--enough good lines to make me smile, even make me laugh, especially in the animal scenes. Fun for me, and I hope for you, when you get to read it.
Also today, a nice review from Booklist of What Wildness is This, posted on Amazon's page. It's good to see some of the review journals taking an interest in the book. Plus some garden work, a bit of Internet mapping (the last of the maps for the tour), and some negotiation on a new writing project--something different--that I hope to be able to tell you about before too long. Not sure where it's going, and it's certainly had its ups and downs and ins and outs and moments of "what the hell am I doing THIS for?" I finally have the feeling it's going somewhere. But not yet. Not just yet.
Back to Hawthorn House and my spindle.
Reading note. My students assume that when well-respected writers sit down to write their books, they know pretty much what is going to happen . . . and this is why their books turn out so beautifully and why their lives are so easy and joyful, their self-esteem so great, their childlike senses of trust and wonder so intact. Well. I do not know anyone fitting this description at all. Everyone I know flails around, kvetching and growing despondent, on the way to finding a plot and structure that work. You are welcome to join the club.--Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird