The Work of Days

Some days are meant for life, and others death.

Today belonged to death.

My grandfather's funeral was meaningful and comforting. The service reflected his unique character and gave testament to the loving community of which he had been a vital part. Musician, story-teller, WWII veteran, he was a man of puckish character and unmatched generosity. He lived 91 years, vitality at last succumbing to the damage caused by mesothelioma (asbetos-produced cancer).

After hours filled with memories and family, we arrived home late, in the dark. Amidst the chore of unpacking, mind still netted in the frantic pace of the days leading up to the funeral, my husband called me outside.

The neighborhood cat had another rabbit.

My husband had our dogs and couldn't intervene himself.

I hesitated for a moment, wondering why I'd encountered this moment twice and what I would do with two wild rabbits in the house. Still full of questions I headed out into the night.

The cat was nestled against a small apartment building, its pale fur revealing its hiding place among the shadowed bushes. I spoke in calm tones as I approached, the cat looked satisfied when it emerged to greet me and my skin crawled.

I picked up the cat, holding it under one arm while I scanned the ground for the rabbit. It was too dark to see, so I resorted to feeling along the ground.

My breath caught when I felt its soft fur and still body. My eyes adjusted to the dim light when I knew where to look. The rabbit's liquid obsidian eyes were wide and unblinking, its body lay limp and stretched out in the dirt. It was the same size as Dandelion who I'd just left happily munching on clover in our living room.

I was too late. There would be no saving today.

Sometimes the world moves and you stumble upon life and hope in the oddest of places. But lives end, all lives. Death reminds us that all creatures are fragile beings, born to have an end, and all we can do in the face of death is breathe, reflect, and walk on.

Time and Loss

No posts forthcoming in the next few days, my grandfather passed away last night. Out of town to help my mother with arrangements and spend time with our family.

Go, Go Graphic Novel!

In further tales of ALA, BEA buzz, the belle of the ball seems to be David Small's graphic novel, Stitches.
I wasn't a comic book kid, though I do have fond memories of perusing my piano teacher's children's cast-off stacks of X-Men while I was waiting for my mom to pick me up. So when it comes to comics and graphic novels I feel like a newbie trying to sneak into a venerated and esoteric society.
I stumbled into the land of graphic novels by way of loyalty to Buffy the Vampire Slayer. When Joss Whedon announced the series would continue in Season 8 with Dark Horse Comics, I'd signed up months before the first issue was out.

And I loved the new format instantly. Graphic novels are an incredible medium of communication. The monumental devotion that fans of Neil Gaiman's Sandman display are enough of a testimony to the depth and strength of writing and worlds built by creators of the graphic medium.

With the growing interest in graphic novels, publishers and marketers alike are bringing more and more of the medium to an ever-growing audience.

There's even a Twilight graphic novel in the works.

My question then becomes how does one go from writer to writer of graphic novels/manga? One of my favorite YA authors, Melissa Marr, has manga in the works that complement her novels.

My only brush with this medium is the comic I made for my husband's birthday last year. And while I'm still blushingly proud of the creation, it hardly makes me a graphic novelist.

Who is the keeper of the bridge between novelists and graphic novelists? How does one cross over, or preferably, live a writing life on both sides?

Kitty Mea Culpa

Oh noez! I've made kitty sad :(

Thanks for all the support for Dandelion. He seems to be settling into a happy routine well (sleeping in the day, eating at night). I have now become a forager, taking the dogs out to gather wild greens for our little housemate.

I want to apologize to my cat-folk friends (who are many and lovely) for slandering all felines re: rabbit stalking. When I ranted about the cat attack I was still very much caught up in the surreal, post-rescue mindset. Despite the vitriol of my previous post, I am not an anti-cat person. I've spent time with some very nice cats, and have enjoyed many hours of being a kitty "auntie" as a cat-sitter. I enjoy kitty antics and have immense respect for kitties' independence and cunning. As Alan Weisman points out in The World Without Us, it's cats that would survive an apocalypse whereas dogs are likely to go the way of their doomed owners.

