Friends! Readers! Hello!
What a few months I've had. Busy with interesting projects, busy with work, and I've enjoyed some memorable adventures.
The most memorable, and heart-filled, and all-out wonderful? Wilfair reader Caitlin asked me to serve as her Matron of Honor at her wedding last year! It was such a sweet ceremony, and a perfect day for Caitlin and Brett, and I will now cry all over again thinking about it.
Can't say that I knew, back when I was writing the Wilfair series, that the books would one day lead me to a flower-filled backyard in Oregon, where I would have the honor of standing up for a beautiful friend and her kind new husband, but they did, and I'm so grateful.
Wishing you all a very Happy Valentine's Day. Love, Alysia
Friends! Readers! Hello!
Early July was extra joyful 'round Wilshire and Fairfax, thanks to a visit from the wonderful duo of Amanda and Kirsti (holler, Melbourne on My Mind).
Not only did we get our Wilfair photo in, but we jumped onto a fascinating tour at Warner Bros. Studios, visited the beach, and had In-N-Out for dinner. A perfect day with two fun and funny friends.
Thanks for visiting! xo
Also: Check out the amazing facade of the Petersen Automotive Museum behind us. It was under construction for several Wilfair reader photos, as you may recall. Now? Wowza: It's something else, all swirls and neon. (A fittingly whimsical building for a whimsical book corner.)
Friends! Hello. How have you been?
I've been writing lots, enjoy LA's soft, gray springtime, and paying a warm thought to the lovely readers of "Wilfair" at least once a day.
Daydreams are a theme I enjoy pondering -- they figure largely in the world of Fair Finley -- and I am digging this new song (and video) from Radiohead.
Talk soon. xoxo
I'm a bit obsessed with "Call Off Your Dogs" by Lake Street Dive. It is very Wilfair playlist and a nice song for the weekend.
Hope you're grand!
Gomery strode by. A pile of folded towels teetered in his hands as he, too, stepped around the same puddle of pool water. “Time--”
“—is a social construct,” I finished. “I know the old trope. And if we don’t observe the days, and their defined edges and proper names, how do we know when to, like, go to the dentist? Or when we’re having lunch with a friend? We can’t exactly make up day names, willy-nilly, now that we’ve all agreed that Monday is Monday.”
“So take the good with the Mondays,” suggested Monty. “Or de-Monday Monday, somehow.”
Monty and I watched as the towel-carrying young man suddenly placed the soft tower on the ground. Gomery pushed Monty’s books from the inflatable pink float, tossing it into the shallow end. He then proceeded to fall backwards onto the inflatable, trust fall-style, soaking much of his corduroys in the process. Closing his eyes, he hand-pedaled towards the deep end.
“De-Mondaying Monday!” Monty shouted at his cousin, before shrugging at me. Then he gathered his textbooks and sauntered back inside the Fairwil.
Few things are as mysterious and beautiful. Lit-up squares or ovals of water that promise fun and leisure and an hour of quietly floating on your back, staring out the sky.
I did nurse a small fret, while writing the Wilfair books, as to whether readers would believe that a plucky and cheerful modern young woman like Fair Finley might exist, and whether they'd buy her whole vintage wardrobe.
It was a fantasy stretch, but not by much. Los Angeles is home to a lot of vintage-sweet residents, people who rock frocks and fedoras and look really swell doing so. Add to that a certain pluckishness, and pluckiness, that you often see 'round here, and voíla: Fair Finley is found.
The Living Sisters, one of my heart-happy, mostest favoritest singing groups, captures both the plucky spirit and retro style of the city I'm mad about. They're based here, too, and their ditties delightfully capture that sunny-as-orange-juice, breezy-as-a-palm-tree LA vibe.
Here's a Christmas tune for you, one that could play in the lobby of The Wilfair Hotel this time of year.
Hugs and cookie-scented kisses from Southern California, Alysia
I've been quite busy of late but know I've been thinking of you and the Wilfairverse and new stories and future fun.
For now, I share these (blurry) photos with you of a walk-in artwork I've fallen for: Yayoi Kasuma's 'Infinity Mirrored Room -- The Souls of Millions of Light Years Away' at The Broad Museum in downtown Los Angeles.
It's a small room that's seemingly endless in space, which makes for a most spectacular illusion. There are many tiny lights, too, among the vast recesses of darkness, adding to the general wowness.
So many people want to see this recently opened installation that there is typically a several-hour wait. You get your place in line, go have lunch, and return for some mind dazzlement.
Mr. Painter and I recently went. Here's a photo with the flash on, and off (which I might like better).
Is this how you feel inside sometimes? I hope so. I suspect we all have interior infinity rooms somewhere in the vicinity of our hearts.
Witches and ghosts and yummy bowls of candy... it's Halloween week!
Here's the little outside-of-the-books Wilfair Halloween story from a couple of years back, to mark the macabre occasion:
Just the beginning...
Though I gah'd with gusto, I realized it was a gah for naught.
I knew that fact, I knew it, and yet I was powerless not to gah, loud and long, out of frustration, temper, and the knowledge that I was completely right and the people sprinting away from me were completely not.
“No, no, no, no! Yo! Hey! HEY! I saw you! I can identify you! Get BACK here! Right now! Gah!”
Dudes were long gone and there was no way in hell me bellowing “get BACK here,” with BACK in all scary serious-bizness capital letters, was going to make them return. Not happening. Nope nope. I knew this, I KNEW, but I kept on shouting, out of mild anger or dismay or possibly some deep down desire to be running out with them, in the soft Los Angeles fall night. “Dudes! Awwww, c’mon, I got advice for you! Helpful! Damn you, helpful, I say!”
“It isn’t often that ‘damn you’ proceeds ‘helpful,’” observed Gomery. He took a contemplative bite of his sandwich, then walked over to motel's lobby door and flipped the cardboard skeleton so it again faced out, the proper direction. He fixed one of its jointed elbows, then the other. “What happened?”
“Fricka ggggg. Hooligans. Hooligans!”
“Hooligans happened?” He took another bite, and a piece of avocado fell out the bottom.
“Check it,” I pointed at the pool. Taking two strides at a time, I barely paused long enough to grab the scoop on the way. “Gah. Give me a break!” Dipping the scoop, I netted the two purple cubes floating in the dark water...