Scarcity

I'm terrible at waiting. Patience is a virtue I lack. So as you can imagine waiting for my book's release in October is hard. Very hard. I feel guilty in saying this because in the world of publishing my book sale and release happened incredibly fast. But the waiting is still hard.

Spring chides me for this impatience.

I'm a goal-oriented person. I work fast and obsessively, which is good because it means I accomplish a lot quickly. But there's a price to be paid for being oriented always toward the horizon.

It's too easy to miss what's happening in the moment.

Unlike most years where dirty slush gives way to sudden hot weather, Minnesota is experiencing a phenomenon: spring. We're finally getting a taste of this elusive season.

Spring is precious because of its rarity and brevity. The earth and air crackle with energy as slumbering plants burst to life. I can't help but pause, enjoying each moment that leaves unfurl and flowers peek out of the dark soil.

Some of my favorite blooms appear, ever so briefly, in this season:

the unassuming grace of lily of the valleythe intoxicating perfume of lilac
the sweetness of tulips
the tender petals of narcissa
the joyful scent of apple blossoms

I'm trying my hardest to remember to pay attention and enjoy them because I know sooner than I imagine the fleeting beauty of spring flowers will give way to the lush riot of summer blossoms. Infant leaves of sparkling green will mature to rich emeralds by June.

Spring is a gift. No matter what I'm waiting for, I don't want to miss this season.

I Heart the British Library, but the Evil Kid at Kew Not So Much

British Library = Literary Heaven

Having been advised by a colleague that reading rooms fill up quickly, I made the short walk from my residence to the library arriving promptly at 9:25 (library opens at 9:30). Much to my surprise I encountered an already buzzing queue of tweed-clad folks outside the door.

Academics line up to enter the British Library like Tweens waiting for Hannah Montana: The Movie.

I think it's one of the best things I've ever seen.

While not so enticing from the outside, the interior of the library is astounding. Spacious, lightfilled and full of readings rooms, which are equally full of researchers, it is the perfect place to read and write.

The highlight of my day was purusing the library's "treasured collections." I think I was the most excited to view the original manuscript of Alice in Wonderland. Though Jane Austen's writing desk, an Illuminated Christine de Pizan manuscript, and Da Vinci's notebooks were humbling as well. Oh, and they have the Magna Carta.

In the afternoon I took the tube out to Kew so I could register at the National Archives. With that task complete I headed over to Kew Gardens. The Royal Botanic Gardens are beyond impressive, acres and acres of grounds filled with wonderful trees and flora. I spent some time communing with a 300 year old chestnut tree and particularly loved the way the glasshouses have spiral staircases that enable viewing of the tops of giants ferns and succulents as well as walking alongside them. They also have a tree-top walkway that provides views of the entire garden and all the way to London.

It was all just perfect and lovely (it is still unbelievably sunny here) until I ran into the little mean boy. I was walking across a lawn, just having passed three mums pushing strollers when I heard a horrible screech. Making a beeline towards me was a little boy (I'd guess he was about 3 or 4) red faced and crying, behind him was another little boy of the same age with wide gleaming eyes, a wicked grin, and...a stick.

Mum one: Ben, what's the matter? Ben?
Me (thinks): Uh, that other kid is hitting your kid with a stick.
Mum two: A.C. what are you doing with that stick?
Me (thinks): Obviously hitting other kids with his stick. No one brandishes a stick like that unless they are delighting in acts of violence. Note: I say this from lots of observation and storytelling, not personal penchant for stick violence.

In the next moment, A.C. catches up to fleeing child, cackles, and (of course) hits him with stick.

Mum Two (in shock that sounds a little not-too-shocked for comfort): A.C. no! Put down that stick.

I walk on, grasping at a slim idea that A.C. might be adequately chastised and hope not to see Mums and children for rest of time at garden.

Alas, when I took a break to have afternoon tea replete with scone and clotted cream (if you have never had scone and clotted cream, you are missing out). Three mums with 3 boys and strollers take places at next table.

A.C. immediately begins to terrorize pigeons on the cafe terrace.

Mum two (in a lame voice): A.C. no, A.C. no.

Eventually she gets up and brings A.C. back to table.

Two minutes later he is terrorizing pigeons again.
Mum two (again lamely): A.C. no, A.C. no.

She doesn't get up.

Me (thinks): Are you sure his name isn't Damien?
When I leave the cafe and am halfway to the next glasshouse I can still hear A.C. shrieking like a pterodactyl.

So for the record if in 30 years an evil genius named A.C. is holding the world hostage with a giant electro-ray (his proverbial biggest stick of all), you were warned here first.

Waiting and Weddings

What is the best way to spend one's time while waiting for the call that could change your life?

(Drums nails on table). I do not have the answer.

Fortunately, I have help in the form of prior obligations. Namely this weekend I'm back in my hometown on bridesmaid duty.

I'm not much for ceremony. I tend to walk different roads in life, avoiding graduations, skipping class reunions, etc. But this wedding is one I've looked forward to since my friend announced her engagement.

When I was a little girl there were two friends who I always thought were a "lock" when it came to weddings I'd be a part of. The first one happened a year ago in September (hi Katie! *hugs*), the second is tomorrow.

That these two wedding have taken place, and that I will have paraded down the aisle bearing my posies for each of these long-time friends marks a major transition in my life. Being 30 doesn't necessarily make me feel like an adult, that my two childhood best friends have both gotten married does.

Moving into the "real" world of adult choices and problems has taught me that very little in life is predictable and that our circumstances, feelings, and selves are always shifting, changing, reforming, and hopefully growing.

In this case it feels uniquely innocent and lovely that our slumber party chats at age nine about flowers and dresses and falling love have indeed come full circle.

In Memoriam

David Eddings passed away this week. This author had a profound influence on my own ideas about fantasy and writing.

It was a strange coincidence that I'd just been reading about Eddings' accomplishments in my husband's alumni magazine from Reed College (Eddings graduated in 1954 so needless to say they didn't cross paths on campus). The author recently donated a large sum of money for scholarships at the school and the article mentioned that he was suffering from a severe terminal illness. It was only a few days later that I learned of his passing.


My copies of the Belgariad and Malloreon have been read so many times that the books' spines are in various states of disintegration. Eddings created amazing, believable worlds and characters who were impossible not to love.

When I finished the Mallorean the first time my heart broke because it was like saying goodbye to a collection of intimate friends.

The final words of the text are these: "And so, my children, the time has come to close the book. There will be other days and other stories, but this tale is finished."

As in writing, so in life.

Thank you, David Eddings, for making this world brighter with your wonderful writing. Here are the flowers of my neighborhood in honor of your work.