publish and be hugged.

darlings

as we lie back on the movie starlet counterpane….

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAwe’ve been thinking a lot (always a slightly dangerous activity)OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA about Why People want to be published.

because there seem to be Quite a few people around us who, well, might have Wanted to have written a book (too) and, well, haven’t quite got round to it (yet). so when they see a copy of the book SOMETIMES (and only sometimes) there’s a – how can we put this – rueful smile when they see IT.

HTSSIACW

of course Morrissey sang it wickedly at his best (and with a lovely slightly shiny blue blouse)

it doesn’t matter at all.

we wish them well.

in fact we wish they’d just get on with it and write the bloody book and publish it.

because…..

*looks_around*

they CAN.

what’s that?

oh.

well there’s a Big difference between wanting-to-write-and-communicate-with-the-World and what’s perhaps the True Reason:

wanting to be Validated by the Establishment

(book deal, critics, cocktail parties, protection from poverty, escaping from one’s Past)

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for a start: not sure if you’ve noticed, but the Establishment doesn’t run things anymore (and it stopped throwing really big parties when the accountants became mgmt and started looking at the “numbers”).the court(ship) of public opinion (and direct to consumer publishing via mr. amazon and the like, blogs, sharing, social feeds) is Us.

(and are Ever so grateful to Miss French Navy for sending us this clipping about our article in Harper’s Bazaar Australia)OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAwhich is DELICIOUS.

so there you go – we’ve said our piece.

publish and be hugged.

nobody’s stopping you (but you – as the sages say).

and we’ll be the 1st to buy a copy. but you knew that. OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAin other news:

Screen Shot 2014-02-15 at 8.17.52 AMthe DIVINE Miss Vickie Lester has written a blog post featuring the Scar (which is ever so happy to be mentioned, it’s been a while)

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htssiacw_p104-2now just in case you’re Very Young, Miss Vickie Lester’s Post features a picture at the top (providing Context and Hollywood deliciousness) of the divine Elizabeth Taylor (not who-we-are-in-RL).

co-in-ci-dent-ally – we have a Quote (about) Miss. E. Taylor framed on our wall from a vintage copy (1981, we believe) of Interview magazine where Mr. Warhol talks about how famous people have this entree to each other that brooks no need to stand on ceremony. 
OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAhaving been around a few famous people in our Time, we can confirm this is True.

there’s a subtle nod of recognition – just like in the corridors at a particularly grand school – between the chosen beauties and those-who-will-run-corporations (while those-who-will-write furiously take in the Scene). 
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talking of Fame and wanting-to-reach the Top, we happened to catch Stage Door (1937) last night (that’s a slightly understated allusion – we deliberately picked up the DVD while retrieving the latest cache of Requested Materials at the library). 

have you seen it?

the snappy dialog(ue) is Genius.

I see that, in addition to your other charms, you have that insolence generated by an inferior upbringing.

Hmm! Fancy clothes, fancy language and everything!

Unfortunately, I learned to speak English correctly.

That won’t be of much use to you here. We all talk pig latin.

And I use the right knife and fork. I hope you don’t mind.

All you need’s the knife.

stage-door-holy-females

If you were a little more considerate of your elders, maybe Mr. Powell would send his car for you someday. Of course, he would probably take one look at you and send you right back again, but then you have to expect that.

Is that so?

Do you know, I think I could fix you up with Mr. Powell’s chauffeur. The chauffeur has a very nice car too.

Yes, but I understand Mr. Powell’s chauffeur doesn’t go as far in his car as Mr. Powell does.

*giggling*

now that’s writing. 

there were two men’s names on the screenwriter credits (although you know that only the last people who touch a script get credited, right?) but there was something so Heartfelt and dirty (in a good way) and Real that we KNEW the person who wrote the Original words *must* have lived in a boarding house (or similar) for theatrical “girls” in the late 1920s in the sniper fire of midtown manhattan.

bingo. 

edna-ferber

“The writer is a writer because [she] cannot help it. It is a compulsion. Sometimes it is called a gift, but actually it is an urge for expression that simply cannot be denied.”
Edna Ferber. 

