November 1st

You are one of my heroes
This day and every day
but especially today.

Today, may you feel even a measure
of the sun's warmth on your face.
May you taste the beautiful things of life--
tea, laughter, wine, color, chocolate,
dresses with pockets, stories,
and a host of other wonders.

May you catch a glimpse of Meaning
walking through the garden of your life,
softly touching the flowers, yes, but also
the soil, the roots with Her bare feet.

Today,
you are loved.
And yesterday,
you are loved.
And tomorrow,
and tomorrow's tomorrow,
you are infinitely loved.

Mystery brought you forth, and She
sends Meaning to see you through.
And in all, They revel
in the intrinsic goodness that is you.
And in every tomorrow
you are loved.

Today Samara Learned... [Day 9]

that she saves cards and letters from people for a reason.  Because some days are just too frustrating or saddening to go alone.  Reading or re-reading letters remind her of the things that truly define her and of the courage she had forgot she had.  And even hundreds of miles away from people who love her, she can feel close to them through those words.

Metamorphosis, Pt. 4

Being
moved by a Dylan Thomas quote

while the Zimmerman who borrowed
both his inspiration and his name
croons overhead in this cafe
fueled by community rather than corporation.

A reminder that "You can find
beautiful instruments anywhere in the world."

Yes, beautiful conversations with beautiful friends
that embolden my resolve
to embrace mystery and revel in complexity.
Translating Baudelaire direct,
marveling at de Tocqueville,

Dancing away the despair.
Daring to hold both the light and the dark
within my weary soul.
Turn the corner and find beauty again.

Con'ing it up: Emerald City Comic Con

A week ago Sunday I got to go to Seattle's biggest Con and it was loads of fun!

Because of Karen Gillan's appearance (Doctor Who's Amelia Pond) and

because my recently chopped hair could mimic his little flick,

I decided to cosplay as Matt Smith's 11th Doctor:

[elevensies]

[Lots of textures]

Being a Con veteran, I decided to simplify my approach and chose 3 panels to attend, giving myself plenty of time to be in line and enjoy things.

The first was a panel with Patrick Rothfuss, author of Name of the Wind and Wise Man's Fear.
I loved the first two of his trilogy - the best world building of any contemporary author I've read.

[I love you, Harry, but Kvothe's got a point here.]

[Rothfuss - sorry, his eyes were closed]

While we didn't get any news about the final installment of the King-Killer Chronicles,
He did announce 2 new novellas before the year's out, each focused on particularly interesting side-characters.
But aside from the news, I really appreciated hearing some of the thought process behind his writing and was so grateful I got to go.


Now, it wouldn't be a con without cosplay and I rounded up a few of my favorites.

If I could bestow a laurel to the best cosplayer, this girl (and her family) would have won it:

[god of mischief...eating a pb&j]

Her dad homemade all the armor pieces - including the staff that actually lit up!
Her grandmother sowed everything else together, and this girl carried it all SO well!
Bravo to Team Loki!

[Watch out Hiddleston!]

I was also impressed by these homemade Disney-princess coslpayers:

[Ariel & Snow White]

And a few other miscellaneous ones:

[10 & a weeping angel, Belle, and Indy]

Panel #2 for the day was called "From Page to Screen" and focused on adaptation - a favorite subject of mine :)
The panel featured an author, a screenplay writer, and a concept artist.
The concept artist had done a lot of word-image art that I found fascinating - including working on [my latest obsession] Once Upon a Time.
This whole topic is so fascinating... but more to come on that later.


I then met up with friends for the last panel of the day: Karen Gillan!

[Megan as Amy Pond from "Flesh & Stone,"
Kayla being her amazing Whovian self,
Me going all "bow ties are cool,"
Ash as Amy Pond from "The Impossible Astronaut"]

For those of you who aren't familiar, Karen Gillan is a young Scottish Actress
who rose to prominence playing the main companion on Doctor Who for 2 1/2 seasons.
As Amelia (Amy) Pond, she and co-stars Matt Smith (the 11th Doctor) and Arthur Darvill (Rory Williams) had some incredible chemistry as friends and companions.
They share, well, let's just say an extra special bond with the Doctor.

