Hermopoulis is the main port city on Syros, a sleepy island in the Cyclades. Today, when I should have been grading, I confess I took a detour and tinkered a bit with my Greek novel, sprucing it up. And I spent some time dreaming over these photographs of Syros, taken by my friend, colleague and travelling companion, Shawn Madison Krahmer Heal.
Travel The railroad track is miles away, And the day is loud with voices speaking, Yet there isn’t a train goes by all day But I hear its whistle shrieking. All night there isn’t a train goes by, Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming, But I see its cinders red on the sky, And hear its engine steaming. My heart is warm with friends I make, And better friends I’ll not be knowing; Yet there isn’t a train I wouldn’t take, No matter where it’s going. Edna St. Vincent Millay
This summer, it seems my whole life is under construction. We've been living in limbo while the house we're hoping to buy in our beloved Lambertville has been taking shape. I've been doing a lot of driving back and forth to the house to watch it grow into the next phase of its already quite long life. The process has been exciting and sometimes fraught. Surprised by asbestos Then there's my usual summer preoccupation: writing. With several novels underway at once, I've been trying to figure out where to take my writing next. I've been researching and drafting what I suspect will turn out to be a Middle Grade novel and rethinking a YA novel that didn't quite cohere. I've also been turning back to my first love, poetry, putting together the first manuscript of poems in a really long time. Surprised by dogwood Most of all, I've been grappling with what kind of writer I want to become. How should I spend the next part o