vanessa cavendish

You might not know me, do you? My name is Vanessa Cavendish. I own and operate what started out as a nursery slash greenhouse slash gift shop and has since turned into a minor tourist attraction out south of town. I call it Repurpose Farm. I probably should’ve gone with my gut and called it Recluse Farm, but with my luck, that might’ve only compounded the mystique of it all and give me what they call a paradoxical result.

I built my house and my shop and most of my outbuildings out of cob and straw bale, galvanized sheet metal and whatever else I could lay my hands on, because that’s what I could afford. Nowadays folks show up by the busload, Sundays included, and as flabbergasted as I am by it all, I don’t have the heart to turn them away. It makes trying to get anything written a royal pain in the–do I have to say “behind” or do you got your big girl pants on? So anyway, I have to remind myself on a daily basis that everything else I do is to keep me supplied with ink and ambition.

This blog is where I turn up the soil of my personal history, plant little seeds of imagination in the furrows and call it fiction. If you begin with the category called Earthworm Soup and work your way through from the oldest post to the most recent, by the time I’m done, you’ll have an entire novel of a genre I have decided on calling American Gothic. After that, I might just take it down, make a book out of it and charge through the nose for it, but as of this moment, the trap door to my nightmare is open.

One thing else.  I keep a ten gauge close to hand. I shoot from the hip and I write the way a certain blind friend of mine plays piano: partly by ear and the rest by heart. So don’t even think about correcting my grammar.

Did I say that with enough sugar on it?