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Thursday, October 16, 2014

Brew this

In which we embrace the good things of the season. All one of them.


Oh readers reader, you know this, our dislike of all things fall and what it portends -- i.e., winter. Who can blame us for heating up a little Witches Brew to numb the pain? We knew you'd understand. We surround ourselves with things to ease us through these dark months, the warm wine, the moody music (welcome to the playlist, Hozier), the lamp-lit workspace at the kitchen table, a few binge-worthy shows on the telly. Speaking of beginnings, we remembered what we read yesterday, in the John Irving interview from 1986 in Paris Review
Titles are important; I have them before I have books that belong to them. I have last chapters in my mind before I see first chapters, too. I usually begin with endings, with a sense of aftermath, of dust settling, of epilogue. I love plot, and how can you plot a novel if you don’t know the ending first? How do you know how to introduce a character if you don’t know how he ends up? You might say I back into a novel. All the important discoveries—at the end of a book—those are the things I have to know before I know where to begin. 
We're no writer, compared to Mr. Irving, but we know what he means, about knowing the end before you can write the beginning, although we've read that other authors work the opposite, starting a book without knowing the ending, letting the story take them ... wherever. But then we are the kind of people who read the endings of books first (Hello, Deathly Hallows). Kind of like fall, that idea, isn't it: Winter is a shitload of work; fall is the beginning, but we all know where it ends, don't we? We write ourselves into the light of spring, the warmth of summer, although how odd; endings and beginnings get all mixed up. Or maybe that's the wine.

Moody


Now I've tried to move on, but I've made up my mind, / my life without you just feels like time. / Now I don't need some new friends. / I don't need cheering up on the weekends, / I'll drive the shades and pretend that you're mine.

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