Adieu, False Heart

(Adieu False Heart, Linda Rondstadt & Ann Savoy)

I'm sitting on my bed listening to Ruby's playlist. Surprise, surprise: I like it too. It's cold in my house so I'm under my quilt here until it warms up. And it is going to warm up. We're supposed to be in the nineties today. Very bizarre. I can see snow up in the hills. How do the trees and other flora and fauna deal with these huge temperature variations?

Yesterday I read my ARC of Ruby's Imagine. As I read it, I remembered why I write. I write because these wonderful characters come to me and whisper their stories in my ear. And I write them down. What joy.

Ruby's Imagine was the most difficult book I've ever written. Both Ruby's Imagine and Broken Moon were hard. They are both people who are so different from me, the way they think, the way they talk. So I often doubted the voice. Not their voice—but my ability to put it down on paper, to convey their story in their voices. As I read Ruby's Imagine yesterday, I fell in love all over again with her, with Ruby, with her magic, her love of her world. I wanted to wrap my arms around her and tell her, I love you. I will protect you. I will care for you. But I already did my part: told her story. Soon she flies on her own.

Longtime readers know that once I've written the story, once it's finished, it's not mine any more. I can read it as if someone else wrote it. It's a nice feeling.

Still, I don't feel like writing. I think it happened when I was told I can't make a living writing. It felt like a slap in the face, even though it was really a statement of fact. I hadn't made a living writing in twenty-seven years! That's the definition of crazy, isn't it? Doing the same thing again and again and expecting different results.

I figure some new doors will open, right? Blue doors. New Mexican blue doors...

I really want to get in the car and drive to New Mexico. OK. That's not precisely true. I want to be in New Mexico. Santa Fe, actually, or Taos. I want to kiss the sky. No. I want to French kiss that blue, blue New Mexico sky. We'll see. It would be a long drive by myself. I may get tired and lonely, and I don't need any more of that. On the other hand, maybe I'd get to New Mexico and decide I want to work on Butch. Do you remember Butch? I started that about three years ago and I never went back to it. I read it last night and just got such a kick out of it. And then there's another New Mexico book I want to write called Fierce. I can't remember if I mentioned it or not.

Mostly I just want to be there. But I don't want to leave my sweetie. Plus I can't really afford it. I need to stay here and do my library work. Plant my garden. My rosemary bush is so big now that there's not room for a garden. Mario suggested pruning it. Pruning my magical mystical profound wise goddess Rosemary?

Do you think my expression of horror conveyed my answer to him? Poor guy. Every time he prepares to mow the lawn I walk around showing him what he can and can't run over. See these leaves? They will be poppies. We never ever mow poppies. And that there, well, that's gonna be a daisy. Or yeah, those were going to be daffodils. (Every single year he mows the daffodils.) I forgot to tell him not to cut the rhubarb and I glanced out the window yesterday and saw all the rhubarb stalks dead and gone, giant bright red leaves on the compost pile. Darlin', people harvest those and eat them. Like our landlord. His eyes widened. Oops.

OK. It's a beautiful day. I'm going to eat and then go out into the woods. Hang out with the Leprechaun of the Forest. Learn the ways of the forest peeps. Or sit on a log and rest. Breathe deeply. Listen to the water in the creek rush by. Maybe dance a little.

Or go sit on my garden and have a heart to heart with the Rosemary. She knows all.

Oh yeah. And do some work.

There was a point to this post, but I lost it. Not to worry. Perhaps I just meant to say hello. Ask how you all are.

Breathe, breath, breathe...

May You Dance in Beauty!