Dear Reader,
Word Raccoon and I had a dilemma today. We are about 125 pages into Still Life by Sarah Wynn and loving it, though it’s not a quick read. And then the library texted that they have a book in that WR and I cannot wait to read.
We actually mentioned it to a friend today. AND it’s already been optioned for a movie and was before it came out!
The book? Yesteryear by Caro Claire Burke, a debut novel.
Much like those who wisely attached Anne Hathaway to the movie expeditiously (I almost equally want to see the movie as read the book!)I, too, was immediately enthralled with the premise: a TradWife (ugh) influencer gets transported (I don’t even know how) back to the actual time period she has been cosplaying.
It isn’t quite the pastoral life she imagined, or that she’s been selling her viewers.
After reading the library’s text, WR questioned me.
“Why are you reading Still Life? Our book is ready. You know I want it now. You want to read it, too.
(Oh, and because life is beautiful and bountiful, we received a message from someone at our local university asking if he could drop off a copy of Twelfth Night to us. Yes, yes, kind sir! So that is now on the dining room table, reminding us that Shakespeare rules.)
WR reminded me that the essay I need to mail is ready to go, and that, oh, if I maybe wanted to drop that in the mail, I could…swing by the library.
She knows the library is close enough to walk to unless we’re carrying heavy stuff or trying not to bedew ourselves.
Also, we are already a quarter of the way through Still Life, and we are enjoying it. Art! Firenze! Love!
She reminded me of the war in it.
Oh, bother. It’s over at this point in the novel, and I’m glad.
She began running through the list of those we might invite to go see Yesteryear when it comes out. “But you know what…you’ll like it so much better if we read it right now.”
Naturally, I want to oblige her. I’m quite sure it won’t take more than a couple of hours to read it. It’s not, say, Shakespeare, no shade intended.
We have reached a compromise: I will pick it up tomorrow. In the meantime, we will read at least half of Still Life before inhaling Yesteryear. (I will try to keep her from it. When she likes something, she really likes it, Dear Reader. )
Today, a poem, then more novel writing. Bones, just writing the bones of this section, okay, with a little musculature.
I managed to revise two poems tonight: “Message Tee, Long Jacket,” and “Plato’s Closet.” The latter pits Plato against the resale shop, Plato’s Closet. Why?
I don’t know. Ask WR. Now to find them a good home.
One more day left of prescriptive poetry month. You probably heard WR sigh with relief. She will write more poetry after the month is up, guaranteed, than she did this month. Between that and the chilly, rainy days keeping us indoors, she’s done with April.
She says Aprille has “perced” us to the “roote,” with cold and gloom. We are not pleased at the bare skies.
Readingly,
Drema
dremadrudge.com 