To catch up here on the blog …
NEWS:
If You Find Me
… sold to Taiwan and to Spain.
… was nominated by YALSA for the BFYA (best fiction for young adults) list for 2014.
… Entered its SECOND PRINTING.
AND …
The first flowers of Spring are blooming!
Happy Spring, everyone!
The Dog-Days of summer.
After writing every spare moment the last three years, I decided to take the summer off. The plan was to:
a) Spend more time with my lovelies: my husband, the sanctuary dogs and the rescue horses.
b) Rest the writing muscles and come back refreshed and bursting with ideas.
It worked. I’m excited to get cracking on my current WIP (that’s work-in-progress for my non-writer friends) and I’m straining at the bit to begin another YA (young adult) novel for NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) in November.
That said, it doesn’t mean I didn’t have a creative outlet the past three months. Besides writing and poetry, I also love photography. It’s something I do for my own personal pleasure; unlike writing, I particularly enjoy the lack of competition and perfectionism, and the desert provides endless material.
Not something I'd want stuck in my hair!
I’m not sad to see the summer end; it’s been the hottest one yet. And even though monsoon clouds kept rolling in …
Summer has the bluest eyes ...
… and brightened up the days in a ROY-G-BIV sort of way …
Somewhere ...
... over the rainbow ...
… the monsoon was miserly with its rain, albeit quite generous with its sunsets:
Still, one of my favorite times of the day is when the moon appears …
The moon is an early riser.
… and night falls, which is the perfect time to snuggle under the covers with a good novel and read someone else’s one thousand words.
Photographs by Emily Murdoch
Photos by Emily Murdoch
Photos by Emily Murdoch.
Morning:
The simple facts are naked and pink;
a reviving number of sun-lit breaths,
a second helping of morning,
golden opportunities to make time fly
or scratch the dog’s back in lazy circles.
Noon:
Coffee rising. A non-option, really,
those stale afternoons littered with yesterday’s prayers
that smell like old rain and stomp the stairs
going nowhere fast. Waiting for the churlish skies
scrubbed childlike and new, waiting for the newborn worlds
to cry a fateful tune. No need to fret –
the Universal antennae adjusts itself,
the frequency frequent enough,
the bright, cellophane words busting out
of pinata souls written in half.
Night:
Rushing Saturday off to endless destinations,
coated in foreign scents chasing dog-eared adventures
while trees typed on windowpanes that weren’t your own,
voyeuristic roots exploring uncharted, fecund soils,
time unbridled and galloping off as time is wont to do,
shadows growing older in the solitude,
crock pot seething on the counter, forgotten,
dogs fogging up the windowglass to see what you’ve begotten
while the evening grows colder as you grow braver,
tossing extra logs upon the Muse’s fire.
Poem and photos by Emily Murdoch.
 | leftywritey on About Me |
 | Janet M. on About Me |
| leftywritey on The Crooked Star Gazette |
| leftywritey on The Crooked Star Gazette |
 | Emma Pass on The Crooked Star Gazette |
