Novel by Christina Carson
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Quote from Suffer the Little Children:
"Perhaps what we call misfortune is actually a place where the universe interrupts our habits that keep life so limited and small, forcing us to respond differently. The opportunity it offers depends on how hard we work to close the gap or hold it open, allowing ourselves to glimpse realities we've never glimpsed before."
Novel by Christina Carson
Quote from Dying to Know:
"I knew in that moment, we were never meant to surrender our childlike innocence, to trade a world in which we fit like a glove for one that hung on us like ill-fitting hand-me-downs. However, all about us insisted on our membership. And instead of a handshake or a mystical password as entrance into this spurious society, we agreed instead to share a lie, the one that says we’re safe, secure, and fulfilled living this way."
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Blog posts in General
That Nasty Little Task - Inserting Page Numbers
Trust me, the blog that follows is a candidate for Ripley’s Believe It or Not. Even if you don’t care to read it, you might want to print it off, for it may be worth something in years to come as an anomaly—a technical article written by Christina Carson. If nothing else, it could offer a good lau…
Landlocked in Fur
I momentarily borrowed the title to one of Tukaram’s poems that I love. Daniel Ladinsky, one of my favorite translators of ecstatic poetry, renders it so marvelously I wanted to share it with you. Laughter comes more naturally to those who slip further and further out of the clutch of self-absorpt…
Good Fences Don't Make Good Neighbors
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The other night, Bert and I watched a film clip created by National Geographic that featured the border issues occurring bet…
La Cucaracha
Did you know the state bug of Alabama is the cockroach? That’s what Country-fried Mama said who found out the hard way, that rather than signs of filth and poverty, cockroaches were just part of the southern landscape. Deal with it.
Having no history with roaches, my introduction to this ancient in…
The Zen of Ray Bradbury
“Sometimes I am stunned at my capacity as a nine-year-old, to understand my entrapment and escape it. How is it that the boy I was in October, 1929, could, because of criticism of his fourth-grade schoolmates, tear up his Buck Rogers comic strips and a month later judge all of his friends idiots and…
The Books That Live Forever
Yesterday, Stephen Woodfin’s blog, “Five Books You Think Everyone Should Read,” started me musing, as it did a few others, judging from the comments that followed. Books aren’t like acquaintances; they are life experiences that we carry with us to the end. And when you think of it, that descript…
Okay Where Are We Now ?
Years back, when I was in corporate consulting, I often found myself in the kitchen of fine eateries attempting to untangle the conflicts rife in that environment. The troubles my partner and I noted were directly related to the unusual requirements of the job of Executive Chef or Chef de cuisine. T…
Which Would You Rather Be?
Did you ever play the game, 'what would you rather be?' as a little kid with your friends, when you were stuck in the house on rainy days or holed up in a secret hiding place sharing just that—secrets? We found out many things about each other in that game, but when we hit the hard questions, we fou…
STOP, Look Down, Look Beyond
The driveway was crumbling blacktop having been pasted on a too-steep hill that wasn’t interested in holding it in place. Bert and I were there to help a friend carry in a new mattress, and when Bert went to the back of our vehicle to close the tailgate, he saw it first. “Come here,” he called to me…
When the Buddhist Monks Came to Town
In March of 1959, which for many of you was long before you were born, a group of 38 people stole out of Lasha, Tibet around midnight and walked through the Himalayas to asylum in India. The Dalai Lama, who was only 18 years-old, was in the group as well as two other monks he’d chosen to accompany h…
Thoughts from this Vantage Point
I’m sixty-six years old. I never imagined being this age, in part because it is hard to imagine, and in part because we are infused with such fear about aging that we avoid thinking about it. However, it is just another vantage point, a different pattern in our kaleidoscopic existence. What fascinat…
Toward More Love
I’m thinking about Mother’s Day. I’m thinking about the tremendously (adverb intended) challenging experience parenting has become, not because the role has changed, but because it takes more time than most parents can find in the hectic 24 hour revolutions we call our lives. If we needed proof, …
The Motherbreed
I've been sick for the last week. Illness quiets me and soften me around the edges. I began reminiscing about my life as a shepherdess, my adoration and respect for sheep, and the admirable qualities they demonstrate. Sheep have all the merits of the people I most love – kindness, humor, joy, toler…
Something Real for a Change
I've always been a fan of radio. For years, living in northern Alberta, radio was all we had – two stations, one local farm and country broadcast and the national station, CBC, a wonderful medium that joined the two edges of that vast country such that you felt like you all lived in the same small t…
We Call the Game
I, perhaps like you, ponder often these days on how we writers can create the readership and sales we need. Yesterday, I was comparing a small sampling of indie publishers in the Kindle Store Top 100 Best Sellers (paid), looking for commonalities that might explain their presence there. Well, I have…
Promise Me This
One of my friends of forty years once said to me about twenty years back, after going to a fantasy movie with her young son, “Kids don’t need fantasy; adults do.” And we both laughed. Young kids still know the birds talk to you if you’ll listen. They know imaginary friends aren’t necessarily imagina…
Triberr Oops!
This blog is dedicated to all my tribe mates. It is my apology to you, and if you’ll read on you’ll understand why. Ignorance is bliss only as long as the consequences of one’s choices have not yet shown up. Saturday night, around 1:30 AM, I saw in all its gory detail what my Luddite-type attitude t…
Books That Disturb Us
A book sits on the short shelf above our bed where I keep my treasures. It is a book that elicited heated debates, accusations, cruel judgments and little praise when first published. It was commissioned, in a sense, by a man in his seventh decade, a man who was one of the few remaining who still kn…
The Masters
I was twelve years old, had just finished reading Wuthering Heights and was pondering, which I did regularly. I walked to the kitchen where my mum was cooking dinner, leaned against the wall and asked, “Who decides who the Masters are? Who decided that Beethoven was great or Rembrandt or Emily Br…
The View from Here
There is a great deal of talk these days about the impact the staggering change in the publishing industry from print to digital will have on the world of writing, for it essentially means anyone can publish a book. We've traded the gatekeepers for an open playing field and some are heralding it, wh…