
The forgotten tree in the back corner
Oct 21, 2024
2 min read

Yesterday, this tree, stuck between the camper van and the garage, caught my attention. It is more vibrant because of the rain, but still, I turned and caught a glimpse, and gasped. It was a mid-afternoon gift of light. Sometimes I think leaves this colour is the result of the tree saving sunlight all summer for the fall. And in the fall, this light is released.
The cool, wet weather continues as we tie up loose ends in the writing. The Saudade is off to my editor. All the Ephemeral Tricks of Life (Or, Deconstructing Noah Pinsky) is back with U of C Press. We shall see. It's a better book now, regardless of their decision. Sunder (Or, The Alien Wife) is also in play right, though there may be a rewrite coming. I am a little lost. No project is demanding my attention right now. Everything is pending, and winter is coming. We may head off to Winnipeg in the coming weeks for a book launch, but this too is pending -- depending on what we can find for flights.
I'm thinking I ought to add a a few writing samples to this webspace. Maybe I'll do that tonight. Call it something weird, like, "word, words, words..." You know, Hamlet's line when someone asks what he reads. It seems old Hamlet is saying it's just a bunch of words and nothing more, regardless of its overall form, content, context, attempts at being profound or entertaining, or possible aspersions to truth. It's all insignificant: it's just words, words, words. I know a woman who's getting this tattoo, "words, words, words..." that is, on her forearm. I think Hamlet is fed up with life, it's all too much, his father murdered by the uncle who married his mother. All the pretence and posturing. He does not want a discussion about what he's reading, so he answers: words, words, words,: as if it's all boring and meaningless. So, using this line as a title to my writing samples is the opposite of what I think.