2nd Quote of the Day: From Self’s Short Story, “Lizard” Included in the Collection, GINSENG AND OTHER TALES FROM MANILA (Published in the U.S. by Calyx Press)

They must have been sitting there a long time. Her grandmother was leaning forward, saying something in a low, insistent voice, while Wito’s mother listened with bent head. Wito saw how intently her grandmother gazed at her mother, how there seemed to be something about her mother that kept drawing the older woman forward, so that it seemed she might reach out any moment and touch or, perhaps, hit her. Wito saw how her mother hung her head, and knew that she was crying. The back of her neck, covered with fine, black hair, looked narrow and exposed. Wito thought she caught the words shameful and waste, but then her grandmother saw her and broke off aprubtly.

When Wito went up to greet her grandmother, the old woman’s cheek felt dry, like parchment, whereas her mother’s cheek was soft and moist, and when Wito turned to leave, her mother softly said “no” and pulled her close. Her mother’s arms encircled her, forcing her to face her grandmother.

—  Marianne Villanueva, “Lizard,” included in The 100 Best Philippine Short Stories in English, Manila: Tahanan Books, edited by Isagani Cruz

QUOTE OF THE DAY: 9/11 COMMISSION REPORT

“We have some planes.”

The first communication from the terrorists on the four doomed flights. And that was how an ordinary Tuesday became that great unknowable: tragedy.

Self is reading the 9/11 Commission Report this morning, a 900+ page behemoth.

She’s reading all kinds of things in an effort to get herself to write more. And more. And more. And more.

In addition, a few days ago, James Moad II, who edits the War, Literature and the Arts Journal, sent self a link to this, which makes for most fascinating reading.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

Cassandra Clare Quote of the Day: Clockwork Princess, pp. 315 – 316

Will beset by a pack of werewolves at a Welsh country inn:

Will was bleeding from his shoulder where one of them had dug deep furrows with his claws; the pain was glorious . . . “Again,” he said, and barely recognized his own voice, strained and cracked and deadly. “Again.”

OMG, self can’t. She can’t even.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.

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