“Is this, they ask, the story of your life?…Yes. My inner life. The life of imagination and creative ability. Writing is a lonely work but the creative writer is rarely alone. The room in which one works is peopled with the men and women and children in the writer’s imagination. Often they are difficult—but rarely boring—company. This is a fortunate thing, for they are with one day and night, they never leave while the book or play is in progress…” (A Kind of Magic, 1963)

darlings – will you excuse us?

we simply *must* click over to the Los Angeles County Library Requested Materials department to request EVERYTHING by Edna Ferber.

we shall return.

with pictures.

a moment of reverie to the music of Arvo Part

darlings

a few pictures from today:

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but first this:

https://soundcloud.com/misspaq/arvo-part-fur-alina

isn’t it SUBLIME?

it’s a piece by Arvo Pärt

turn off the lights – leaving just the reading lamp by your chair – light a gardenia candle – and close your eyes (that’s what we’re doing right after we t y p e t h i s l i n e).

*pauses*

wasn’t that WONDERFUL?

makes you want to weep, non? (in a Very good way.)

more pictures?

bien sur.

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and another piece of beauteous music?
https://soundcloud.com/classicsandjazz/the-hilliard-ensemble-arvo-p-1

we *almost* run out of supplies so we went back to the Library (we Adore a Library) and found there were quite a few more pieces at the Requested Materials Desk (thank goodness).

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it’s so delicious the way one can Request materials and there they are – at some point – when brought in from Another Branch (via what mode of transport? are they all low tech and Metro these days? or a Large Van? Limo?)

a little more Arvo?

yes.

Arvo Pärt, Roland Barthes and (shortly) Cahiers du Cinema?

*pauseforeffect*

yes.

the end of the year finds us in a Deeply reflective mode.

or perhaps we’re doing Research for an Article.

*small_smile*

even though – yes, yes, we Know, it’s meant to be the “holidays”, but dear god(s), they’ve gone on Quite Long Enough.

bring back civilization.

or as near as we get to it in Los Angeles.

40 gorgeous literary and brave and out there #feminist years @viragoBooks

darlings

we heard that our friends-at-Virago (in London, England) are celebrating their birthday – and it’s a Significant One (40!)

Virago at 40

the Guardian has covered this lovely event here

if you can receive this Transmission from the BBC in your own territory, there’s a Splendid Desert Island Discs* from the vibrantly brave founder: Carmen Callil

*as you may recall we Adore desert-island-discs

when who-we-are-in-RL was a Student (and thus Lacking In Funds), the distinctive green jacket of a Virago book was a Beacon in the back of a secondhand bookshop off the charing cross road or in the nether regions (don’t ask) of kings cross or sometimes in a genteel part of chelsea off the kings road.

it said FREEDOM.

Virago celebrated (and continues to do so but when one was Young it felt so Important to know this) women who had BIG LIVES.

we missed this (because we had already left england) but there were some Special Covers done a few years ago of some of our favo(u)rites:

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we would Swoop in on the Virago books in a secondhand bookshop and take them home to nourish our fevered imagination of What Might Happen when we Graduated (a Lot happened but that’s another story).

isn’t the Delafield a pretty cover?

we thought a Lot about her when we wrote this post here as we were starting to write The House On Church Row (now wouldn’t THAT make a delicious Virago book? *farofflooktothehorizon*) and the Lovely Jilly Cooper wrote about her here:

such intertwining is only possible on the interweb, darlings – such fun.
women

we Thrilled to Virago’s tales of the domestic travails and the hidden-writers-in-the-back-room while the Laundry was being done and children-slept – it all felt Possible.

if you’d like to Immerse yourself in a Virago tale today do stop by their Ms. You Tube channel (how Modern! as william would say)

here’s current Publisher of Virago, Lennie Goodings, talking about their Book Club (we adore a book club, don’t you?)

and the final word must go to Fleur Fisher who writes a wonderful blog post here

because in the end, it’s about those of us who Love To Read.

happy birthday, Virago!

brava!

have you read a Virago today?

do. tell.

overcast like an out-of-season bank holiday weekend at an english resort town.

darlings

tis very strange and grey/gray/overcast outside the window – it doesn’t look like los angeles at All – more like an out-of-season bank holiday weekend at an english resort town.

