My time at the NCCAT blog is done--or nearly so--and I'm back from the Carolinas after 34 days away. Cullowhee and Aiken and Pawley's Island might be on a distant star, they seem so far off. Only now and then they come close for an instant in an image--the blue ranges behind the cardinal flowers, a child kneeling in the sand to draw a face on top of a newly covered grave, a tiny purple crab emerging from an equally purple soft coral floating at water's edge.
Post-Katrina, I've been thinking a lot about my years in Gramercy and Baton Rouge: lizard earrings with Maxine; giant spiders in the holes behind the house; the tomatoes that grew up into the trees; my moonflowers and cucumber vines; the parakeets that always flew away; False River Lake; eating plums under the bamboo; "my" alligator turtle; tree frogs slipping from leaves and pattering onto the ground; shrimp going off like springs; clanking pails of claws. They say that I was fluent with the Cajun children next door, but I don't remember those words, only that I loved Louisiana so much that it took me many years to find another place to be content.
Seek Giacometti’s “The Palace at 4 a.m.” Go back two hours. See towers and curtain walls of matchsticks, marble, marbles, light, cloud at stasis. Walk in. The beggar queen is dreaming on her throne of words…You have arrived at the web home of Marly Youmans, maker of novels, poetry collections, and stories, as well as the occasional fantasy for younger readers.
- Seren of the Wildwood 2023
- Charis in the World of Wonders 2020
- The Book of the Red King 2019
- Maze of Blood 2015
- Glimmerglass 2014
- Thaliad 2012
- The Foliate Head 2012
- A Death at the White Camellia Orphanage 2012
- The Throne of Psyche 2011
- Val/Orson 2009
- Ingledove 2005
- Claire 2003
- The Curse of the Raven Mocker 2003
- The Wolf Pit 2001
- Catherwood 1996
- Little Jordan 1995
- Short stories and poems
- Honors, praise, etc.
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Saturday, September 03, 2005
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Alas, I must once again remind large numbers of Chinese salesmen and other worldwide peddlers that if they fall into the Gulf of Spam, they will be eaten by roaming Balrogs. The rest of you, lovers of grace, poetry, and horses (nod to Yeats--you do not have to be fond of horses), feel free to leave fascinating missives and curious arguments.