"Ardyth Kennelly . . . recalls that her first printed writing was a poem in the Albany, Ore., Democrat-Herald to which her initials were signed. 'It came out on a hot Saturday afternoon,' says Miss Kennelly, 'and I felt so famous I could hardly stand to eat dinner that night. I read it over and over and couldn't see anything wrong with it.'"
--Miss Jay Tower of the Literary Guild, quoted in the Albany Democrat-Herald, March 28, 1953 (when Ardyth's novel Good Morning, Young Lady was chosen by the Guild as its selection for May 1953)
Friday, October 16, 2015
Tuesday, October 13, 2015
The world and the weather as friends
There are steadfast friends, the same today and the same tomorrow, enduring, unchangeable. And there are the other kind—as good, maybe, in the long run, but hard to put up with. Mean and uppity, a chip on their shoulder, one day, and so good and friendly that butter wouldn't melt in their mouth, the next. Good friends, proved so, but difficult. The world and the weather belong to these.
For instance, here was snow piled as high as houses, here was cold-hearted wind, an uppity moon, a sulky sun, for days, and weeks. Here was sickness smelling horribly, death, grief, despair, for what seemed too long to stand. And what happened? You know what happened as well as I do. All of a sudden the sky softened deliciously into baby blue and baby pink. The birds blew in tuneful and loud and settled down to stay, letting bygones be bygones. Branches of green reached down to pat the hatless head, shake the hand, grasses reared up with the flattery of a cat around the knee. The moon turned into a cooing pigeon, the sun to somebody that would give you his last sou, his bottom dollar, without a scratch of the pen and no security.
— From The Peaceable Kingdom
For instance, here was snow piled as high as houses, here was cold-hearted wind, an uppity moon, a sulky sun, for days, and weeks. Here was sickness smelling horribly, death, grief, despair, for what seemed too long to stand. And what happened? You know what happened as well as I do. All of a sudden the sky softened deliciously into baby blue and baby pink. The birds blew in tuneful and loud and settled down to stay, letting bygones be bygones. Branches of green reached down to pat the hatless head, shake the hand, grasses reared up with the flattery of a cat around the knee. The moon turned into a cooing pigeon, the sun to somebody that would give you his last sou, his bottom dollar, without a scratch of the pen and no security.
— From The Peaceable Kingdom
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)