She was wonderfully genuine and no matter how many times she got asked the same question, she always had a unique response.  And she flew through questions like a pro.
Bravo, Miss Karen!  Bow ties are cool and so are you :)

Comic con was a joy - being around really passionate, nerdy people just refreshes me.
I saw some truly fantastic cosplay, heard from talented artists, and made some new friends.
All in all, a day very well spent!

* * * * * * * * *

"made some new friends."
Code for: one very special friend!!

On letters

Over the weekend, I was organizing papers and files and clearing out a bin for a (long awaited) lager space to keep out notes, cards, and letters.  I didn't have time to re-read as much as I would have liked to, but the snippet here, the postcard there made me so happy.  I'm a spoiled girl, with letters from England, Spain, Germany, New Zealand, and all across the United States. 

 

This morning, one of my favorite bloggers posted "Why We Should Write Letters Again, Please."   This is a conversation my older brother and I have had many times.  They last.  Letters mean more.  [Just see Letters of Note.] The time they take to compose, the tangibility they convey, the distance they close - they mean so much to both parties.

As Fall is now decidedly upon us, and the natural inclination to stay close to the hearth has settled in our hearts, consider "posting" something more memorable than a message or tweet. 

"The proper definition of a man is an animal that writes letters" - Lewis Carroll

"How wonderful it is to be able to write someone a letter! To feel like conveying your thoughts to a person, to sit at your desk and pick up a pen, to put your thoughts into words like this is truly marvelous." - Haruki Murakami

"I have now attained the true art of letter-writing, which we are always told, is to express on paper exactly what one would say to the same person by word of mouth." - Jane Austen

Writing: Author, Narrator, Character

Hello!  Today I'm sharing something I've been excited to tell you about for a while.  Back in August, my good friend, Lois, contacted me about joining a new mini-writing group.  We would be creating stories round-robin style: each person would begin a story, pass it along to the next person, and by the end of the project, we would have four separate stories with four authors each. 

We got together yesterday for a tea party to unveil our four pieces.  It was such a blast!  We laughed over each unexpected plot twist (and over the persistent fandom references - do we get to count those as "intertextuality"?).  But the laughter was certainly not caused by poor writing.  Both during the writing process and looking back on it, I was consistently impressed by the caliber of the these ladies.  We all quickly agreed we will be doing this again!

[The four writers* and their tea** pot]
*Nancy, myself, Lois, and Sami
Also, I love that we're all in dresses and skirts
**tea powers writing

I wanted to share at least one of the pieces as an example.  This is less of a story, but it was one of my favorites.  We closed with this one and I was honestly moved by it.  Nancy turned to me and asked, "Samara, are you crying?"  No... ok, maybe tearing up.  I just really love this piece.

So without further ado:

Author, Narrator, Character

Lois:

I could write an entire novel about hands, she thought. Wouldn’t that be interesting.

The problem with writing has always been first sentences. There are too many good ones already written. How could she possibly compete?

Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself.
There was no possibility of taking a walk that day.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that, a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.
As Gregor Samsa awoke from a night of uneasy dreaming, he found himself transformed in his bed into a giant insect.

How do you even begin? she wondered.
The dreamy poorly-dressed twelve year old of her past had no qualms about beginnings. A prologue came to her in an evening and she began chapter one the next morning.
A boy, about the age of 17, lying in a dark and musty dungeon. 
Oh lord, she groaned. Scintillating writing my dear.
And a character. She needed a character. Someone for her readers to love and identity with. Someone they would root for.
Herself?
Is she the character of this story?

