Friday, November 25, 2011

on holiday season sales and wizardly wisdom

Today I'm packing everything up for my first show of the holiday season: the Christmas Handmade Market. Reasons to be excited about this show in particular: 

1. It's near my family farm, which means I get to hang out with my grandmother. Loveliest. Woman. Ever.

2. It's happening at the Good Earth Food and Wine Co., which is a place I have never been, but have always wanted to go.

3. It means I get to hang out all weekend with artisans and entrepreneurs - two of my favourite kinds of people.

Completely unrelated to shows and making stuff - I've been thinking about Lord of the Rings a lot lately (mostly because of a story I'm writing) and I came across this excerpt from the movie. 

I freaking love that part.  

See you on the other side! (By which, I mean, monday. Not "that far green country under a swift sunrise"... although, maybe that one too.)

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

clay (part two)

Okay, remember this little guy?

Well, now he's this:

Ta Da!

Monday, November 21, 2011


This is going to be a pendant. 

Just you wait and see.

Friday, November 11, 2011

important things

I've been thinking a lot lately about the importance of books, and the stories we find in them. Stories tell us that we're not alone. They help us to be better, braver versions of ourselves. But first we have to be able to find ourselves in the stories we read (or watch, or hear).

For me, as a young girl, I read to find myself reflected back to me. I read seeking answers to the questions that dwelled in the nether regions of my heart: Could a girl have her own adventures? Could she go up against the monster, and vanquish it?

Because of these questions, I desperately needed to find myself in the stories I was reading - and I did. I found girls who travelled through worlds, befriended armoured bears, sent the undead back where they belonged, and bound magical creatures to them with just a name. These girls told me so much about myself, and what I was capable of.

But as I’ve grown, I’ve begun to notice that while I find myself – a white, heterosexual girl - in these stories, I rarely find other girls in them. And that frightens me. Because I know what it means to find yourself reflected back to you in the stories you read, and I know what it means when you can’t find yourself there.

I think change is coming, but it is oh so slow. And not nearly enough.

So. In light of this, the next book I'm starting on is this one.

Sunday, November 6, 2011


My absolute favourite part of one of my absolute favourite books:

“What do you think love is – a thing to startle from the heart like a bird at every shout or blow? You can fly from me, high as you choose into your darkness, but you will see me always beneath you, no matter how far away, with my face turned to you. My heart is in your heart. I gave it to you with my name that night and you are its guardian, to treasure it, or let it wither and die.  I do not understand you. I am angry with you. I am hurt and helpless, but nothing would fill the ache of the hollowness in me where you name would echo if I lost you.” Coren to Sybel in The Forgotten Beasts of Eld

Oh, sigh.

Thursday, November 3, 2011


Sometimes, I’m searching for a book, and I know exactly what book it is, only I can’t find it. Or name it, even.

I take the books off the shelves, and I read them one by one. But even before I get halfway in, I know this isn’t it. This isn’t what I’m looking for. But I have to finish, and when I do, I move on to the next one.

These days I find myself searching, searching, searching.

This can mean one of two things: Either, the story I’m searching for is inside me, waiting to be let out. Or it can mean that I need to go back. Back to the books who – when I read them that first time – made me say: This! This is it!

Today is one of those days where I put down a story half finished, tired of searching, and went back.

The book I went back to is The Forgotten Beasts of Eld by Patricia McKillip. I first read it when I was twelve years old, and have since read it dozens of times, and every time, I know exactly what will happen next. But it doesn’t matter. Because, to me, it’s perfect. It’s the story I’ve been craving.

What stories are you craving?