A Musical Mystery Tour

- by Lillian Stewart Carl

Many years ago, on one of our trips to Scotland, my family and I visited Culzean (“Cull-ane”) castle in Ayrshire. The gardens soon became the setting of an early scene in Dust to Dust. Even sooner, though—as in, when we returned to the hotel—I realized that the album I’d bought in the gift shop was […]

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Real Men Wear Kilts

- by Lillian Stewart Carl

You can not only tell by Lillian Stewart Carl’s red hair and newt-like complexion that she’s a descendent of Scots, you can tell by her ears, which appreciate bagpipes, her tongue, which appreciates haggis, and her eyes, which appreciate men in kilts. Since she also inherited the Celtic gift of gab, she writes about kilts, […]

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My Frenemy the Muse

- by Lillian Stewart Carl

            The word “frenemy” is a relatively recent neo-logism, a portmanteau word meaning a partner with whom you have a love/hate relationship. “Frenemy” works better than “eniend”, which sounds like some sort of abstruse mathematical function.             Although even the most basic mathematical function is abstruse to me. My skills lie in the other part […]

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Of Novels, Harps, and the Writing Life

- by Lillian Stewart Carl

 Recently I completed my twentieth novel. (That I keep starting new ones proves the triumph of hope over experience.) Completing a novel should be a moment of victory. Usually it’s more of a moment of exhaustion. I collapse across the finish line with a whimper, not a bang. When I mentioned my dazed and confused […]

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