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#fieldnotesfromtheunderworld

Guess who just signed some ‘consent to publish’ papers? This gal! Hopefully you’ll be able to read my article about Rebecca Belmore soon.


I also had a hard family therapy session with my Dad this morning. It’s hard work but it’s good work.

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As a writer, I love looking over my old notes and scraps because they are a goldmine of sheer sass. e.g.:

“Do you know the story of Isaac?”

“I want you to take a good long look at me, because do you think I’ve read the Bible?

Or

He didn’t even deign her with a reproachful look. “I’m afraid you have little understanding of farm country.”

“What, that happen to a lot of people?”

No. We tend to be a bit above stabbing those who offend us.”

“The demon dog running rampant says otherwise.”

And my favorite

“How the hell is there a wrong way to stab something? You just stab ‘em with the sharp end.”

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I love seeing people compare first and last sentences from fiction. You see the development of the characters in just a few words. Some have these profound introductions, eloquent and elegant.

Then there’s Zinnia: “Holy shit…I’m dead,” she muttered to herself. “Son of a bitch, I’m dead.”

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Augustine, Confessions
I will soar, then, beyond this power of my nature also, still rising by degrees toward him who made me. And I enter the fields and spacious halls of memory, where are stored as treasures the countless images that have been brought into them from all manner of things by the senses. There, in the memory, is likewise stored what we cogitate, either by enlarging or reducing our perceptions, or by altering one way or another those things which the senses have made contact with; and everything else that has been entrusted to it and stored up in it, which oblivion has not yet swallowed up and buried.
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I got to talk about Maya underworld mythology in my Spanish colonial art seminar. Specifically, I was explaining how Christian concepts of “live the virtuous life or you’re going to hell” doesn’t really scare a people whose afterlife is determined by how you die and already consists of 9 levels of spooky ass gods for anyone that didn’t die in battle.

They were very surprised about how well versed I was in this. I think I need to wear a warning label that says; “Encyclopedic knowledge of underworld mythology and monsters. Mention zombies at your own risk.”

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