First Draft Quilt

First, a huge apology to all my quilter friends. They are legion, and they have presented me with magnificent quilts, large and small, over the years. My husband, stepchildren, and grandchildren have also been the recipients of their wonderful handiwork. I know these dedicated quilters spent many hours, planning, cutting, and stitching.
This week I made a quilt in two twenty-minute sessions.
It was all done with glue. I needed a quilt in a hurry for a miniature couch in a scene I'm creating, and I'm not one to spend hours over tiny swatches and stitches. Here's the pattern I developed, if you can call cutting corners, both literally and figuratively, "developing."
1. Assemble fabrics that go together in texture, colors, and design. (Here it's helpful to have advice from a real quilter.) Since we're working on a small scale, tiny, tight patterns are best. If you have a favorite piece that has a large, scattered pattern, zoom in on one element and use that. For example, the deep pink swatch in the photo is most of a large flower in the original widely spaced pattern.
2. Cut a piece of fabric, three and one eighth inches by three and one eighth inches for the back. Be careful not to fray the edges, so you don't have to hem the piece. Remember we're not actually going to be wrapping ourselves in this quilt, nor are we going to be moving it from chair to bed and back. It's going to be glued in place, there to stay neatly forever. We don't have to worry about fraying unhemmed edges. (I told you we'd be cutting corners.)
3. Cut small pieces from the assortment of fabrics in Step 1. For a three-by-three quilt, thirty-six one-half-inch square pieces will look right.
4. Arrange the pattern you want on a piece of paper. I took six different designs, laid them out in a row, then checker-boarded each pattern over one slot in the second row, with the last one ending up at the beginning of the third row, and so on.
5. Spread a light layer of glue in a line, on the wrong side of the large backing piece from Step 2, leaving enough margin to turn over as a border. Move the first row of swatches across from the paper onto the glue. Continue until the six rows are glued down
6. Turn up the margin on all four sides to make a finished edge to the quilt. If you've cut everything carefully and avoided fabrics that fray easily, there will be no need to turn the fabric under, as you would in a life-size hemming project.
7. Hand or machine stitch a "quilting" pattern across the whole piece.
DONE!
Except ... I'm not completely happy with this quilt. The squares aren't all exactly the same size, so the backing shows through in places. Also, I machine stitched too haphazardly, so the pattern of stitches is not pleasing.
It reminds me of some first drafts of my novels. So, like some first draft manuscripts, I'm using this "quilt" as a coaster.
The next one will be better!

This and That for July 2007

Every so often I like to journal small stuff, like the minutia of life. Here’s a sample:

Well, It’s Been a Busy Week in St. Louis, My Hometown—Saturday I did a combination booksigning and make’n’take for Main Street Books of St. Charles (msbstchas@sbc.global.net). We had seven folks—six ladies and a husband!—come try their hands at making a miniature album. The paper was kindly provided by Corey Dankocski of rock paper scissors. Each time I drop by, I walk out with all sorts of cool products. Corey definitely has “an eye” for what’s new and stylish. You can bet I’m going to sign up for one of her classes. Check them out at http://www.rockpaperscissorsblog.blogspot.com/

Barry Eisler—I snagged a plum assignment from Love Is Murder on Dark and Stormy Nights. These two Chicago mystery writers’ conferences combined to become an awesome Midwest resource, check them out at http://www.loveismurder.net/ They have asked me to interview their 2008 headliners. I posted my interview with Tess Gerritsen on http://midnightwriters.blogspot.com/ Next up, the Love Is Murder folks will run my interview with Lee Child in two parts. (Wait ‘til you read about his connection with David Beckham!). Now I’m prepping for my interview with Barry Eisler, which I can already tell is going to be lots of fun. You gotta love a guy who writes about a stone-cold assassin but sends emails with emoticons in them. Plus…the man definitely has a sense of humor, as you can tell from his response to my first question: “Did you know your nickname is Barry Easy-on-the-Eyes?”


LOL! One look at me bleary-eyed and with bed-head (i.e., right now) would cure them instantly... :D



Barry

Niche Novels— Jane Henderson, St. Louis Post-Dispatch Book Editor interviewed me for an article subtitled: “Hobbies and mystery plots ‘cozy’ up as a subgenre proliferates.” It ran on the front page of the Sunday Arts & Entertainment section. Wow. How cool is that? I only wish I had copies of OverExposed to sell right now! Check out the article:

http://www.stltoday.com/stltoday/entertainment/stories.nsf/books/story/55D3CFBC5C7D41F186257326005AE78C?OpenDocument

All in all, July has been a fabulous month.

