symphony

My name is different now, although I'm having trouble figuring out the way you change  your name with Google... all of its e-mail, blog and record-keeping functions. In fact I think that this name change process is going to be quite a feat.  

Old name: Virginia Leigh Ficker.  It's a good name though I've had my fair share of complications with Ficker, as one could imagine.

New name: Virginia Leigh Evans. Ginny Evans. That's a cute name. Glad I'll be able to publish with that one.

Mark and I got married in Greensboro last Saturday, May 2nd. The weekend, from the rehearsal to my sister's toast at the reception could be summed up in a word: charming.  Charming like a dream... Mark and I discussed the dreamlikeness of it all over pina coladas, in fact, next to the Caribbean Sea on Saint Lucia.  We really were next to something huge.  That may also have been a dream, though I don't think it rains in dreams so perhaps not.  

A good friend from an earlier time in my life sent me a note to make sure that I wasn't giving up on writing, specifically blogging, after my recent rejection from the Creative Writing Program at UNC-G.  I am not, however the wedding and honeymoon did detain me for a little too long and I am also working on a book which takes most of my spare time given to writing.  So to anyone who does tune in and has wondered, I'll try to get back onto my regular blogging schedule.

On the honeymoon I read a book called "The Gathering." It's an Irish novel which, like Irish literature always does, left me feeling kind of dumpy for a few hours after I finished.  Something about that country and its writers digs really deep and sticks inside me and it's all very mournful. I had a great mentor in high school who had this deep deep love of Ireland born of the literature and I can understand that more with each work I read.  And although I couldn't directly relate to the plot of this novel, the writing was incredible. I mean, just dripping with gorgeous symbolism and rich, buttery language. Like listening to some great symphony.  Good writing is like pulling off at a gas station when your gas light is on and re-fueling to drive another couple hundred miles.  I came off the beach at 6:15 that evening anxious to get back to my little white desk and my little white computer to keep trying, the joy of trying, to write measures that will, in time, be symphonies.