Room, Self Loves

“The Nest”

Since the rain never let up, not once all day, self read and read and read.

She’s almost to the end of The Beautiful and the Damned.  She wonders why she should care about two young people who’ve spent two years married to each other and miserable (She wonders why anyone only 26 years of age should be miserable?  When there is so much time to “do something”?)

In the section she’s reading, the hero goes off and enlists.  He’s riding on a train.  This novel is full of wonderful set-pieces.

She thinks the parts about the grandfather dying (This is not a spoiler: he’s been dying since page one) and the revealing of the contents of his will were excellent, shattering.

Self’s next book, perhaps a rather unlikely choice given that self is where she is, is Alice Waters and Chez Panisse.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

3rd Saturday of June 2012: WRITING

Weather today:  wet.

Self doesn’t mind.

Since about a week ago, self has become quite impervious to vagaries like cold and damp.

A fine mist shrouds the trees.

Tally so far:  two short stories.  One is a piece of historical fiction, which she found she quite enjoys writing, if only in small bursts.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

A Constellation of Opening Sentences From Barbara Ker Wilson’s SCOTTISH FOLK TALES AND LEGENDS

(Self had to look up the words brae and croft in the DK Eyewitness Travel Guide to Scotland.  A brae is a hill, and a croft is a “small plot of farmland with dwellings.”)

  • Before the first sailors turned the prows of their ships seawards to discover what lay beyond their own homelands, the King and Queen of the sea dwelt below the waves in peace and happiness. (“MacCodrum of the Seals”)
  • Ercildourne is a hamlet that lies in the shadow of the Eildon Hills. (“Thomas the Rhymer”)
  • In Kintyre there is a great cave whose black mouth yawns wide among the cliffs of that rocky coast-line. (“The Piper of Keil”)
  • There was once a fisherman of Kintyre called Iain MacRae, who lived at Ardelve. (“The Blue Cap”)
  • This is a tale of Michael Scot, the famous wizard of Selkirk, who was namely for the wonderful deeds he committed beyond men’s comprehension; he who split the Eildon Hills in twain. (“How Michael Scot Went to Rome”)
  • Fair Janet was the daughter of a lowland Earl who lived in a grey castle beside green meadows. (“Tam Lin”)
  • There is a legend that long ago the Picts knew the secret of brewing heather-ale; a secret so precious that it was known to only one family, and passed down from father to eldest son. (“The Secret of Heather-Ale”)
  • For over a thousand years, Dunvegan Castle, which stands in the west of Skye, has been the home of the MacLeods of MacLeod.
  • On a day long ago, when the bracken sprang green and tender on the hills, a fine gentleman rode over the braeside to woo a fair lady. (“Whippety Stourie”)
  • In a grey stone farm-house that lay huddled in a valley below the heather-covered hills, there once lived a farmer who owned a fine sheep — or a White Pet, as they called a sheep in his part of Scotland. (“The White Pet”)
  • Sandray is a little island in the Outer Hebrides, set south of Barra and surrounded by the wide Atlantic Ocean. (“The Faery and the Kettle”)
  • When the warm days come and the sun begins to burn the bracken brown, according to their age-old custom the Highland crofters take their cattle to summer pastures in the hills, re-opening the shielings where they will stay until it is time to return home again. (“Morag and the Water Horse”)

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