Planning an author's event

I attended an informative and entertaining workshop this week, “How to Book and Present an Author’s Program,” which was arranged by the Southern California Chapter of the Mystery Writers Association. The evening was put together by the Speakers Bureau, specifically by the talented Naomi Hirahara, who recently won an Edgar Award for her novel, SNAKESKIN SHAMISEN.

There was a great panel of speakers, including:

• Joan Hansen, who organizes fantastic literary events in Orange County
  


• Noel Alumit, author of TALKING TO THE MOON and facilitator of bookevents for Skylight Books


• Jorge Ribeiro, a Toastmaster International division governor and instructor of English at Cal State L.A. and Pasadena City College

After the panel presented tips and information about author’s programs, Patricia Smiley, who is the author of the Tucker Sinclair series (FALSE PROFITS), gave us a near-perfect demonstration of how to talk about one’s work in front of an audience. Darrell James, who won Honorable Mention in the 2006 Reader Views Literary Awards for BODY COUNT: A KILLER COLLECTION!, read from one of his works.

As someone who is about to launch a book in October, DYING TO BE THIN, I took away some valuable tips about making author’s presentations. Following are a few of them:

• Work with your contact ahead of the event to learn about the format, seating arrangements, and other logistics.
• Arrive early to get a sense of the venue.


• At the beginning of your presentation, acknowledge your host (this can be a library, bookstore, or conference).


• Personalize your presentation with anecdotes, and use humor as much as possible.
• Avoid “Um’s.”


• If you get nervous in front of an audience (and don’t we all!), use a lectern to keep your hands steady. If one is not available, consider investing in a portable music stand to take with you to presentations.


• Make eye contact with your audience.


• Come up with a “paper strategy” to avoid fumbling with notes.

And speaking of acknowledging one’s venue, many thanks to the Palms – Rancho Park Library and its gracious librarian, Maggie Johnson, for hosting us!

What about you? Do you have any special things you do to prepare for a successful author's event?

More on My Trip

Am I obsessed with animals? Probably! For, although there was much more to my cruise and its ports than the animals I did or did not see, they’re what seem to keep coming to the forefront of my mind now that I’m home and nostalgic already.

On our first full day in the UK, in Uxbridge, outside London, we went into a pub for dinner. There, at least four adorable yellow Labs lay at the feet of their owners, all of them looking almost like a matched set, and each of them attentive to their sight-impaired masters.

Then there were the many dogs that were emblematic of Scotland. Their likenesses were found in many ways—pictures, calendars, stuffed animals, china replicas—in many gift shops: Scottish Terriers, West Highland White Terriers, Border Collies. Did I see many of the pups themselves as we traveled? Unfortunately, no. But I have seen a couple of Border Collies since my return to L.A.!

On many of our tours into the countrysides, we passed rolling green hills where lots of animals grazed: cattle, sheep, even some beautiful horses.

Then there were the birds. I’m a birdwatcher without adequate knowledge, although I picked up what literature I could to attempt to identify the not-so-obvious ones. Sure, sea gulls of various persuasions abounded everywhere. But then there were also the Arctic terns around Kirkwall, in the Orkney Islands, and the oyster catchers outside Invergordon.

By the way, I had never even heard of the Orkney Islands but found that area one of the loveliest on the trip—way up north of Scotland, where there are ancient stones standing that even older than those at Stonehenge. They also had some bunny rabbits hopping around the hillsides. In a park outside Kirkwall, I saw a sign that I thought appropriate: “If your dog has done its business, it’s time for you to do yours.”

At Edinburgh Castle, I was utterly impressed by the small dog cemetery, where the soldiers who served there buried their military mascots.

Our last stop was in Le Havre, France, where we took a bus tour to the Normandy Beaches, and their many memorials to the brave soldiers who landed there during World War II. I discovered that, in some of the small surrounding towns, the French seemed to be as fond of taking their dogs along as those of us in the U.S.—more so than in the UK, it seemed.

Oh, and one final animal to mention here: Nessie. Yes, we visited Loch Ness, although the places we were easily able to get to seemed to play down the legend of the monster and play up the area’s beauty and other aspects of history. We unfortunately were not easily able to get to the town of Drumnadrochit, where two competing museums have Nessie displays. But I did get to view the infamous Loch. Did I see Nessie? I brought her home with me—sort of! I collect bookmarks, and I was able to find one with Nessie’s cartoon representation on it. Good enough? Not really, but it certainly inspires me to return.