Cat is My Nemesis

On my way home from a dinner party last night, I crossed paths with one of the neighborhood cats. I know this particular Siamese well, and until yesterday we were on friendly terms. The cat crouched, utterly still, beneath the dull yellow wash of a street lamp. I started to say "hello" to Miss Kitty, when I noticed the cat's attention was fixed on something else.

I got closer and saw that the cat had cornered a tiny infant rabbit. Baby bunny was hunched up and terrified. I moved to intervene and the cat grabbed the baby bunny and ran.

I had never heard a rabbit scream. I didn't know rabbits could scream. But this tiny bunny screamed when the cat's teeth locked on its neck. The keening wail broke my heart. I tore down the street after the cat, shrieking like a banshee, commanding the cat to stop, thinking I was crazy and the rescue effort hopeless. But about two blocks down the cat did stop in a lawn and dropped the rabbit. It resumed the crouched, deadly watchful stance in which I'd first encountered it.

I crept across the dark lawn and lunged for the baby rabbit, this time managing to scoop up the kit before the cat could get it again. I cradled the baby against my chest and carried it home with me; both our hearts were pounding and I was close to tears.

When I arrived home my husband saw me and the rabbit and said "Wow, you saved the rabbit. I thought it was dead for sure."

Apparently my husband had tried to get the baby bunny away from the cat over an hour earlier without success. With this knowledge and what I read soon after on the internet - that domestic cats, not having to kill to eat, will torment their prey for hours - I was doubly glad I chanced upon stalker and stalked on my way home.

I'm even less of a cat person now than I was before.

And Dandelion is recovering at our house.
From his (I actually don't know the baby's sex, I figure s/he's been through enough without being subjected to a sex-determining inspection) size I think he's two or three weeks old. That's the age babies wander a little ways from their nest at night to find their own food in addition to nursing. I'm guessing that's when the cat snatched him.

Since I don't know where the nest or mother is I'm taking in this little orphan till he's grown to cat-beating size. Dandelion is named after one of the characters from my favorite novel, Watership Down, he's the story-telling rabbit who regales the others with the myths and lore of the rabbit world. Dandelion is a sweet little guy, who likes to climb up underneath my hair and go to sleep in the nook between my neck and shoulder.I've never had a rabbit before, I hope I do okay as surrogate mom.

Celeb Book Mashup

I never expected to see Lauren Conrad and Foucault side by side, but that's what the NY Times Magazine handed me this morning. Such is the stuff of the post-modern/celebrity epoch we're living in.

I also just found out that Lela Lee will be at San Diego Comic Con; one more reason I wish I was going to be there...maybe next year.

Ode to Librar(ies, ians)

I'm enjoying reading various ALA roundups. Descriptions of the conference buoyed my spirits not only because the ALA had record attendance, despite the economic slump, but also because I love seeing crowds of folks gathered to celebrate books.

Libraries have a special place in my heart. When I was very young the Vaughn Public Library in Ashland, WI functioned as my de facto babysitter. The library was across the street from my dad's office and I curled up in the stacks surrounded by books often enough that all the librarians knew me by name.

That familiarity helped a great deal when it was time to get my first job. The summer before my sophomore year in high school I applied to work, where else, but at the library! I worked amid those stacks I loved so well, full-time in the summers and part-time during the school year, for the next three years.

When I went to college my work study jobs were always at the library. I love the way libraries smell and though I am adjusting I still have a strange reaction to seeing computers instead of a Dewey decimal card catalog when I visit my local library. Libraries make and sustain readers, librarians are astounding founts of knowledge and exceptional defenders of civil rights.

Huzzah steadfast librarians, thank you for all you do every day!!
Getting back to that greatest of all librarian gatherings, my favorite rundown of the ALA thus far comes from the fabulous Maggie Stiefvater, whose upcoming book Shiver was well-feted at the conference (I can't wait to read it! And its release date happens to be my birthday...ahem).

Too much press of late has been disheartening about the "end of publishing" and how hard it is for new writers to break into the industry. While all this may be true, it only takes a few images from the ALA to remember how exciting a good book really is and that reading is here to stay.