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anonymousblacki was given a relatively new scanner earlier this year; we've stalled out in a bit of a "hole in the bucket" situation with regard to the connectors. it's a situation i would like to remedy because some of the new work looks like this:
and snapping at it with my eleven year old nikkon doesn't quite do it justice. we have the port to route the thing into the computer, but the friend who gifted us with the scanner shipped it with the wrong kind of power cord so we have no way of turning it on. ben's pretty sure we've got the necessary cord in the big box of wires in the utility closet, but entering the utility closet is not a project undertaken lightly. maybe later this week.
i sent a terrifying followup email to the editor who accepted my chapbook in 2011 (who, as it turned out, was fully aware of my journey to the cancer underworld and was patiently holding on to my manuscript until i could enjoy it) and she is still on for publishing it; now just the cover art and, ush, "about the author," a smattering of text that tends to make my toes curl inward involuntarily. it's like writing my own obituary, except worse.
i lit candles all around the medicine cabinet shrine this afternoon and let the sun go down around them. the two butter lanterns from nepal, lit with tea lights. a black blessed herbal candle, crafted by witches for protection. flickering over votives of persephone and st. francis. i'd turn and look out the window, see the broadcast towers blinking in the distance, behind the tree whose yellow leaves keep blanketing my car, all of it trying to tell me something. i guess it could be said that i cast a wide net, spiritually. how else would i be?
and snapping at it with my eleven year old nikkon doesn't quite do it justice. we have the port to route the thing into the computer, but the friend who gifted us with the scanner shipped it with the wrong kind of power cord so we have no way of turning it on. ben's pretty sure we've got the necessary cord in the big box of wires in the utility closet, but entering the utility closet is not a project undertaken lightly. maybe later this week.
i sent a terrifying followup email to the editor who accepted my chapbook in 2011 (who, as it turned out, was fully aware of my journey to the cancer underworld and was patiently holding on to my manuscript until i could enjoy it) and she is still on for publishing it; now just the cover art and, ush, "about the author," a smattering of text that tends to make my toes curl inward involuntarily. it's like writing my own obituary, except worse.
i lit candles all around the medicine cabinet shrine this afternoon and let the sun go down around them. the two butter lanterns from nepal, lit with tea lights. a black blessed herbal candle, crafted by witches for protection. flickering over votives of persephone and st. francis. i'd turn and look out the window, see the broadcast towers blinking in the distance, behind the tree whose yellow leaves keep blanketing my car, all of it trying to tell me something. i guess it could be said that i cast a wide net, spiritually. how else would i be?
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no subject
Date: 2013-11-20 01:06 pm (UTC)Would it be a good idea to ask someone who knows you to write the about the author part and you could edit it?
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Date: 2013-11-23 02:30 am (UTC)Love.