Novel by Christina Carson
Purchase at Amazon Kindle
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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All blog posts tagged with inspiration
The Jewel in the Crown
Yesterday, while on Dictionary.com looking for the right word yet again, I spotted one of their little quizzes, and curious, clicked for the answer to their question: What word has 76 different meanings? My first thought was, thank God English is my first language. Can you imagine trying to accommod…
Thinking of Something Better
I was reading poetry this morning. I often read poetry before starting to write, as it shows me where the moment is and ushers me in. When we are present, we are attentive to reality; when we are not present,
we are held in the gossipy soap opera of our minds. I began to reflect on an incident from…
Mistaken Identity
If you are someone who likes to chew on ideas, especially ones that could have a worthwhile impact on your life, give a look at this most recent entry to the Inspiration Section on my website.
From insightful Herman Hesse in Klein and Wagner:
Mind invented contradictions, invented names; it called som…
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…
How Did This Happen
Over my year in social media, I’ve watched the tides of emotion running through the group I hang out with the most – writers, we souls on the edge of this new era of publishing and communication. Each in his own way started on a high point—finally we could be the gatekeeper of our dreams, we could p…
Best I Can Remember
Eastern Entrance to Jasper
I believe it was the summer of 1970, best I can remember. My forced marriage (even without children involved) was already revealing the frays and broken threads of a seam soon to give way. The summer before, John and I had spent a month in the Canadian wilderness that un…
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…
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…
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…
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…
Be Not Afraid
This one is a tad long today, but I wouldn't ask your time if I didn’t think the topic worthy. See for yourself.
“There is nothing to fear but fear itself.” These were inaugural words of Franklin Delano Roosevelt during yet another time of deep recession and upheaval in this country. Politics a…
The Crux of the Matter
The dedication to Raymond Carver’s last book, A New Path to the Waterfall, reads: Tess. Tess. Tess. Tess
Tess Gallagher was his final and truest love, though they didn’t meet until well into his life, one that began beleaguered and coarse, and carried on into alcoholism and struggle. But he …
Take It From a Cow
Years ago, I had the quirkiest milk cow named Molly. She was
a huge 1500 lb. Holstein (the black and white variety) with the touchiest
disposition imaginable. Her moods appeared to stretch from enduring to
down-right dour, contentment not even a passing fancy. But she did have what
seemed like one w…
Ifs, Ants, and Buts
There she goes, that little ant that visits me from time-to-time, Lilliputian by anyone’s standards, tracking across my desk with earnest that would make any taskmaster proud. And I call her, she, because ant colonies consist mainly of sterile, wingless females that do all the work. What else is n…
Appreciating Intuition
In my last blog, in suggesting a different explanation for J.A. Konrath’s success, I described two different frames of reference from which we humans can operate, one as a rational being and another as an intuitive being. I further suggested that much of our confusion and frustration results from us…