melanie griffith and her pet lion

See more snaps here.

summer song

Check out The Sandwitches:

found in reading

"Then, in 1966, Wilkins (Roger Wilkins, an attorney general) went to see Martin Luther King, Jr. in Chicago, where, in the face of neo-Nazi violence, King was trying to get the city to address the problems of inner-city poverty. King had rented a walkup in a slum neighborhood. When Wilkins and another Justice Department lawyer got up the stairs, they found King in a small, airless room in a railroad apartment, talking to forty or fifty gang kids. He was holding a seminar on nonviolence. There were no photographers, no newsmen. There was no glory in it. He also kept two assistant attorney generals of the United States waiting for hours while he did this. It was four o'clock in the morning when King finished. He woke Coretta and she made coffee. "We sat and we talked," Wilkins said. "He was a great man, a great man."

Excerpted From "The Color of Law" - Louis Menand
The New Yorker

miniature

Watch a video about the origins of the word miniature. It's much more interesting than it may sound. Thanks to Sara Kaye Larson for passing this one my way.

unchained tour - the deep south/freeze one

In January, I set out with the Unchained Tour again for ten days of story slinging. I've posted my favorites but all of the photos are here. The photo booth shots are by Amurica. The cast and crew shot with the bus is the work of Andrew Von Goeliner. The rest are all me. 


We touched ground in all these towns: Chattanooga, TN; Huntsville, AL; Nashville, TN; Memphis, TN; Booneville, MS; Oxford, MS; Birmingham, AL; Montevallo, AL; and Carrollton, GA. I got a mitten-loan and fire-pit hang with Sara Kaye Larson in Memphis. Spillit Storytelling let us in their homes, fed us dinner, and took a billion pics of us in their photo booth. In Huntsville, Alabama we held a show in a mill with a crank elevator and floors cut with nails from its boot-making history. In Nashville,  I walked through freezing rain with Jose Ray and Christopher Paul Stelling to Third Man records, Jack White's recording studio. In Oxford, Mississippi I ran away to get some reading at Square Books and overheard the employees talking about how cool our show was going to be. After the show, Dottie Knight let us crash her birthday party. We got our wits rattled at Graceland Too. In Birmingham, Alabama we played in a former masonic hall that also is a creative writing center for kids called Desert Island Supply Co. That night, friends from my hometown of Montgomery, Alabama drove a few hours to see the show and say hello. In Carrollton, we got tour tats and George took the stage to personally thank everyone for their work. 


I never think the next tour can be as good as the last, but they are always wonderful. Our boss man/cult leader George Dawes Green always throws a lovely cast of folks aboard, fast friendships are made, and then kept long after. It was a very cold tour and the bus heater couldn't keep up. There were multiple Walmart stops for heat pockets you can slip into your boots, sleeping bags, and wool socks. I might be experiencing a viable ache from the present lack of all that hugging and real vs. artificial warmth those days fed me. 


These people...


Micaela Blei almost loses her towel giving hugs in the morning. She also has three things she does before she goes to sleep and they are, as follows: she says something she's grateful for, something she wants, and something great she did today. If you're her bedmate, you play this with her. I still do, away from her, some nights. Also, she sleeps in headgear. 

Annie Duke never ran out of stories or generosity for that matter from advising me on one of my own stories to throwing down the bones for my first tattoo, a bluebird on my shoulder(blade). 

Tim Manley trusted me with his stories, shared his sleeping bag, and was always up for talking all night. 

Peter Aguero tells a different story every night. When he heard I was going through a difficult time, he told me to tell him about it, and then he said whenever I feel low to come marching up to him because he would make me feel AWESOME. 

Christopher Paul Stelling, now one of my best friends, let me have the same conversation with him about a hundred times, shared his whiskey, has a built-in adventure compass (John Wilkes Booth's grave for a dance, anyone?), is a grown-ass man, asked me questions to distract me from the tattoo needle, and gave me a cigarette after, which it turns out I needed. 

George Dawes Green, through our endless conversations about story, reminded me that if you're seeking comfort just talk about it. Telling stories is the best kind of deep breathing if you have some courage and humility. Samita Tcb Wolfe, my longtime friend and producer lady, gives levitation hugs. Jose Ray, I would be your superhero any day, you just let me know. Anita Sundari Akella, thanks for reminding me it's more important to write my book than to date, and there's nothing wrong for a second with just being alone. VG and Isaac Hammons most definitely must be tired of hearing me talk about stories over their playlists, but still are the first and last faces I see when it's tour time again. Bonnie Blue Edwards shot beautiful footage and shared her okra.


Some things I'll take with me from this tour is to screw the rule or game book and say what I mean and feel when I want to, to never sleep too late, and to regret nothing.  

life lately, grams

mardi gras, the quiet one

recommended reading

Winter's Bone. You probably saw the movie, but I press you to read the book. Below is a passage from Daniel Woodrell's tale set in the back woods of the Ozarks.

"She took to pausing more often to study on things that weren’t usually of interest. She sniffed the air like it might somehow have changed flavors and looked closely at the stone fencerow, touched the stones and hefted a few, held them to her face, saw a rabbit that didn’t try to run until she laughed at it, smelled Victoria on her sleeves and hunkered atop a stump to think. She spread her skirt taut across her knees and tucked the extra under her legs. Those stones had probably been piled by direct ancestors and for a long while she tried to conjure their pioneer lives and think if she saw parts of their lives showing in her own. With her eyes closed she could call them near, see those olden Dolly kin who had so many bones that broke, broke and mended, broke and mended wrong, so they limped through life on the bad mend bones for year upon year until falling dead in a single evening from something that sounded wet in the lungs. The men came to mind as mostly idle between nights of running wild or time in the pen, cooking moon and gathering around the spout, with ears chewed, fingers chopped, arms shot away, and no apologies grunted ever. The women came to mind bigger, closer, with their lonely eyes and homely yellow teeth, mouths clamped against smiles, working in the hot fields from can to can’t, hands tattered rough as dry cobs, lips cracked all winter, a white dress for marrying, a black dress for burying, and Ree nodded yup. Yup."