*lookstocamera*

oh.

wait.

all the bank holidays are In Season, right?

but still terrible weather if we recall rightly.

back to the simile and metaphor and meta-ness.

so today has got us in mind of a day inside a (3 star) hotel at a english coastal town, hands up against the window (“take your grubby hands off the window and go and wash up”) nose pressed to the glass, trying to find the beach through the raindrops and wondering if it’ll clear up long enough to build a sandcastle and maybe eat an ice-cream (rum and raisin in those days or a 99 with a flake from the vans with the tinkling italian music).

perhaps it’s because The Persephone Biannually arrived in the post yesterday.

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we devoured it after breakfast (bran flakes, 1 per cent milk, coffee – 2 x cups).

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gosh!

well.

we stopped in our tracks Instantly upon reading this.

you see at the age of Eleven we went to school in eastbourne (although we re-named it Charstleymead in our novel called “Emerald”*) and spent Many Hours lingering in Old Town (waiting for the bus which went along the coast road – in the times when we weren’t boarding – we only got to stay when we were Doing A Play, sadly.)

will you indulge us?

She had no idea she still believed in magic. As if expecting the stone to transport her back, as if by closing her eyes and wishing it so hard that her heart felt it might break again, she could wake up in the Upper IV dormitory upstairs, tucked in tightly by matron under thick white cotton sheets. A faint smell of lavender from the linen water used to smooth out the pillowcases at the local laundry service. The casement windows open to the elements, birds singing outside and the clatter of kitchen staff frying sausages and making endless rounds of buttered toast.

But it was not possible. She knew that – even if she wished and wished and wished so hard. There was no way of returning. She whimpered in fright at the thought of returning to London, to her horrible cold life in that terrifying building.

Earlier that day, on her way to interview the actor, the rest of Charstleymead had looked the same. The beach still had pebbles, not sand. The same line of striped blue and white deckchairs sat waiting on the promenade, their linen blown out by the sea breezes. The Devonshire Park Theatre was doing its umpteenth revival of Noel Coward’s Private Lives and the old art gallery still showed watercolors by talented local painters of the surrounding chalk cliffs and Sussex Downs. Charstleymead was the same but it had no place for Emerald.

Suddenly she saw someone sitting on the wall over by the Lawrence College playing field. Emerald wanted to run across the old grass lawn now worn in places and in need of fertilizer and love. Automatically, the bit of her that was still Emma ran down through the punishment list:

1. A nuisance mark for using the wrong entrance.

2. An untidiness mark for having hands covered in rust from the gates and not having brushed her hair for at least three days.

3. An order mark – if not two – for being caught smoking.

4. And definitely disapproval for not being a good sport and loyal Old Girl who showed up to support Harcourt Hall over the past decade.

There was a girl, about fourteen, she guessed, scuffing the backs of her school shoes by hitting them on the other side of the wall, rhythmically, angrily – and, noted Emerald with a wry grin – smoking.

*no update yet From New York City on the reading of Emerald (our own literary agent – such a lovely phrase – said it was “poignant” and “very good” and has passed it on to another to “co-read” as the Other Agent is a Special YA – young adult – Agent – still waiting with crossed fingers – only metaphorically so or we couldn’t finish the newest novel, of course).

talking of writing we always find it Difficult With Jet Lag – so we need to nap a little more and Build up our strength before we get-back-to-it. 
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luckily we have lavender spray from The National Trust (doff cap) from William (darling – a Lot of Hairy Chests on that tumblr we note ;-) to put us in the English bank holiday mood.

because we really Miss Annabelle and Marion and Lydia and Charlotte and Simon (he’s making tea in the kitchen next door and wondering if Marion really is a Witch just as the BBC camera crew have left).

lots happening.

we hope they wait for us to get plenty of rest so we can come and watch and write-it-all-down.

