All posts filed under: Writing

Split the lark

There’s a TV show called Dickinson, about the American poet Emily Dickinson. It’s modernized and witty and wild, and pretty surreal at times (which I love), clearly borrowing tricks from what Moulin Rouge did so well back in the day. Dickinson also has its problems, and it won’t be for everyone, but there was this one scene that gave me an experience I can’t stop thinking about. And my dilemma is this: part of the experience was my surprise, which you won’t get if you read this before watching it. But I’ll go ahead anyway, and let you decide for yourself, so: brief spoilers ahead, especially for season two, episode six. A little context: Emily Dickinson was probably, very probably, queer. The show is certainly based on that theory, focusing on her romantic relationship with Sue, a childhood friend who marries Emily’s brother (both in real life and in the show). In this particular episode, Emily and Sue’s relationship has been strained for a while. Emily has also been connecting with a man, someone who …

Meet me in the garden

The other day I had to go through some old blog posts of mine. It was both endearing and awkward to see myself call readers “darling” and “kitten” (I always was a sucker for endearments), post outfit photos, and recommend everything from skin care to books to life philosophy without hesitation. I remember being that Maria. She was sweet, and young, and fond of pink. Most of all, reading those old posts I realized how much I miss blogs. Not just my own, but the whole world of them. With the notable exception of sewing blogs, which is still a thing, there aren’t many left anymore. It’s all videos now or, if we’re lucky, a longish Instagram caption. My still virus-addled brain is thankful for videos, but… I miss the words.