St. Patrick–let’s discuss. From Omer Englebert’s The Lives of the Saints:

Ireland, Scotland, and Wales compete for the honour of having given birth to St. Patrick. His father, the deacon Calpunius, had a farm beside the sea. About 404 it was pillage by pirates who carried off Patrick, aged sixteen. They sold him to an islander who employed him for six years in tending his flocks, after which Patrick fled and returned to his parents.

Interesting, no? And then there’s this:

The Purgatory of St. Patrick is a great subterranean cave, situated on an island of Lough Dergh in Ulster, where the saint used to go to meditate on teh judgment of God and to give himself up to penances. Since his death it has always been a place of pilgrimage, and certain souls have thought it sufficient to pass some time there to avoid the sufferings of purgatory in the world to come.

And then from The Purgatory of St. Patrick, by Pedro Calderón de la Barca:

In the hollow-breasted waves
Roared the wind, the sea grew maddened,
Billows upon billows rolled
Mountain high, and wildly dashed them
Wet against the sun, as if
They its light would quench and darken.
The poop-lantern of our ship
Seemed a comet most erratic —
Seemed a moving exhalation,
Or a star from space outstarted;
At another time it touched
The profoundest deep sea-caverns,
Or the treacherous sands whereon
Ran the stately ship and parted.
Then the fatal waves became
Monuments of alabaster,
Tombs of coral and of pearl.
I (and why this boon was granted
Unto me by Heaven I know not,
Being so useless), with expanded
Arms, struck out, but not alone
My own life to save, nay rather
In the attempt to save this brave
Young man here, that life to barter;
For I know not by what secret
Instinct towards him I’m attracted;
And I think he yet will pay me
Back this debt with interest added.
Finally, through Heaven’s great pity
We at length have happily landed,
Where my misery may expect it,
Or my better fate may grant it;
Since we are your slaves and servants,
That being moved by our disasters,
That being softened by our weeping,
Our sore plight may melt your hardness,
Our affliction force your kindness,
And our very pains command you.

May the road rise to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face.
And rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the hollow of His hand.

Here’s a retreat I wish I could go on, but I can’t, unfortunately, so I’ll post about it here instead:

Creating Space Retreat: The Law of Attraction for Writers.
May 12-14th, 2006

Join writers Rebecca Lawton and Jordan Rosenfeld at Creating Space, a restorative retreat designed to help you attract the writing time, inspiration, and life that you aspire to lead.

This thoroughly enjoyable weekend fills quickly—enroll today!

This year Rebecca and Jordan will be joined by presenters
Colin Berry and Penelope LaMontagne.

At Creating Space we will share ways to set intentions, take inspired action, and investigate the “art of allowing.” Discover how sixteen seconds of directed intention each day can improve your life and your writing!

Wellspring’s beautiful, private setting above the Navarro River offers the solitude to write and refill the creative well in the center’s many hideaways, by the river, and in the forest. The cost* includes food, lodging, and workshop.

For more information, please email: Jordan

SmokeLong Quarterly Issue #12 is live and I am deeply honored to be one of the contributors with my piece Prey (also, as are all the contributors, I was interviewed about my piece).

Most poignant to me in this issue, were the letter from the editor–Dave Clapper, the interview with outgoing fiction editor–the beloved Kathy Fish, and the very cool announcement of The Kathy Fish Fellowship.

And is the cover by Marty Ison, not something to behold? He never ceases to amaze me with his work. I hope you’ll stop by SmokeLong and read all of the work there.

Noooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!

I am honored to be Jordan Rosenfeld’s Wednesday Essay today. Thank you, Jordan!

Ms. Lori KILLS me (and Banjo Boy): I Married Banjo Boy

Susan Henderson has a great interview with the delightful Ron Currie on her blog today. Read it. This, especially, cracked me up:

The biggest difference is I don’t trust anyone anymore. If my girlfriend tells me how handsome I am apropos nothing, for example, I know what she’s really thinking is: ‘I hope he goes on the Daily Show so I can make out with Jon Stewart in the green room.’ Before, I was such a loser by most standards that if anyone offered praise I could rest assured that they were a)sincere, or b)drunk. Now it’s more complicated. I spend a lot of time hiding in dark rooms, waving a boxcutter at shadows and such.

The Million Writer Awards–notable stories of 2005 are now listed. The top ten will be listed on April 1. Congratulations to all of the notables.

Read this cool little story–Lunar Eclipse 2015:

May 28, 2105: The airlock door slid sideways and Jack stepped out onto the moon.

The dusty ground was bright, reflecting light from the sun above. Squinting, Jack scanned the curved horizon. There: a smooth spot in the distance. “Perfect,” he thought as he bounded toward it, bunny-hopping Apollo-style.

Tonight is a penumbral lunar eclipse:

You won’t see a dark “bite” taken from one edge of the moon Tuesday night.

You won’t see the moon turn coppery red, as it does during total eclipse of the moon.

But Earth’s shadow will brush the moon’s face Tuesday night, making it possible to witness a subtle kind of eclipse, called a penumbral eclipse of the moon. Earth’s long shadow has two parts: a dark inner umbra and a lighter surrounding penumbral. Only the lighter, outer penumbral shadow of Earth will fall on the moon’s face on Tuesday.

The ides are not until tomorrow but today, let’s read here 1.2.1:

Sooth. Beware the ides of March.

Caes. –What man is that?

Bru. A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of March.

Caes. Set him before me; let me see his face.

Cas. Fellow, come from the throng; look upon Caesar.

Caes. What say’st thou to me now? speak once again.

Sooth. Beware the ides of March.

Caes. He is a dreamer; let us leave him: pass.