Working . . .

I sat down yesterday and took on a job I’ve been avoiding for a long time: winding floss on cardboard bobbins and putting them in order in a box I inherited from a friend. I don’t know why I have avoided the task – it’s so much easier to find the color called for by a cross stitch pattern if you have them in number order, plus you don’t find yourself with three, or four, or even five skeins of DMC 793 (a nice but unmemorable medium blue) because you can’t remember what you already have. I didn’t get all of them done, but I made a nice start, and already I feel virtuous.

And I finished the cross-stitch fox. I tried doing some highlighting, but it just wasn’t working, so I’ll let it be. He looks greedy and ambitious, and that’s all I need. Only two or three more pieces – and another one is nearly finished – and I can send the box of stiching and fabric to the woman who is going to turn all that stuff into a quilt.

Maybe it’s the new place. Maybe it’s because it’s compact. Whatever, I feel competent. I sometimes felt overwhelmed at the sheer size of the old townhouse. Knowing I couldn’t get ahead of simple maintenance made just staying even a depressing task. This place is smaller, and much easier. The kitchen floor is very small, I can mop it in two minutes, max. No stairs here – we had a special, hand-held vacuum for the stairs in the old place, and there were a lot of stairs. My arthritic knees hated stairs. I can keep up with things here, then sit down to work on my novel without that little nag at the back of my head reminding me of all that was left undone.

And by the way, I recommend Roomba, the robot vacuum. Listening to it murmur to itself as it cleans the carpet, and thump as it comes up against a wall or the leg of a table, then the change of note as it turns to go another way, means I’m not out there pushing the old Hoover. When it’s done, it even goes looking for its base and recharges itself. I think my heroine, Betsy, needs a Roomba. She can harken to its sound while she does the books or cooks supper.

But we’re still not moved all the way in. I hung a shower curtain in the second bath yesterday, but I need more towel racks, and to get my art hung on the walls of the living room and my office. And to find a place for the rest of my hats.

But soon I’ll have the time to get caught up with RCTN and the ANG list. I miss the chatter and helpful hints. And today is the first meeting of stitchers here at Aquila Commons! I put out a notice asking anyone interested to come to the Craft Room at 1 pm to sit, talk, and stitch. I expect maybe three of us – but that’s enough for a conversation. One of them knows how to crochet, so I expect to get serious about learning that craft pretty soon. And others may come later. Meanwhile, if I can force myself to spend even just one hour a week doing stitching among stitchers I’ll be making progress instead of just marking time.

Doll Show Madness

Last week I attended the United Federation of Doll Clubs' annual convention, held this year in Detroit. I’ve been a member-at-large for years, but that’s not the same as being an active member in a local club. Unfortunately, there isn’t one in my area, so I approached this with some sense of apprehension, since I didn’t know anyone attending.

All I knew for sure was that it was a glitzy affair, top-dollar antique and modern dolls on the sales floor, competitive exhibits, gala dinners every night, workshops, and doll club representatives from across the country – 1,200 of them.

I’d been invited to sign my first doll collecting mystery, DOLLED UP FOR MURDER, at the Publishers Preview on Thursday night, when attendees would have the opportunity to visit with publishers and authors of books and magazines revolving around the world of dolls.

I shouldn’t have worried about going alone, because everyone was wonderfully friendly, which is why I got into writing this series in the first place. After my first doll show to research the topic, I was hooked on the subject and on the people. Especially the people. It’s like one big happy extended family, like a massive family reunion with fourth and fifth cousins you’ve never met before, but it doesn’t matter because you’re all related.

Forty-five minutes before my event opened, readers were attacking my table. The organizers had to find volunteers to help manage the crowd. I sold more books that I ever had before. Fans stopped by to meet me and tell me how much they liked my book, wanting to know when the next one would be available (September 4th for those interested). For a few hours, I felt like the queen of the ball. I can’t wait for next year when the convention moves to Vegas. I’ll have all three books out in the series by then. Vegas here I come.

Visit me at http://www.debbakerbooks.com/

The Power of A Hug

Eighteen years ago today, I was lying in a bed reading a short blurb in the newspaper when I burst into tears.

The half-inch piece said:

July 23, St. Joseph’s Hospital: David and Joanna Slan, boy, Michael Harrison Slan, 6 pounds, 2 ounces.

I was a mother!

It hadn’t been a dream.

