Not long ago, Lord Charles Spencer, brother of the late Diana, Princess of Wales, was in New York browsing in a bookstore. He came across Carpe Articulum, the magazine in which the interviews of my husband and me were featured in one issue and my first prize winning short story, "Mater Amabilis," was featured in another (as can be seen on Red Room).
He was so impressed with the high production standard and literary quality of the publication that he contacted the Editor in Chief, Hadassah Broscova. The results of that telephone call are still reverberating. Within a few days, I received a letter from Ms. Broscova, which included these kind words:
"We would like to commission you to write a short article for our next issue of Carpe Articulum...The remarkable response to your work by not only our editors but also the distinguished world wide readers of Carpe Articulum, among them Lord Charles Spencer, Ninth Earl Spencer, himself, and innumerable other notable literary minds, convinces us that you are the singular selection for nomination for this year's distinguished Pushcart Prize for your short story, "Mater Amabilis"...Your writing stands apart as a flagship voice, raising the bar for true literary excellence, which is, of course, the aim of Carpe Articulum."
An exquisite, moving, challenging and poignant interview with Lord Spencer by Hadassah Broscova is the feature of the next issue of Carpe Articulum. The cover of this issue appears here: http://www.carpearticulum.com/.
My short commissioned piece, "Letters from Wales" - actual letters home from Wales - is published in this issue with an introduction by the editor and a preface by me. A photo of the first page of that article (part of the introduction) is attached and an excerpt from one of the letters is below.
It is autumn here in this remote and fast-coppering country. This is an ethereal season in Wales - with its mists, its silence, its wine-coloured leaves and its bats in erratic trajectory silhouetted in the brief and smoky dusk against the great, luminous, butter-bright moon.
We have come to love the storms - the rain and wild wind and rainbows and clouds - all the dancing unpredictable enchanting weather. And the beautiful variety of trees and the hedgerows and the green green grass, the birds - hawks, vultures, grouse, kites, nuthatches, English robins, woodpeckers – and all. And now the leaves are beginning to turn and the scarlet and purple berries are more prominent among the diminishing foliage.
We are not quite at Shakespeare's "that time of year..." there are many yellow leaves still, and the sere fields and quiet fog are approaching, but for now the dramatic, spectacular weather claims my attention more than anything else - it is benison - it is glorious - healing to the parched soul within and the parched body without (and nothing tastes better than cakes and tea with Jersey milk after a wild, wet, capricious day).
Our lane, however hazardous to negotiate, with its deep parallel ditches and its width about equal to the width of our car, is a vision of beauty - a pathway into the imagination that stretches back in to time and as far forward as one can see. I will never be able to capture it in a photograph. Red kites and eagles fly low and predatory, just above the car, sometimes, and medieval rabbits pop out of the flower-starred hedges. Eyes shine from the shrubbery. Every time we travel on it, particularly at night with the orange leaves blowing in the blustery twilight or those bats, like black nocturnal butterflies, flitting out of the hedgerows, pale against the sky, dark against the moon - I commit it to memory. This land is as beautiful and mysterious as anything I've ever seen.
And sometimes driving along the wider lane into the town across the stone bridge over the rising river, past the sheep in emerald meadows, we have to stop while the cows cross the road from the farm to the pasture under the fierce, passionate, dedicated watch of the Welsh sheep dogs who herd them across. We used to watch the sheepherding competitions on TV in Malibu - a little eccentricity we kept to ourselves - and now we actually get to see them in action in these rich and silent interludes...
I will soon submit my PhD dissertation, so back into hibernation. ~ Harrison
Causes Harrison Solow Supports
Lupus Foundation of America
Museum of Tolerance