Excuse me, let’s just pause a moment and remove this layer of third-person narrative. Can I do that? Is that allowed?

I am the author. And the narrator. And the character. And I am rather pleased to make your acquaintance. Would a formal introduction be considered tacky? Or cliché?

We interrupt this story that you have just started reading and are probably about to put down because honestly what is even happening here for a relatively important announcement.

An open letter to future high school students and possibly future English majors:

If you are reading this short story because I became an award-winning, world-famous author and this pithy piece of writing is deemed important enough to be studied in a class and you have to write a paper about something to do with this story, here is an idea: metafiction. I love all things meta. And already, there has been plenty of metafiction. Also intertextuality. Ask your teacher.

Sincerely,

the author, narrator, and character

Thank you for your patience.

What’s all this, you must be asking.
What indeed.
She was asking herself a similar question. Lying on her bed. Drinking tea. Writing a story.
What was it all about, this living thing?
And…
was she even alive?

Samara: 

And if author, did she create? Or if character, did she discover? But if narrator, whose script was she using?
Thus beginning the cycle again.
At times I was one, then the other. Now I am all three.
Three-sided. Externally, multi-faceted. Internally, trapped?
No matter. She defined, was defined by those three sides.
Honor. Hero. Hate.
Awarded. Awkward. Ambivalent.
Make. Made. Mediator.
Author. Character. Narrator.

But then, enough introspection. She could introspect all day.
And wasn't that what had ruined her in the first place?
Yes. No. Moving along.

Hands!
"Hands touching hands."
Hands to work.
Hands show age or vigor.
Hands in marriage.
For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,
And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.
I'm telling you - intertextuality...

Nancy

But which hands to write about?
Which hands, which story of hands, are most worthy?
She wondered.
I wondered.
The problem with inspiration is finding it in the first place.
Does one look for it, or simply wait around for its arrival?
I can look under rocks, inside the working gears of an old clock, or in the works of the great writers before her.

After her, even?

But although one can look high and low for that magic spark of inspiration, one can never guarantee a result.
Perhaps I must wait for that spark, that neuron surge erupts in your brain which will expand the horizons of my subconscious.
Am I—is she—even worthy of being a protagonist? Is this plot worthy of consumption?
Will my tale will quickly fade among the multitudes of other mediocre fictions?
In the world. In the word.

She lies in her bed, buried in her head.
Why?
Why do I want/need/crave this story be written?

Her tea grows cold in her cup in her hand in her room.
The question haunts her skull, eats her soul.

Is she alive? Am I alive because I—a being of some abstract sort—feel alive?
Do I look well if no one else can see me? Can a voice make sense if no one hears it? What proof have I that I matter if no one else validates my very existence? Perhaps I am myself a mere idea. A figment of imagination of that bored college student lying on her bed.

Her tea was drained, her eyes were strained.

She is all three parts of the cycle—author, narrator, character.
And yet…why does she feel so alone?

Look under more rocks, my dear. Perhaps there is another element? An ingredient as of yet missing?
I look up.
What do I see?

Hands.
Hands??
Whose hands?
….Your hands?

Hello! Who are you? I was so wrapped up in myself and all of these intertextual deep deep thoughts, that I forgot that there was another person in the room.

How could I have forgotten the hands of my reader!
Your beautifully unique and curious hands, which hold my pages even now.

You are the inspiration that I have been looking for. I realize now what had been missing from my story: someone to listen.

How strange…is it very often that the author-narrator-character falls in love with their reader?

Another open letter:

You may be asking yourself how on earth the Author/Narrator/Character of a short story could fall in love with you, The Reader, when so many before you have read this same short story.

The answer: because each time a new person reads a story, they make it their own and adopt their own reaction. This is not a one-way monologue, my sweet, sweet Reader. This is a conversation. I am interested in what you have to say.