I was here in the hospital after 21 hours of labor. And I’d had a boy. That tiny THING in the nursery was my child, and I was responsible for him.

How could I do this? How would I manage? Could I keep him safe? Could I help him grow? Would I be there when he needed me? Would I know what to do for him? How to care for him? How to guide him through life?

And the worst thought of all: Would I fail?

I was still sobbing when a nurse walked in with a clipboard. She took one look at me, another at the crumpled paper, and knew instinctively what I needed: my mother. But my mother had gone on vacation with a friend and neglected to leave a phone number where she could be reached.

Without preamble, the nurse wrapped her arms around me, patted me on the back, and crooned, “Hush, it’ll be all right. You’ll be fine.”

You see, until I read those words in the Bloomington Pantagraph, I didn’t believe I was a mother. Something about seeing the situation in print, the smell of the ink, the feel of the rough paper, made it all real real. The gravitas of the situation walloped me, overwhelmed me, and left me floundering in a sea of self-doubt.

Of course, I still have moments of self-doubt, but since then they’ve gone on for weeks and months at a time.

Even so. Yesterday we dropped Michael off at Purdue University for a week-long program called STEP (Seminar for Top Engineering Prospects). He refused to take the gift bag I tried to hand him.

“Uh, no, Mom, uh, thanks,” he said. His eyes wore a bovine, white-rimmed fear of embarrassment. “But, I’ll open that when I get home, okay? We’ll celebrate my birthday at home, uh, not here." (This was punctuated with a nervous glance around at the other teens heading for the dormitory.) He looked down at me and added, "All right? Um, thanks, though. I appreciate it.”

And then, just like that nurse did eighteen years ago, he hugged me.

Durham, North Carolina—Diet Capital of the World?

I recently joined a couple of online groups that read cozy mysteries. A few readers in these groups have asked me a question about the setting for my upcoming series, The Fat City Mysteries. The stories are set in Durham, North Carolina.

On my web site, I mention that Durham is the “self-described ‘Diet Capital of the World.’”

My readers ask: is Durham, North Carolina really the Diet Capital of the World?

The short answer is: Yes.

Durham is home to a number of residential diet clinics (read: fat farms). The clinics helped to establish that city’s reputation as a remedy—and a last resort—for the obese.

There was once a sign at the Durham City limits, welcoming visitors to the Diet Capital of the World. I think the sign is long since gone, but the reputation stuck.

A bit of personal history: I first arrived in Durham more than twenty years ago (Yikes! How time flies). I’d just graduated from journalism school, where I’d been told by an advisor that in order to get a job in broadcast news, I needed to lose weight. Lots of weight. We’re talking ninety pounds.

I was morbidly obese.

All my life, I’d heard about Durham. About how Durham had programs that could help people like me. So, with a financial assist from my parents, I journeyed south to Durham and enrolled in a diet clinic. I tried several programs before finding the one that best suited me (alas, they all involved eating significantly less. Who knew that’s how you lose weight?) Ultimately, I lost the ninety pounds, and went on to get a job in TV news.

Fast forward a couple of decades. I’ve long since left TV work (and kept about half the weight off all these years). But I’ve never been able to forget Durham. A few years ago, I decided to set my mystery stories there. The theme of the books features a protagonist who fights the Battle of the Bulge, natch.

Like they say, you should write what you know!

Travel and Travail

I actually have a great explanation for why I was unable to blog last week. I was on a cruise to the United Kingdom, visiting a different port nearly every day, with Internet access on the ship that was slow and inconsistent.

Was the trip fun? Absolutely! And I of course attempted to focus as much as possible on things that were of particular interest to me, which naturally includes pets.

Which means I was somewhat disappointed. I only saw one Cavalier King Charles Spaniel on the entire trip, and was only able to purchase Cavalier souvenirs at one spot--in Scotland.

So why wasn’t I excited that I saw any Cavaliers at all while traveling, or found any Cavalier items to tote home? Because I fell in love with my favorite breed decades ago while on a trip to England, and saw my very first one on the London Underground. At that time, Cavaliers were a rare breed in the U.S. but common in England. They were, after all, a British breed, first made popular in the 1600s during the Restoration and the time of King Charles II; hence, their name. (That was why and how I made Cavaliers the vehicle of traveling through time in my time travel romance ONCE A CAVALIER, my first book published by Berkley, in 2000.)