are you having a delicious sunday?

what are you Up To?

do. tell.

we love to hear your news.

beloved books and forbidden tales.

darlings

during our recent sojourn in brooklyn, we had breakfast with Ms. J. Fain (toast and marmalade and tea for us – something with almond milk for her, if we recall correctly) and she made a Special Request.

would you write about the books you own?

and we thought – Quelle Delightful Request!

but then we frowned (prettily) and wondered how best to approach this Task.

you see.

we usually don’t share in Such detail.

but we Used to be afraid of losing everything (not that we owned anything of great value in those days, but there was a lot of clutter and stuff and panic and purchasing at One time).

and now?

well.

let’s see.

we like to believe and participate in the flow.

the flow?

yes.

the flow of life and objects.

we do not add to our possessions – without giving something away.

and if we lose something (which rarely happens) but, for example, we once lost a blue pashmina from the back of a chair in a cafe in the fairfax district circa 2002 and got Quite Upset until someone (with a background in dubious self-improvement seminars and extended stays at esalen) said:

someone must have needed it.

we do remember feeling a tiny bit cross and annoyed (so recently arrived from england where such sentiments are seen as Tosh) and then the realization that getting Cross would not bring back the pashmina and a slowly curiously enhancing warm glow-ness that we Now lived in a Land where there Might be Other people that love blue pashminas Too.

and all was well.

because we slowly started to see that Things Return in the most delightful way (we wrote about that here).

gosh.

this is a very Long lead to a post which was meant to be about Why We Do Not Own Many Books (despite the fact we have read probably Thousands).

once we’ve read a paperback (purloined from a box left on a street – this happens a Lot more than one would expect – and if one keeps one’s eyes open – a real Find is often spotted) – we recycle it by passing it on to Friends with a nice note, often in the Post (or putting our Own box out on the street which is fun – or delivering bags to Housing Works or a similar fine organization).

we rarely keep them now.

because once we know What Happens (and we have almost perfect recall as many of our friends will tell you) we cannot keep something unless we are Deeply in Love with the writing itself (as opposed to plot).

some pictures now, please (do you have some tea to hand? we’re sipping coffee but the jet lag is not quite lifting from our Brows).

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so we are a Great Believer in Libraries.

especially as Beverly Hills has Such an Interesting Circulating Library and a splendid “Friends Shop” where one can gather up an armful of old New Yorkers (magazines, not people) to snip and read and peruse of a sunday afternoon on-the-sofa.

but it is the Los Angeles County Library (with its Many Branches) that is the real Jewel for its collection (see above) of 1960s era fashion books and much loved long out of print Editions which can be Requested via the Interweb and delivered to one’s local branch (so clever and so 19th century – the Request/Delivery bit).

and then there’s our own Modest Collection.

many 1st editions from the love that could not speak its name but wrote Beautifully.
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a Lot of Vita (we share the same birthday and she captures our imagination with her Verve and Travels to Teheran and Life and Loves and the ability to nurture a beauteous garden of white and roses and trees and birdsong.)

and some ex-library books purchased from those adorable people at Alibris).

Isherwood – of course (we own Edith Oliver’s former edition of Prater Violet).

did you spot Nancy Spain? Ginette Spainer (whom we wrote about last while In Paris ourselves) – who met because of their mutual friend Noel Coward (we own several books that feature Noel, of course – because he has been our Constant literary companion for decades *lookstocamera* are we That old now? tis true. *smiles* and inspired us to Write and live GLORIAously (as William calls it). OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Plum, Cecil and Nancy, naturally.

yes, that Is a copy of William James……….sometimes we like to get rather Contemplative. OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

(signed) novels by several friends and people that we Wish we had known.
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delicious gifts from Friends and memories of the Day Job (the red binder is a gift from 20th Century Fox to who we are in RL because she worked on several Movies)OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

more gifts from Friends (thank you B) and the Inspiring Life of DK for all those big-hair-slimline-hipped-80s-gloriousness. OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

and current bedside reading (note: paperbacks: so will be donated or passed on when we’ve written down passages that please us or photographed them for instagram.

funny enough the Only books that haven’t passed through the Los Angeles Country Circulating Library or our own bookshelves or boxes on the street or donations found in treasure trove second-hand bookshops – are – *coughs* – *lookstocamera*- well – Ours.