Sincerely,

Your beloved Author, Narrator, and Character

But…what will happen once my story ends?
Will my life end as well? Will we never speak again?
My voice feels complete now… my voice is being heard across the wrinkles of time and space.
It is up to you now, how this relationship continues.

Sami

I set down your pages and feel my world rock a little. How. How could this amazing author know? I have fallen in love with these pages. My teacher assigned this well-known author and I thought you would be one of the many generic, boring assignments of my life. He wants us to respond to you, the Author, Narrator and Character.

You have made me contemplate my own validity. How I interpret my own reality. I hold you in my hands and I wonder what you, the Author, Narrator, Character once held and who else has held you and been drastically changed.

I want you to know you are heard and that the greatest gift of all is to love and be loved in return.

There you go. Intertextuality.

Love,
Your Reader

Moments

Sunsets and lightning strikes,
Honey-dewed bits of time.
Friends on holiday
take advantage
of summer air, lake,
and verdes--together,
like a free orchestra
for the eyes.
The wonder-seeker
on a student's budget needs
only enough to purchase berries,
baguettes and cheese
to create delight by dusk.
Pedantic conversations
well into the night
leave my soul feeling full.
Poets, political theorists,
pinners and playful children -
I get to count them all as friends.
Reluctant to bid goodbye
to sunny, adventurous days,
no pillow-time till 1 AM.
Or later still.
The mind races, weaving
memories from experiences.
These are moments.
Composed of more than minutes.
Pauses, glances round the table,
cloud watching, walks,
giggles and sighs--
if only we could bottle up
the sensation of summer
to crack open on a grey day
or frigid night.
I cannot say I have regrets.
"What is a weekend?"
But a chance to
sieze those summery days
and make the moments
belong to us.




[pc: Becca]

Nostalgic for Now

The Summer of Becoming... it means abundant weekends and long to-do lists and beautiful memories and tired eyes and sunkissed skin.  Weather-wise, we're having one of those summers in Seattle we only get once every 5 years or so.  It's the summer of #latergram - live through the moment rather than the memory.  I can't tell you how many friends' blogs I follow who just returned from a month-long, unplanned hiatus.  It's a seasoon of both the beautiful and the sublime.


[We are in the good old days, y'all.]


I love Kati's exposition of just one weekend can look like!  This weekend was magic!  I'll have some "professional" photos to post later.  But I thought I'd share some now:



[Rugged floral... styled by Cami]





[View of Mt. Rainier from our ferry]





[I love being on the water!]



[This poster in a bookshop brought me right back to childhood]



[bicycle hunt]





[Boats on Bainbridge!]





[How darling is this little Church?  I totally wanted to sneak up to the steeple!]





[We got to share 30 hours and multiple adventures this weekend... we both agreed it wasn't enough]





[And I got to see this lovely gal and former roommate.  We were wearing matching sweaters + sunnies. Ha!]



Such a fun weekend!

This isn't to say everything's perfect. No, there's time when I think my room, my schedule and my soul are all too crammed. There are times when I feel impatient or like I'm going crazy. My morning alarm reminds me "You can sleep when you're dead." But... even with all the crazy - I'm so aware what this summer embodies. If you find yourself enjoying sunsets or you're busy chasing dreams, if (like me) you're trying to strike the balance between amazing fun with friends and the desire to go on a reading binge, if you are "too hot," "too busy," or "too tired" - remember that this season is unique. For many I've talked too, it's a season like we've never had and probably never will have again. It's one of intense growth and, quite literally, enough memories to last a lifetime.

Our lives are enviable - let's be "nostalgic" for the now.

Portlandia

So, I was about to update you all on last weekend's road trip - Vancouver, B.C. to see Mumford & Sons - but I realized I started, but never finished my post on the last road trip I took - Portland, OR as one of six "wild" ladies (my dad's descriptor ;).  But that weekend and these pictures are too fun not to share!  Plus, it's enormous fun re-living that weekend. 

So here goes...

