Sunday, January 9, 2011

Home from the Land of Fairy Dust

I'm back from my trip back East. I will have much to share over the next few days - poems from the retreat and a report of my creation (together with some other poet friends) of a whole new genre of poetry. Yes! We haven't written any poems in this genre yet, but we know the kinds of poems we will need to write to get this new genre off the ground, and I'm going to invite you to write them with me.

But first, fairy dust. The picture is of me, at Alice's Teacup, having the fairy dust sprinkled on me, with my eyes closed to intensify its effects. And the fairy dust sprinkler, a wonderful Alice's Teacup employee, turned out to be the dear friend of the daughter of a dear friend of mine from my high school days. My friend had read my previous anticipatory blog post and prepared me for this magical small-world connection.

So: I did decide to ask the fairy dust for love, despite love's inherent risks. One of my fellow writers that morning said that there was no reason why I couldn't ask the fairy dust not for love simpliciter, but for good, right, true, lasting love. That seemed a bit overly specific to me. Like a request for a man between five feet ten and six feet two, athletic and toned, with the proper profile of education and occupation. I didn't want to present the fairy dust with a whole laundry list of desiderata. Laurie said that asking for good, right, true, lasting love wasn't like that at all. But I still demurred. I just asked for love. Love, period.

Now, in the past the fairy dusty has worked VERY QUICKLY if it's going to work at all. I think it was three months last year from the sprinkling of the fairy dust on my manuscript to my book contract for my Mason Dixon series. So I kept my eyes wide open for love when I got to Newark Airport this morning to fly home from the poetry retreat. I kept my eyes wide open on the plane.

Fairy dust, my eyes are open!


  1. Claudia,
    I'm glad you made it home okay. You slipped away so quietly this morning that I didn't hear a sound although I think I was awake around then and usually heard people using the front door. Have a good semester. I'm already grieving the fact (still in the eulogy mood) that you won't be there next year.

  2. I'm glad you're home safely, too, Pat. But boy did 4:30 a.m. come early this morning! And I'm going to try to figure out if there's a way that I can come next year - I don't know if I can live without it.

  3. I heard the crunch of the tires on the snow as you were shuttled away still fresh with fairy dust, poetry, and an abundance of love from all of us. It was quite unbearable to pass by your room with the pink laundry bag outside the pink room in the pink wing. Fingers crossed that you will find a way to come next year. And, YOU, dear friend, have an open invitation to visit the pond!

  4. This post made me laugh and laugh -- not the wish, which is perfectly serious, but the comments about 'a whole laundry list of desiderata'. I hope the fairy dust works its magic on you.