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soon (Jan 2014, apparently – still waiting on Exact Confirmation – it takes a little while – but the red letter day from Last Year – is almost coming to fruition).

since that Deal was signed, we’ve delivered Emerald to our agent (and she said she Likes it Very much) and we’re now 30,000 words into The House On Church Row – may we share just a few more lines with you?

“Am I interrupting?” said Annabelle.

“Yes. You are.”

Annabelle was fascinated and yet appalled by Marion’s forthrightness. She took a step back and wondered why she had bothered coming. It didn’t seem as if Marion wanted to be friendly. “Sorry. I’ll come another time,” she said, turning around to face the street, to hide her annoyance.

Marion relented. The British stiff upper lip was really funny up close. “I’m drinking alone,” she drawled. “Join me. Then I won’t be drinking alone.”

Annabelle was a tiny bit shocked. “But it’s a school night,” she said, looking at her house next door and starting to feel guilty that she’d brought nothing home for supper except cake.

“I didn’t think either of us were still schoolgirls,” smiled Marion, leaning to steady herself on the side of the door.

“You are persuasive,” giggled Annabelle.

“I work in advertising. I need to be.”

Annabelle walked into the house to follow Marion and got a sudden kick in her stomach. She had not been inside the house for years. When Diana told her that there was a new tenant, she had given her the welcome note, but never actually thought she’d be invited inside. She broke out in a cold sweat.

“Scotch?” said Marion, from the end of the corridor near the kitchen, holding a bottle. “No, wait, you probably drink white wine, don’t you?” She disappeared and emerged with a Chardonnay.

“Yes please,” said Annabelle, quickly, and rather flattered, before she changed her mind. While Marion fiddled with the corkscrew and found proper wine glasses in the cupboard, Annabelle looked around. The kitchen was the original 1940s design from the last time the house was renovated. Her mother had been under strict instructions from her grandparents not to update anything, so she didn’t. It wasn’t her thing anyway as she much preferred to be upstairs in the turret room painting strange abstracts in oils while listening to Cole Porter. She could have cared less if the Aga had seen better days or some of the original Bakelite black doorknobs were scratched and needed replacing. The cupboards were a heavy cream shade with panels of wallpaper inside, a sprig of sweet peas on one and pale pink roses on other.

The large chest freezer in the butler’s pantry used to be full of vol au vents for parties and trays of shrimp. Annabelle remembered washing up glasses carefully after late dinners for pocket money at the low sink and handing them to her sister to dry with a tea towel.

“Where did you just go?” said Marion, handing her a large glass of wine.

Annabelle had to bring herself back to the present day. There were so many memories in this half of the house. Her own kitchen next door was modern. Simon had left the Aga but put in all new fixtures and fittings when they got married. If she closed her eyes while washing the dishes, she could always sense this half of the kitchen on the other side of the wall and mentally walk round it while she daydreamed.

“I used to live here,” said Annabelle.

Marion was taken aback. She had not expected anything above light neighborhood gossip or a slightly giggly housewife after a glass of wine. “You did?”

“A long time ago. I grew up here. It was my grandparents’ house. In fact, the house was split down the middle and when I got married I moved into the other half.”

and a bit Further On………just a snippet…..

The cab pulled away and Marion fell gratefully into the waiting car.

“I like her,” said Alex to his brother, as they drove back down Mile End.

They had no idea that Marion was doubling the price of the contract. If she had to deal with crap, she was going to make sure she was well compensated. She picked up her mobile phone and started to dial Kelly to celebrate but changed her mind. She was her assistant, not her friend. Marion threw the phone back in the bag and leaned back, looking out of the window at the lights twinkling on Regent Street. They passed Liberty’s and up to Oxford Street and got stuck in traffic. She looked down at her phone again. She wished she had someone to call.