We spent only a short amount of time in England this trip, since our ports were primarily in Wales, Ireland and Scotland, which is probably why Cavaliers were not extremely visible. Even so, lots of people in other countries love the breed, so I was hopeful that their presence and popularity would have spread to other areas of the UK as well. No such luck, though--at least not in the areas we visited.

We were gone for just over two weeks. I was naturally concerned about Lexie and how she would do during her first prolonged period without us around, now that her good friend Sparquie is no longer with us. We hired a delightful pet-sitter whom we had used before (no, not Kendra Ballantyne, though I wish...!), who also has a full-time job. We asked her to stay at our house so Lexie would have company during evenings and weekends. They got along famously. The only glitch was that our sitter accidentally locked herself out of the house while cleaning the dog run and wound up having to break a window to get back inside.

Meantime, my husband, Fred, had hooked up our “cavcam”--a security camera that we can monitor on the Internet that focuses on an area in the house where Lexie is usually confined during times alone. She wasn’t always on-camera, unfortunately, during the times we were able to get Internet access and check on her, but it was a delight to see her when she was.

Was Lexie happy to see us on our return? Maybe even a little more than I was to see her! We arrived home in the wee hours of the morning, and during our short time in bed that night Lexie woke us several times. I had the sense that she wanted to assure herself that we were really there.

--Linda

Time and Tide

Usually, I compose this post Tuesday evening. I couldn't do that last night, because I was sitting in a parking lot waiting for my connection -- oh, not a drug seller, a person to take the juvenile crow and raise it until it could be released. I'd actually arrived early, and since the sun was still up and hot, picked a place in the shade. So I wasn't in my usual spot. And the rehabber came in immediately behind me, also early, and parked a little away from her usual spot. We both sat there for nearly forty minutes, each waiting for the other. I was getting annoyed -- by chance (see?) without a working cell phone, so I couldn't call her and learn she was a less than 100 yards away, wondering where in the heck I was. I was thinking I was going to have to take the crow home with me, and wondering what to feed it. Even the crow was getting impatient, making low gurgling noises and pacing inside its little cage. Then I saw this car across the big lot, sitting with its doors open. I had my doors open, too, because it was hot. Why was it sitting there long enough to get hot? I drove over, and sure enough it was Laura. Neither of us laughed about it, because we both had other things to do, though we did a little polite chuckling and called ourselves morons for not noticing. But by the time I got home, I was tired and went to bed.

I've gotten tangled up in this massive re-write I have to do with Thai Die. The portion I'm writing now is being very reluctant to come forward in a timely manner. On top of that, I have the galleys for Knitting Bones that need to be gone over and sent back by the 26th. I'm feeling impatient with myself, and wish I had more time to spend teasing the story out.

There is a couple in our new neighborhood who own a beautiful Scottish Terrier and who walk it twice a day. When we had barely arrived here, I'd see them with the dog. He looks just like a Scottie I used to own, and when I see their dog, my heart turns over. I introduced myself and they were nice. But I didn't note the time of day they come by and now I can't seem to be out on my balcony when they walk by. I miss seeing the dog, in two senses of the word.

This morning I drove over to the pool for one of my thrice-weekly sessions of water aerobics. For some odd reason, every single light was on my side and I arrived about seven minutes early. I didn't realize how much time I spend sitting at stop lights.

So much of our lives depend on the timing. If Laura and I had arrived more separately, if both of us hadn't been early, we would have seen one another and I'd've been home in time to write this entry (though what I would have written about, I don't know). I wonder how much of our lives depend on the timing. If someone else had asked a woman to dance, she wouldn't have been asked by the man she later married. If the bus hadn't been late, this teen wouldn't have had the time to read an ad in the window for affordable music lessons, and wouldn't be a trumpet player today. We meet an old friend in an airport, in an elevator, at a church we never went to before, and rekindle a valuable relationship. A car passing by few seconds earlier, or later, would have missed the child running into the street.

It's an uncomfortable feeling to realize how much depends on where we are, when. We tend to think of things as inevitable, when they are incredibly chancey.

But in my novels I allow myself one coincidence per book. How incredible is that?

The Blank Page

I'm always amazed at how many parallels there are between doing crafts and writing fiction.

The photo is of a miniature desk and chair (The ruler is six inches.). The room is bare, like a blank page. I'm about to create a miniature office scene, starting with this simple furniture.

I'll add books, of course, and papers and pens (clipped toothpicks). Also a phone, a lamp, a computer. Those are obvious, like the basic elements of a plot.