 

recommended reading

The following passages are from the gorgeous book, Housekeeping, by Marilynn Robinson. I'd been waiting somewhat impatiently to adore a book again and this read finally did the trick. 

“We are drifters. And once you have set your foot in that path it is hard to imagine another one. Now and then I take a job as a waitress, or a clerk, and it is pleasant for a while. Sylvia and I see all the movies. But finally the imposture becomes burdensome, and obvious. Customers begin to react to my smile as if it were a grimace, and suddenly something in my manner makes them count their change. If I had the choice, I would work in a truck stop. I like to overhear the stories strangers tell each other, and I like the fastidious pleasure solitary people take in the smallest details of their small comforts.”

"I was hungry enough to begin to learn that hunger has its pleasures, and I was happily at ease in the dark, and in general, I could feel that I was breaking the tethers of need, one by one.”

“To her the deteriorations of things were always a fresh surprise, a disappointment not to be dwelt on.”

“Her children slept on starched sheets under layers of quilts, and in the morning her curtains filled with light the way sails fill with wind.” 

libreria acqua alta - venice

roger may - documenting appalachia

View more photographs from May here.

quoteworthy

The deep parts of my life pour onward,
as if the river shores were opening out.
It seems that things are more like me now,
That I can see farther into paintings.
I feel closer to what language can't reach.

- Ranier Maria Rilke

in the woods

"I'm a city girl. I was born and raised in Washington, D.C., and I've spent my entire adult life living in cities (Moscow, London, Amsterdam, New York, and now Washington again). I love big cities for the energy, the people-watching, the access to art and culture, the ability to feel anonymous. But I also need a daily 'forest bath,' as the Japanese call it. I take a long walk in the woods almost every day to clear my head. (In Moscow, I walked in wooded parks; in London, I went to Hampstead Heath; in Amsterdam, I walked in the Amsterdamse Bos; in Brooklyn, I was in Prospect Park every day; now my daily walk is in Rock Creek Park.) I've been doing this for years. There is something about being on the trails, in the silence, under all those trees that does wonders for my brain. (A couple of years ago, The New York Times noted the health benefits of 'forest bathing':  apparently time spent among trees and plants reduces stress and boosts immune function.) I take my dog with me and sometimes I sort out character and plot problems on my walks. But more often than not, the walk is just a way to let go—of anxiety, of ego—and recharge my creative batteries. I always work better after I've been in the woods."

—Elliott Holt, author of You Are One of Them (The Penguin Press, 2013)
From "Writers Recommend," Poets & Writers Magazine

new year, new adventures

Forgive the silence as it's been a new definition of busy in my life. The past few months had me shuffling between homes, stacking jobs, and falling short on adventures because of it all. 

In a few days, I journey aboard the Blue Bird for a new Unchained Tour with a fresh crop of storytellers that cuts through the Deep South. I'll be touching ground in all these towns: Chattanooga, TN; Huntsville, AL; Nashville, TN; Memphis, TN; Booneville, MS; Oxford, MS; Birmingham, AL; Montevallo, AL; and Carrollton, GA. I'm very excited to power-hang with Sara Kaye Larson in Memphis.

Afterwards, I'm off to Vermont Studio Center for a writing residency I was so lucky to receive. I'll be in Johnson, Vermont, a little mill town in the belly of some big mountains. It's going to be cold, productive, and a bit of a literary sanctuary. 

What I haven't said, is I could cry already about how much I'm going to miss my dog! 

Still, here's to writing and many adventures in the new year.

two dancing feet

the unchained tour - the heart shaped one

It's amazing that I ever had time to take photos on tour. Most are while walking from one point to another or from hanging out the bus window. I must have slept 4-5 hours a night on average; and yet, I couldn't manage to go to bed early because I loved the company I was keeping. By day, we made plans, miles, workshopped stories, and had mini-adventures. By night, it was showtime, meeting strangers, and passing a bottle of wine around as we headed to the next city or hotel or a wildlife habitat(!) to slumber. The days were golden and I can not wait to board that bus again in December. Check out the rest of the photos here.

new york times AND oxford american

This past Heart-Shaped Tour for Unchained was the most successful but also covered in the largest sense, which is perfectly pleasing for me as Publicity Director.

Read Joan Juliet Buck's piece for New York Times here.

And, read Hillary Brenhouse's account of life on the bus for Oxford American here.

san francisco

When I first drove over the Bay Bridge from Oakland toward San Francisco, I felt more wonder than I've felt anywhere I've ever been. There's the rugged coastline, the bridges, the fog, and the cityscape. In fact, when I drive from wine country to Big Sur I took the long way just so I could drive through San Francisco again. I was able to manage three ah!-there-she-is moments. While actually within the city, I stayed in North Beach, which is the Italian hood. I ate far too many cannoli's and could see City Lights Bookstore from my hotel room. The people were kind and I talked to more strangers than I had in awhile, a funny observation for a Southern girl. What it comes down to is that I enjoy my company more than ever, I'd designed beautiful days, and I was loving all the details of a city and region that spoke to my interests. I find this all telling to the fact I'm going to spend some time in the Bay Area one day. Till then...