*******************************************************

ok. one Tiny bit more then we Must get ready – we have People To See.

They stared at each other for a long time until Simon realized he really had to go to the office. In a daze he went upstairs to get dressed. As he entered their bedroom, the scent of musk oil assaulted his senses.

He sat down on the bed.

How could this be happening to him?

This was Hampstead, for God’s sake.

Seriously Enjoying Writing THIS.

*grins*

have a delicious saturday darlings.

sleep calls.

darlings

a good day – and all-clear on the immigration-medical-front – so That’s Done – and delivered to the Attorneys (in a sealed envelope – not sure why – we weren’t at all tempted to add notations, notions and corrections).

and now sleep calls………..

would you mind just a Picture Post to represent today?

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no Wonder we’re Exhausted.

many miles covered…….

some by foot, others by train, mostly flights-of-fancy too, of course.

quelle brilliant brooklyn.

so darlings we’re Quite Converted to brooklyn.

had Such a delicious day here – the morning was all taken up with a Visit with a deeply sophisticated friend (we met firstly in a cafe with a chandelier #weadoreachandelier) and then to admire their nouvelle 1930s white spare glorious pied a terre avec the manhattan skyline from the kitchen window *gasps* and had Ever such an inspiring conversation throughout…..most needed. most appreciated. most Kind.

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isn’t it gorgeous?

so dreamy.

there were a few hours that were spent in Manhattan this afternoon – but we cannot divulge Those (as yet) – but there was talk of trim size and publication dates so One Might be able to guess as to Where we were.

But back to Brooklyn!

and for some delicious peace and quiet and a ticking clock in the kitchen and a cold blue sky from the window with soft light on parquet flooring near the bannisters upstairs and daffodils on the polished table and lots-and-lots-and-lots of books and yes, in a moment, a cup of tea too.

thank you B & L for looking after teamgloria.

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Brooklyn is Rather Delightful.

and very good for shattered nerves after the medical experience of yesterday.

now Let us just take one last Look at That View of Manhattan again:

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can’t you Just imagine waking up Very Early and slipping into a soft cotton robe (in eau de nil, perhaps – or bitter dark chocolate suede with a Contrasting Trim) then walking slowly (and elegantly) to the kitchen to brew coffee (one would need to grind the beans fresh, of course, with a view like this) and perhaps climbing out onto the fire-escape and hugging one’s knees and watching the dawn rise over the emerald city?

such an inspiring view to write in front of.

deliriously happy to have seen it.

and the hushed elegance of the apartment that bears such a Vista ahead.

fabulous friday with friends (and more forms than we care to mention).

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we started the day Early with some Very Nice work calls and had a renewed appreciation of our surroundings – considering they will be Packed up in 7 days (slight change to Plan – we Fly on the 12th now). 968c0f8a55e111e2a67a22000a9f3cad_7

then some making-of-a-parcel for our Niece (oh yes, did we not tell you of our Aunt status? such fun. so many possibilities to Grow and Change into Mame at some future point). e8b00cd4569111e2a9d822000a9e29af_7

and then the Friday unfolded.

first the newspaper – and then Tales from Friends. efea7002567311e28dc722000a1fbcbc_7

we took our Parcel (for the Niece that doesn’t yet know about us wanting to be Auntie Mame but the time is Almost Right to broach the subject on a Trip Abroad) and Other Letters (including asking the lovely ladies at Persephone if they could change our Address for the Biannually – as we really Did enjoy the May arrival of the aforementioned Biannually.)OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

a small catch up with some Library Books (more on Djuna soon – we promise). OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

and sighing over the almost-empty-sample-pots from Farrow and Ball that will have to be emptied or disposed of (safely) as they cannot get Tossed around in the Truck across America (safely). OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

More Forms (than we care to Mention – some of the Admin, tis true, was done on the Interweb but some of it was just Too Complicated or Didn’t Work and we got cross and had to get actual paper forms – felt very 1930s with a black ballpoint pen.)OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

and then we took another trip outside (in 24 degrees which apparently is MINUS TWO in old money – good grief – no wonder we’re so bloody chilly). OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAbut all was Not Lost.

we spent a beautiful evening with friends.

and there was a Chandelier.

