Read Fitzgerald.

Stephen King has been famously quoted as stating, “If you don’t have time to read, you don’t have the time (or the tools) to write. Simple as that.” But for a writer (or for anyone, really), are all books created equal? My answer? Noooooooo!

Many books are wonderful, but F. Scott’s… oh my! They are quite simply life altering. Fitzgerald’s first love was poetry, being a huge fan of John Keats, and all of his work is, in my opinion, written with a beauty never before or since repeated. The command of the language, the style, the elegance… I could go on and on.

I have a soft spot for Gatsby. Someone who knew Ray Bradbury personally, shared with me that his favorite was Tender Is The Night. But really, in the end, it doesn’t matter which one you choose. They are all wonderful. For fun and quirky short stories, I’d go with “The Offshore Pirate” or “Diamond As Big As The Ritz”.

Many of you have probably read his work, but if you haven’t, please do yourself this favor… Read Fitzgerald. There is no going back.  ❤❦♪♫

“Through all he said, even through his appalling sentimentality, I was reminded of something-an elusive rhythm, a fragment of lost words, that I heard somewhere a long time ago. For a moment a phrase tried to take shape in my mouth and my lips parted like a dumb man’s, as though there was more struggling upon them than a wisp of startled air. But they made no sound and what I had almost remembered was uncommunicable forever.”

— F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

Do YOU believe in fairies?

“And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.”

— Roald Dahl

Six years ago, I moved into a new home. I like moving. It reinvigorates worn patterns and rekindles the magic of a single moment because there is no known fallback within the freshness of this new space. Nothing has been done before, at least not here. But with the newness, at least for me, a vague disquiet seems to tag along as well, the longing for the solace of home when home is now just an unknown house, which in its unfamiliar state has no comfort to offer.

I immediately set out to my backyard to make friends with a small spot of earth. I no longer recollect how the idea came upon me. Nonetheless and for whatever reason, I picked an arbitrary location, central but maybe two-thirds toward the back end on the property, and placed some rocks in a circle, informing my family that this was our “fairy circle”. No mowing, no planting, no interfering. Never before having created such a thing, I paused to deliberate. Was I to say or do something to make it official… wave a stick in the air? dance in the grass? I decided no. Perhaps I felt bizarre enough already, but I think I also had a touch of intuition that the proclamation stood sufficient.

My husband, being the love that he’s always been, protested only a little. It might after all become overgrown and messy, and we had just sunken every penny of borrowed money we could finagle into this purchase. He made a fair point, and though I sympathized and could make no more sense of my behavior than he could, I stuck to my declaration.

As the years have passed, we have watched some very special happenings transpire within our fairy circle. Coincidences? Perhaps. We have the autumnal deepening hue of the grass, and the visiting cat that seats herself directly in its center, but my favorite is the springing of the May wildflowers only in and around this little circle, this randomly chosen locale of no particular consequence.

I am guessing that you may wonder, do we treat the rest of the grass with any type of intervention like fertilizer or lime or weed killer? And with a bit of pride mingled with a touch of embarrassment, I must concede that we do not. Our lawn is gloriously unkempt and decisively wild in spirit.

… so why the difference in that one little spot? 🙂