One of my sisters sent me a link to gorgeous images of Venice. Old hand-colored photos, it looks like.

Music: La Moresca antica listen

The yellow walls and floor
The green dark wild trees at the window

The sunlight
and shadows in the corner

The shapes of light and dark

The colors

the paint

"What are you getting at, Mr. Hopper?"
"I'm getting at me."



If you're in Washington DC, don't miss the Edward Hopper show at the East Building of the National Gallery of Art 

At Viable Paradise, Jim MacDonald told us of making model submarines with his father. His dad would always put a fridge in the sub, and in the fridge were little hams. Once the submarine was finished, it would be sealed. No one would ever see the fridge or eat the hams. But Jim and his dad knew they were there. (I found that story very endearing, and Jim's family very endearing, too)

Jim's point (the way I take it) is that a writer must also have a stash of vivid, real details inside a story. The reader may never see them, but their presence gives the story depth and context.

What's the story told by the house in Connie Toebe's 13 Days of Stolen Secrets?