book·ish : In the Haze of a Good Read.

Loving this quote from one of my favorite actors. I can totally relate, Mr. Firth. Are you in the haze of a good read? I’ve just begun 84, Charing Cross Road at the recommendation (and donation!) of a friend. I’m already loving it.
Source: imgfave.com via Bethany on Pinterest
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book·ish/ˈbo͝okiSH/Adjective
1. (of a person or way of life) Devoted to reading and studying rather than worldly interests.
2. (of language or writing) Literary in style or allusion.
3. (of art and all manner of lovely things) devoted to the written word as a form of art and as a way of seeing the world.
4. (of SheWritesandRights.blogspot.com) anything of the aforementioned characteristics as they are found on the interwebs and reposted by Bethany, because bookish and writerly things always give reason for amusement.*

Readership Doesn’t Determine Writership.

I’ve been churning out poetry and journal entries like a human word mill, but when it comes to writing prose I’ve been struggling. I write with a feeling that I come close, but I miss the mark. The head of the nail is far away from where my words land. Poetry so adequately touches my emotions in that deep place where the logic and structure of prose do not fit. I dwell in that place right now. Memories fill my thoughts. Words and rhythms come naturally, lull me to sleep when the practicality of life feels burdensome and scary.
If you don’t believe me, I can send you a screen shot of the 47 different TextEdit windows that lay open and waiting with half written posts in them. I can tell you that the only things that feel accomplished and complete to me are the six [count them! 6!] poems I’ve drafted in the last two weeks. This is record breaking, but also upside down and backwards to my usual pace and direction and orientation of writing.
I’ve been worrying and nibbling off all of my finger nails over the idea that my blog isn’t a plethora of “Top 10 Ways to Blahblahblah” and that my daily blog readership is approximately 38 percent more than the number of people that actually respond to what I write.
No more.
I’ve given myself a manicure and moved on. Because here is the thing that consoles and motivates me :

 

My readership doesn’t determine my writership.

 

I am a writer, first and foremost. My blog is a medium for my writing, not the other way around.
Most blogs are prose, pieces of advice for learning how to build SEO in order to become the next piece-of-advice giver. That works for some people. It’s garnered 30,000 readers and an e-book publication for them. Congratulations.
I say that without sarcasm or disdain or jealousy.
I say that with gratitude for the encouragement and useful information that continue to guide my journey as a writer.
And I say that with the knowledge that it isn’t for me.
I may lend my advice on occasion, but mostly, this space is my medium for sharing my creative writing and dialoguing about the process. I’m going to be posting a lot of poetry and pieces like this one, but maybe not as much prose or any formulaic posts that make my SEO and Klout score happy.
So what, Bethany?
I guess I’m finally coming to terms with the idea that it’s good to be a writer that blogs, simply and plainly. And for the first time in awhile, these words I’m writing don’t feel forced.
This space is where you will find me. The whole me. The girl that sits amidst half empty coffee cups and pens and scraps of paper and writes what she thinks about the world, in whatever words and order they come to her.
I am no expert, but I have things to say about writing and creativity and life, and I’d love to dialogue with you about that. Join me. Let’s sit down with a cup of coffee and talk about our families and our dreams and what we wrote last night.

The Velvet Coat.

 

It hung on her coat rack for most of my childhood. My five, six, seven year old hands would pet the cuff, rub it against my cheek as she shoved my feet into snow boots before school. A picture of her in it hung above my Grandmother’s rocker for years. Her dark feathered tendrils disappeared into the dark velvet collar, her face and eyes shining out from it with happiness, mischief. She was gorgeous, I thought.
One day she handed it to me.
“It’ll fit you now. Do you want to try it? I used to wear it to see the opera in the city while I was at college. Made me feel special with heels and my tweed skirt.”
And as I slip it on in the mornings, right sleeve then left sleeve, flinging my own dark hair from beneath the collar, I imagine her in this life before we knew one another. Laughing, glamorous and innocent and young in a dark velvet coat in the amber glow of city lights. I wrap it closer to myself, this jacket, this girl in another world. Stay with me now.

book·ish : A Holiday Gift Guide.

With Christmas just around the corner, I’ve been browsing Etsy for gift ideas. I’ve found plenty for family, and of course, plenty to pine over for myself. Here are a few gift ideas for the word nerds in your life.

A Bookish Gift Guide. This one is conglomerative – Woolf, Bronte, Shakespeare, Austen are all noted here, but there are some functional pieces as well. And what reader doesn’t love a good houndstooth scarf?
Let Shakespeare do the talking. Say I love you and Merry Christmas with one of these beautiful pieces.

book·ish/ˈbo͝okiSH/Adjective

1. (of a person or way of life) Devoted to reading and studying rather than worldly interests.
2. (of language or writing) Literary in style or allusion.
3. (of art and all manner of lovely things) devoted to the written word as a form of art and as a way of seeing the world.
4. (of SheWritesandRights.blogspot.com) anything of the aforementioned characteristics as they are found on the interwebs and reposted by Bethany, because bookish and writerly things always give reason for amusement.