Saint Carannog’s Day

Today is Saint Carannog’s Day, as some of you know I am rather fond of this particular saint, and wrote about him once

There are a few extant stories about him, and my favorite never seemed particularly Christian, at least to me.  It is also unusually pro-dragon; even though it comes from as anti-dragon an age as ours.  But nobody seems to be celebrating. I take it as a sign of anti-dragon bias.

An Apology

Some of you may have noticed that my last entry wasn’t very good, but that isn’t quite true. The truth is it wasn’t even written.

Over the summer I sketched out a series of blog entries to get me through the fall and winter in an effort to force myself to keep writing.  That, however, isn’t quite how it worked. I just kept rescheduling the posts until one week they caught up to me and the piece on Auden was published and then the next week I forgot the Amy Winehouse article was next — even though they are numbered. I’m not sure exactly how I made the same mistake twice in a row, but I did. I also found that my view on the matter changed between the time I initially wrote it and the moment of its premature publication — so it needed more than polishing — it needed to be rewritten.

So there you have it.  if you have any faith in this blog left, tune in next week for Amy Winehouse reconsidered. If not feel free to use me as a warning to your children about the dangers of planning for the future.

WALPURGISNACHT

NOTE: This is a slightly revised version of an entry from my old blog from April 29th 2016.In celebration of Walpurgis Night, I have decided to post this old translation that I have done from the Old Wendallan. I couldn’t find a trot to work with so the translation might be a little inaccurate, but hopefully not an act of vandalism. I have done my best but I am no expert on the language. So feel free to post any corrections that you have.

 

On Walpurgis Night   none should leave,
Or walk alone,   on the Witches’ Sabbath
When the devilish and the wicked    walk the Earth —
The wicked who hide    all year in the heaths
And the wicked among us    who want to join them.                                                                            –Kreduleð of Gulmanshire

 

Of Kreduleð we know nothing except that he stayed in the abbey of Gulmanshire for much of his life and disappeared in April 535. This brief poem and a Latin treatise on gardening are the only works currently attributed to him.

It’s Not You It’s Me…or Maybe I’ll Blame my Job

I’ve had a few inquiries of late about why I haven’t been blogging.  The answer is simple and probably nonsensical: I’ve been working, and attending to some personal matters and, when I fall behind on something I deem essential, I feel guilty doing anything I deem non-essential.  If I am at a ‘bus stop I can write a blog, but cannot file my taxes.  But the later prevents me from doing the former.  If I had downtime at my day-job could I catch up on my correspondences? I certainly could — if it weren’t for the laundry.

Guilt my be a great motivator but for me at least it’s terrible for general efficiency.

On Mathoms: a Manifesto (Almost)

I should get rid of my old CDs.  There is no real reason to keep them.  Maybe a few of the local bands who never made it big that signed copies would be an exception, but I have kept them all, along with every program from every play that I have ever seen.  There is no real sense to this. I have seen a lot of plays.  I have to make a concerted effort to not save stubs from movie tickets, although I do find them piling up in places.

Long ago I wrote (luckily I don’t save everything that I have ever written, but I did save this):

I first encountered the word ‘mathom’ twenty-one years ago when I was reading The Lord of the Rings. Hobbits, like both Dragons and New Yorkers, are natural hoarders. And, when a healthy amount of material possessions becomes burdensome, some of the more interesting things are sent to a museum run by the Mayor: “The Mathom-house it was called; for anything that Hobbits had no immediate use for, but were unwilling to throw away, they called a mathom. Their dwellings were apt to become rather crowded with mathoms….” I later found out that ‘mathom’ meant ‘treasure’ in Old English. And, indeed in Beowulf, the dragon’s hoard is filled with many a mþum.

It was an introduction to an old blog. I thought at the time that the mathoms I kept were only in my mind, but, it turns out that when I moved a few months later I had more than I realized in boxes.

I make no pretense that the mathoms I put here will be worthy for a dragon’s hoard, merely that they will be worthy of your consideration. I only hope, that by writing them down, I can be done with these pesky notions so that they stop cluttering my mind and clutter yours instead.

I didn’t mean it at the time but I think that this notion sums up all writing, or at least all of the writing that I do.  The ideas need to be let out one way or another, and they have to be let out properly.

I told an idea to a friend years ago for a story I wanted to write and he told me it was cliché, and there was no more damning word to me then than ‘cliché.’  I would even have preferred ‘bad.’ I can’t recall exactly what the idea was but I doubt it was cliché, or even bad.  I do know that I went about it in the wrong manner.  Nobody wants to hear story ideas, although a few may want to read them once they are finished.

I can’t speak for anyone else but for me the ideas have to come out or they become distracting.

Tags: The Mathom-House at Michel Delving,