The Former Anne Spollen's Author Blog Is Being Retitled to "Notes from Living Upghetto": The Royal Wedding and Heads Shaped Like Potatoes

Monday, May 2, 2011

The Royal Wedding and Heads Shaped Like Potatoes

I know this is yesterday's news, but I'm psychotically busy most of the time, so I just got around to watching it last night. Well, nine minutes of it because my kids are all home on a Sunday night, and they were not quite so much into the royal wedding as their mom.

"It's history," I told them, "and I remember when his mom got married."

Groans.

"Everything you want to see is soooo boring," Philip reminded me. "But this is the worst. It's even in a church."

"Nine minutes," I reminded him, "that's not asking much. I just want to see her walk down the aisle."

Emma looked at the royal pair. "She's okay looking, but he has a head shaped just like a potato. Why is she marrying him?"

Sigh.

"Those people watching them," Philip announced, referring to the royal wedding attendees, "actually look boring. Like they're so boring, it shows."

It was a little dull. There's probably not much around more drowsy than British royalty. I remember reading once that Prince Charles was "madly keen on the science of sheep husbandry," which is about what you would expect looking at him.

I tried to get my kids interested. I pointed out the architecture, the dress, the hats. I wanted them to see the fairy tale aspects, the whole idea of a kingdom, of royalty. Wouldn't that interest them? Then again, my kids were never very big on fairy tales. I remember reading a few to the boys and the conversation went something like this:

                            "And then he chopped the dragon's head off, Mommy?"

                             "Well, no. There is no dragon. He's going to rescue the princess now."

                            "Then there's a dragon and they fight? And that's when he chops the dragon's head off?"

                             and so on,

So when Emma was born, I couldn't wait to read the fairy tales I had so ardently loved as a child. We got through Cinderella and a few others. Then came one with an ogre.

Emma sat up.

I thought, Look at that. She's going to love them as much as I did.

She pointed to the picture of the ogre. He looked something like this:

That was it.

Her mouth dropped open.

She wanted to know where ogres lived, what did they eat, who says they're not real? I showed her a map of the Eastern seaboard, showed her our state and explained that ogres were not allowed anywhere near New York. Not even close.

The next day she told me again she was scared of ogres. I explained how they were not permitted in New York. She looked at me with very big eyes and said, "But they're ogres."

I got her point. Ogres would not obey trespassing rules because, well, that's not what ogres do. They don't obey anything.

So I got my nine minutes of royal yawn and after that the kids found a teen/tween kind of news show that was flashy and fast paced and full of Lady Gaga music. That's when they saw a flash of royal wedding hats on (Princess ??? not sure if she's been royally booted or not) Fergie's daughters:

You gotta hand it to the royals.

They even invited Cinderella's step sisters.

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Books

Light Beneath Ferns

"I have this strange sense that my silence is preparing me for something I can't name . ."

Elizah Rayne is nothing like other fourteen-year-old girls. More interested in bird bones than people, she wraps herself in silence. Trying to escape the shadow of her gambler father, Elizah and her mother move into an old house that borders a cemetery. All her mother wants is for them to have "normal" lives. But that becomes impossible for Elizah when she finds a human jawbone by the river and meets Nathaniel, a strangely hypnotic boy who draws Elizah into his dreamlike and mysterious world.

Only by forgetting everything she knows can Elizah understand the truth about Nathaniel—and discover an unimaginable secret.

Teen made trailer for Light Beneath Ferns.

Order Light Beneath Ferns here.

Foreword Magazine's Review of Light Beneath Ferns

Excerpt from THE SHAPE OF WATER

CHAPTER ONE
I discovered windows one afternoon and after that, nothing was ever the same. They had always been there, of course, glass panes shimmering in the color of rain, but that spring for the first time, I was able to open the windows in my room. For years, the locks had been painted stuck, and during the winter, heat from the radiator beneath my windows finally steamed off enough paint off the metal wings of the locks could be twirled open. Knowing that I could open the windows attracted me to them, and I began sitting under the windows, staring through the glass at the sky. From that position, on a chair in my room, the sky did not seem real; it seemed a place I was making up, so I watched it.
The white wood of the window panes acted as frames so the sky came to me slowly, and the huge openness of its space did not touch me. All the window glass in our old house had wavers and bubbles inside it, so at times the clouds moved like water, melting and blurring until they passed outside of the warp. After a few afternoons of sitting, the heavens seemed too quiet to keep watching so I began watching a small patch of woods next to our yard that housed little more than trees and a scatter of bony, mean-looking rabbits.
I started gazing at the sky and the woods in March when the branches were still wet and it was then, with nothing outside my window but trees and rain, that I noticed a shine inside darkness, I noticed colors glimmering within the darkness of the wood. I watched birds come and go, I watched rain nipple down from buds to the grass. The water dripping from branch edges and leaves created optical tricks; I could see that as I watched leaves melt.
Then one day I ventured into the space outside. I did not think about doing this much beforehand. I simply opened the window and dropped to the ground below, uncertain as to why this should be such a more satisfying exit than simply using the door; my father worked until seven o’clock and I could do whatever I wanted until then. But I liked the solid sound my legs made when I landed. Leaving via a five foot drop seemed so much more a decision than just using a door. The sense of escape made my heart pound, though all I escaped was the soundless spread of moss-colored light inside my house and the silence.
I had come to know silence well during those months after my mother died. When you sit in silence long enough, you learn that silence has a motion. It glides over you without shape or form, but with weight, exactly like water. Its color is silver. And silence has a sound you hear only after hours of wading inside it. The sound is soft, flute notes rising up like the words of glass speaking. There comes a point when you must shatter the silence, when you must shatter the blindness of its words, the blindness of its light. I did this by going into the yard. Once I stood there, in the grass next to the trees I had been watching, I found silence outside as well. But I was happier outside than I had been in the house, so I stayed for a bit. I stood beneath my bedroom window for a few minutes, looking up at the branches and the crooked pieces of sky colliding between the branches. I believed I could identify the scent of the sky as I stood there, a blue menthol fragrance similar to the scent of seawater that sprayed into my face when I first dove into the ocean. That initial scent smelled much more subtle than the ocean’s heavy, fishy aroma, a whiff of salt and mint that warned a more powerful scent would enter my nose just as I approached the water on a dive. It was the scent I dreamed in. And it was the scent of that spring sky as I stood in my yard.

***