Meg Maker

6 days ago | circleofwinewriters.org | Meg Maker

I enjoy reading criticism of books, art, cinema, and architecture. As a writer who does some wine criticism, I find it instructive to see how critics from other domains approach the exercise. I was particularly struck by a recent New Yorker , an essay by Julian Lucas reflecting on the critic Hilton Als's profile of author Derek Walcott. That's meta, I know: a critic reviewing a critic writing about an author.

1 week ago | makerstable.com | Meg Maker

A good piece of writing is a complicated machine. It has a shiny outer shell wrapped around complex inner mechanics. The shell is the surface narrative. When we’re asked what a piece of writing is about, we often describe the surface narrative. It’s about a British lawyer who spends two months working harvest in the Loire. It’s about a new wine from a prestigious estate in Chile. It’s about pét-nat and how to serve it. The surface narrative offers details about who, what, when, and where.

2 weeks ago | makerstable.com | Meg Maker

My wine reviews have long adhered to protocol: bottle shot, production note, tasting note, price. This format has been modestly successful for readers but wildly successful for search engines, which have delivered streams of unseen visitors for a single sip and bounce. Hello goodbye. The more I read and think and write about wine writing, the more impoverished this protocol feels. So, with migration to this platform I’m taking a new approach.

2 weeks ago | makerstable.com | Meg Maker

In early April the birds begin to filter aloft. At first a trickle, then a river. On a big night, two million birds fly over Grafton County, New Hampshire, where I live. I lie awake after midnight picturing them overhead, wings working, eyeing one another, twittering, a vast fortuitous flock. There are sparrows and warblers, waterfowl and hawks, thrushes and flycatchers and wrens and thrashers. Male Robins sweep through early, kicking up turf to fuel their flight to Newfoundland.

2 weeks ago | makerstable.com | Meg Maker

I take long walks along our gravel road. Over four miles I may see no one else except birds and forest creatures. By custom, when a person passes, by car or on foot, I wave and say hello. This would feel over-friendly on a busy street, but in the rural wilds such gestures are the glue that binds us. Over time, strangers resolve into acquaintances. We pause to remark on the weather or town events. We introduce ourselves, first names only. Later, full names. Over time, acquaintances resolve into friends.