#weadoreachandelier

don’t you, darlings?

makes one feel so Hopeful and twinkly and quite bursting with happiness and excitement.

a wild and ungovernable desire…..

as we just happened to mention the Other Morning we are Rather smitten with a new (to us) author – Simon Van Booy (his bio does not reveal what must be Dutch origins from that surname but most tantalizingly slip in that although born in London he grew up in Rural Wales – a most incredibly dark and fertile place for the soul, spirit and Imagination to grow and bloom and twist into genius – see Richard Burton and Anthony Hopkins for proof, darlings).

we are now half-way through his book of short stories – The Secret Lives of People in Love – and relishing every line – it’s the sort of dense undertones and light whipped devonshire cream smoothed on the top of the words that gives a richness and yet a power that, when hungrily devouring each line, one has to stop to catch one’s breath and at one point we even leaned in and nearly spilled the morning dark-embrace-of-caffeine as we tried to put our hand over our mouth to stifle the gasp………….

Isn’t that just the Best sort of reading experience?

the small apartment Sabone found after his mother’s death overlooked a fountain. Water bubbled through the mouth of a child. Sabone’s evenings were quiet, but for the crackle of a fire in winter and the sound of his fingers turning the pages of books. However, not long after his mother died, a wild and ungovernable desire grew inside him.

Oh yes.

we are Filled to the brim of our Scar-enriched throat with Those ;)

As were all the Young and Disaffected lovelies we saw last night………… (cue: scene change: fly in new backdrop of housing works bookshop – for Visuals Click Here

The room was pulsing with a palpable anguish of disappointment at the collapse of the american dream, such as it was (although we hear Suze Orman is proposing a new one and if there’s a vote for a new world leader, we’d like someone as confident and clad in brash-jewel-tones as Suze to step forward, wouldn’t you?).

And yet – and Yet………the speaker chris Guillebeau (what a glorious moniker) was Full of verve and world travels and deep curiosity about Other lands and Peoples and startingyourownbusiness and forgingyourowndream.

Darlings. It was almost late 1890s in california type “let’s build Los Angeles!” fervor and delicious excitement.

Which was in strong contrast to another person we saw speak recently – a most troubling and sad moment of press-my-stomach-and-speak-biz-speak-until-someone-asks-a-question-and-pause-and-start-again.

What has happened?

And is there anyway back for some people?

a wild and ungovernable desire is our only hope……

the Scar says hello.

the slicing open of-our-throat has released some Pretty Crazy desires.

What fun.

between printed pages

sometimes the message one needs arrives between printed pages – and, in teamgloria’s case, more often than not – especially as we have Lovely Friends who like to send us books, because they know we read Tons and are Most Grateful.

so – this morning – doing our getting-up-early-and-reading-before-heading-to-the-DayJob – we read the last few pages of Celia Imrie’s autobiography and Instantly welled up upon reading This:

People often ask me how long it took to recover fully from my illness, and the answer still can be divided into two: my physical recovery took a few months, but the genuine revitalisation, the return to how I felt before I fell ill, took years and came about suddenly.

Some people call this period between the technical and full recovery a period of post-traumatic shock, a time in which people (particularly the spirited ones, I have been told) once physically safe, take an abrupt psychological dip. The explanation doctors give is that spirited people use up a great deal of psychic and mental energy fighting to get better from the moment they are physically struck down. Then as soon as their body has recovered, the emotional fright of the situation kicks in.

Most people deal with the whole thing at the same time.

I think that this second dip, when you are physically fit again, is so much scarier because it feels as though there is no excuse or reason for it. In fact you seem to feel tired and scared all the time.

P. 271 – 272: Celia Imrie: Happy Hoofer

Yes.

That’s

Exactly

How

It

Feels.

Thank you William for sending the book and thank you Celia for writing it.

The whole book is Tremendously Funny and the bit about her illness, which we just read, helped Enormously.

Aren’t Books Brilliant?

What are You reading right now, darlings?