Imbolc New (Bloodroot) Moon
My table at lunch had more monks. Word had got around that I was working on a novel.
Brother Benet listed other writers who came from time to time to write, “John Hassler used to come here frequently, especially for his first 6 novels.”
Brother Sebastian, stone and wood sculptor and the Abbey’s tailor, said, “Yes, he’d have readings. ”
Great, I thought.
“Bill Holm came here, too,” Brother Benet said. “And Kathleen Norris. She’s back in Honlulu, now.”
Father Michael added another, a guy who’s name they couldn’t remember, but “He’s an junior high English teacher and also works in a funeral home.”
The lively and the dead. Sounds like a good title.
“Oh, yes,” Brother Benet said, “He got an MFA. He wrote a book of short stories, all set in the funeral home.”
We all got a chuckle out of that. Must be a quiet place to write, that sort of thing.
I admit I felt intimidated. Bill Holm. John Hassler. Kathleen Norris. Big names in serious literature and here I am writing a fantasy novel.
Father Michael, it turns out, reads fantasy.
I’m 25,000 words further along than when I got here and I think they’re pretty good pages. Not great, but pretty good. Having a long quiet time in isolation from the world is a great thing. Wouldn’t want to stay from Kate and the dogs and the house like this too often, but it seems to be effective. I might do it again. Maybe when I’m finished and need to start revising. Maybe then.
Oh, yeah. Then there’s the fact that both Hassler and Holm are dead.
