Archive for the Writings Category

Tiny Bells

Posted in Story Time, Wonder, Writings with tags , on August 16, 2009 by moragglimmerwitch

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The window shashes have been tightly shut for several days, the glass panes covered with bits of olde sheet music to keep a secret within …

Nose prints from tiny faces pressed against the glass, paws pressed flat, bitty hands cupped trying to sneak a peek … Smudges of evidence on the panes.

Tiny footprints forming lines throughout the gardens, all seem to end in a gathering outside … just below the window. Further evidence that whispers of what is happening inside is spreading from garden to garden.

All are watching. All await in wonder.

Early mornings, if you are awake with the dawn you might hear the soft tinkling of tiny silver bells as the faeries make their way from the bottom of the gardens to work within the studios walls. It is late into the night before they make their way back home to gather a wink of sleep … & to dream of what is about to happen.

Something is stirring. Something wonderful.

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Posted in thoughts, Words, Writings with tags , , on August 8, 2009 by moragglimmerwitch

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I had a dream that I was lost in a library; it had spiral staircases and tiny ladders with goblins wearing spectacles, they were dusting the highest shelves. I sat in a big red velvet armchair reading every book that I could find about myths and tales, until the guard told me that it was closing time,

I am not a believer in hope but it sometimes comes in wisps and strays, I am going to begin a pebble jar, and maybe one day it will become full of mermaid tear pebbles.

I want to see Paris lit up at night time, sit with my sketchbook in the Mus

Visit Glastonbury with its pretty bookshops, and abbey and gardens, make my hair the colour of the palest moons, and my best friend and I will travel to London in September and dress as Viking girls for the band, and look around art universities. I want to take the bus to Portobello road and buy vintage black lace and antique books, we can hide our hearts for just one day, and tomorrow when the sun wakes up I will go for a walk with my camera on the lonely five a m roads.

L.M. Montgomery

Posted in Books, L M Montgomery (Lucy Maud), Literature, Words, Writings with tags on July 18, 2009 by moragglimmerwitch

L.M. Montgomery (known as Lucy Maude to fans) is the beloved author of Anne of Green Gables and other children’s books about quirky orphaned or semi-orphaned intelligent, imaginative girls. Lucy Maude herself lived with her mother until a late (for the time) marriage to a minister whose occupation required her to stifle her lively mind (at least outwardly) and to endure many boring teas as well as move out of her beloved PEI to Ontario. Adding insult to injury, her husband was mentally ill, something she covered up on his behalf, as well as her own bouts of depression.

Like all successful and well merchandised (through movies, dolls, tv spin-offs and much else) authors whose copyright has expired, there is always another buck to be extracted from her journals and notes. Penguin is set to release The Blythes Are Quoted in Oct/09, a collection of short stories derived from the archives at The University of Guelph. Die hard Lucy Maud fans will enjoy, I’m sure, with some surprises. Though Lucy Maud wrote that it’s as easy to write about the sky as it is the privy, these stories contain plenty of privy:

From Quill and Quire

[T]he stories don’t reflect the sunny tone readers might expect from Montgomery. Several themes in The Blythes Are Quoted are inescapably grown-up: adultery, illegitimacy, hatred, revenge, death.

In my experience, books put together from scraps unused by the author in the author’s lifetime are usually not very good, but I’ll probably read it just for the fun of seeing another side of Lucy Maud (who inspired me as a kid and many other  writers, too!). However, I recommend the journals, which I read in PEI while working on my first novel. Her journals make fascinating reading and reveal the range and depth of her mind.

At the end of her life she lived in a part of Toronto that overlooks Lake Ontario. It’s a lovely place, originally the Village of Swansea, so named because it looked so much like Wales, and was one of the last two villages to be absorbed by the city in 1967.

Writing Pages

Posted in Words, Writings with tags , , on February 23, 2009 by moragglimmerwitch

The other night, when it was so warm, I started a private journal. I sat by candlelight trying to conserve energy and started filling the pages of one of the many blank journals that fills my bedside table. It’s just a plain journal with its dark blue cover, nothing with a golden binding or a beautifully designed cover. I had hoped to find something beautiful for the words, but then I suppose the words inside are what matter. As in all things, the real beauty is not on the surface but in this case, within the pages.