The Winged Life

  He who binds himself to a joy Does the winged life destroy He who kisses the joy as it flies Lives in eternity’s sunrise.                —-William Blake   I’ve been pining. Every day, I wake and think of some distant thing to lash myself too:  PR events related to the paperback release of Rough Beauty (radio and print interviews, new website and blog, readings); an end of summer…

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Late Bloomer

A reader recently called Rough Beauty—a fairy tale.  She was not being kind.  At first I laughed.  Anyone who knows me knows I am no princess; not once have I been a damsel in distress.  The course of my life has been a dirty mess, traversing the scarred landscape of family and fire, the misery of isolation and working too much for too little.  I could go on, but you get the picture. And yet, I’ve…

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My Mind on Winter

August in the mountains and I can feel summer begin to ebb.  At the prairie house, I‘d be staring down the barrel of at least two more months of way-too-hot-for-me weather, while nearly 4000 feet higher this morning’s temperature registered in the upper 40s.  Already the days have cooled from what passes as scorching in late June and July—a burning, high altitude 85 degrees–and there are nights when I pull an extra comforter over the…

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