Fannie Ward, 1921 (Roy Bean)

Wasteland

April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers. T.S. Eliot (1888–1965). The Waste Land. 1922

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Vintage Beauty

I’ve been digging around at Vintage Photo today to get me into the mood for a deeply gothic week. I have found the face of my heroine, and it’s not the sappy cherub pictured above.

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Waiting for the Dead

How I adore droopy women, and this one is droopier than most. There’s a character in the book I’m writing just like this. From the outside, she could have no bones at all but simply be a wraith hanging in still air. I’d hate to BE a droopy woman. Lorks, that would be frustrating. Imagine …

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Correspondence

Darlings, thank you for contacting me. I shall reply soon, though you may have to wait a little; there’s a deadline on my desk and an editor standing behind me with a gun to my head. If my brains aren’t spattered across the screen by Friday, I shall begin sifting through my correspondence and replying to those of …

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Wordsworth

Rest, little young One, rest; thou hast forgot the day When my father found thee first in places far away; Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned by none, And thy mother from thy side for evermore was gone.

by George Hoyningen-Huené

Insect

Today, as I sat listening to the radio, an ant crawled slowly along my arm and across my hand. Let’s hope this is not the beginning. Nor the end.

Jeanne Eagels

Writing

It has rained for days. It’s hard to imagine it’s June. Summer seems to have come and gone and though the evenings lengthen, the wind grows chillier by the day. I long to be near the sea so that I might watch the waves thrash the shore.

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Rain

I was woken in the early hours by the rain on the roof. The wind was lifting the tiles. When I looked from the window, I saw a fallen slate piercing the ground like glass spiking flesh.

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Lamb

“Letter.” Miss Proctor holds out a creamy white envelope and waits for me to limp the length of the dormitory and take it from her. As I stop in front of her I can’t hold back a shiver. “Cold, Lamb?” Miss Proctor tips her head. “Perhaps you should be outside with the other girls. A …