* * * * * * * * *

It was the first weekend in April (I know, I'm like 2 months behind).  And a group of us piled into two cars, complete with latte's, good music, and smartphones (read: Instagram).  What an adventure!

I count myself really lucky just to have conversations with these amazing, smart, creative, gorgeous ladies. 



[Quasi-candid pic of our pit-stop on the way down.]

 Some of the ladies had either never been to Portland, or had never done a proper downtown excursion. So there were a couple must-see places.

The first,(and most important) stop being: Powell's City of Books, naturally :)



[Street musician just outside of Powell's]





[Myself, Kayla, and Ashley... second weekend excursion in a row for the "Crawley Sisters"]





[Becca & Cami]

Sizzle Pie is a little, punk-pizzeria kitty-corner to Powell's.  It's quite delish.  And you should go sometime :)

[Regina's personal pizza... just kidding.  a bunch of us split that.]



[I really, really love these ladies :) ]




[I really liked this shot too!]

Next stop:  Ace Hotel!  Someday, I'm gonna stay here.  But for now, their lobby and mezzanine are quite enough to explore!



[Ace Hotel Mezzanine - love the poem on the wall and I have an obsession with small, letter sized drawers]




[photographs of photography - it happened a lot this trip]





[A scrumptious dinner at Clyde Common, also part of Ace Hotel]

I told the girls this at dinner that night.  But, it's worth repeating.  I'm incredibly grateful for friends who are so genuine.  Friends who no how to have fun without alcohol or clubs or craziness.  Friends who are just packed with fun.  Ladies who know their value and have chosen to not settle for anything less than God's best and highest adventure for their lives.  Really, really grateful.



[How stunning is she?! C'est tres chic!]

 

[These gals are just such fun!]




[camera-baby]

Another favorite spot in Portland is the thoroughly French cafe, St. Honore's.  We rounded out our Saturday evening with another round of lattes and headed back to our hotel for a Moonrise Kingdom viewing :)


[St. Honore's]



[My pictures don't do it justice - Mother's Bistro]



Sunday Morning we did brunch at Mother's Bistro.  Oh my word!  I would go back to Portland just to have brunch there!  Such a delightful place!  And the food was yummm!



[Thanks to our barista for that amazing window shot!]

We meandered here & there that afternoon before regrouping at Barista.  They've won all sorts of competitions and our resident barista (Becca) was so glad to make the stop.  Bonuses: the decor was super fun and we got to watch them do pour-over coffee.  Fascinating!



[lurve these ladies]



After Barista, we found a stair case with exposed brick and were having a fabulous little photo shoot when we though, hey, where might these stairs lead? Well, it turns out they led up to the most amazing loft unit - with big windows & exposed brick - that just so happened to be left open on the weekend.



[a smidgen of mischief]

 So we did a photoshoot.  I'll let Cami post the awesome band-photos that came out of that one (ahem, Cami ;).  But here's a hint at just how cool this place was.


[another street musician in the Pearl District]



[Victorian Authors make just about the bestest of friends!]

On our way to dinner, 3 of us got a bit turned around (oops).  But we ended up near the Library downtown.  It has benches all the way around it with author's names engraved on them.  May be hard to make out, but we got pics with some of our favorites :)



[a weekend to not soon be forgotten]


And a final dinner at Portland City Grille.  Another "high"-ly recommended spot in Portland (forgive the pun!).  It's a fabulous restaurant some 30 stories up overlooking the city and the river.  Great food & they had a live pianist playing pop hits - Thriftshop on the piano had people all over the restaurant singing along and smiling. 

It made for a wonderful last hurrah before 3 of us headed home (the other 3 had an extra day to spend in Portland - lucky ducks).



[goodbye, Portland]



It was quick, but it was precious.  Dreaming & scheming & laughing & eating with these 5 was a hilight of my Spring.  I suspect some very good things shall come of it.

Including more road trips.

Till next time.