What about decorations? I'm thinking of a tiny sweater (I'll knit this) thrown over the chair, a wastebasket (thimble), a vase (bead) of flowers, a photograph, a lamp. I'll make a pair of eyeglasses like the ones in the beach scene I posted a couple of weeks ago.

The finished office, like a character or a story, can be neat (no loose ends) or messy, or something in between. To make the decision I need to know some character traits of the person I'll be giving the scene to. In this case it's a present for someone I've never met (I won't say who; she might be logging in!), so I have to guess.

I'm going with messy, which is a lot more fun. So I'll spread the books and papers everywhere, in toppling piles, and be sure some scraps missed the wastebasket.

A coffee cup can be sitting on the desk or tipped over, with stains (a touch of brown paint) on the papers.

There's no wall to this scene, so I can't add posters, but I can throw a CD or DVD on the floor.

When I'm "finished" I'll do what I do when I complete a novel. I'll let it sit for a while and then go back and edit. For a miniature scene, I'll set it out on a table, walk by it often and "edit" it. I might add a curl of wire to the tiny plastic phone (bought at a miniatures show); change the lamp to one less ornate; put something on the chair … another book? Too boring. Ah! I'll add a donut (cheerio).

As with any piece of writing, even a short blog, it's sometimes hard to call it finished and send it off. The best way to let go is to have another idea close behind!

An Idea with Legs

In Hollywood, if a project has a lot of instant appeal and generates buzz, they say it “has legs.” That’s how it’s been with Forensic University. Michelle Becker and I were discussing recent writers’ conferences we’d attended. We both thought we needed more forensic information, and better access to the forensics instructors. So…wouldn’t it be cool to put together an all forensic conference?

A couple weeks later, Sisters in Crime President Libby Fischer Hellmann and her pal Judy Bobalik were visiting our chapter. I mentioned the idea Michelle and I had. The next day Libby called from her car on the way back to her home in Chicago. She’d talked with Rochelle Krich, and they loved the idea. I emailed Jan Burke for help. Michelle emailed Dr. D.P.Lyle. Both were immediately enthusiastic. They brought along Eileen Dreyer and Lee Lofland. The national board approved and Forensic U became a national conference.

Boom! Just like that our idea had legs.

Now we’re more than half-way there. We have 95 people registered—the maximum is 200—and we’re four months out.

Thanks to the viral nature of the internet, I’m busy fielding questions and inquiries from around the world. One of the most interesting came from David Webb and Dr. Iain Pretty, who write and maintain the All About Forensic Science Website http://www.all-about-forensic-science.com/ Check it out! You’ll find all kinds of fascinating links and information.

Now you might ask, what’s in it for me? Especially if you write cozies. (And all of us at Killer Hobbies do write “cozies”—our mysteries feature amateur sleuths, off-stage violence, and puzzles solved through a knowledge of human relationships.) With more and more attention paid to such television shows as CSI, Bones, and Law and Order to name a few, our readers are ever so savvy about forensics. But here’s a better reason to attend Forensic University: It’s a mother lode of great ideas.

Books aren’t written in a vacuum. They’re a lot like beef vegetable soup: you’ve got your meat (your main idea), your water (the setting), major veggies (your characters) and spices (your ancillary characters and tidbits). Each time I hear someone in law enforcement or forensics talk, my brain buzzes with new ideas. I keep several “pots of soup” boiling at once.

Which is why the nickname of our conference is “ForU” and the tagline is 50 Ways to Catch a Killer. We have a lot in store “for you” and I’m positive you’ll walk away with more than 50 ways to catch your killer! Check out the conference blog http://forustl.blogspot.com/ or sign up at www.sistersincrime.org/ForensicU

Beach bunnies and other biohazards

Too many Bods Beautiful can be hazardous to your health—to your body image health, that is.

One of the mixed blessings of living in my Southern California beach city is that nearly everyone looks like they jumped off the cover of Shape Magazine or Men’s Fitness. Along the shore where I take my morning constitutional, perfect physiques are everywhere. Playing volleyball in bikinis, running in cropped tees and short shorts, flexing biceps—I mean, they’re everywhere.

And that can be a real downer for an Average Jane like me. Because instead of a six-pack, I have a party pack.

As I schlep and sweat along in my Chico’s Size 2 tracksuit (A Chico’s Size 2 is not like a Real Size 2, by the way. It’s more like a Real Size 12...plus), I try to cheer myself on for doing the exercise, for losing the half-pound that I somehow sandblasted off this week.

But that’s kind of like trying to celebrate having climbed Mount Porcupine when you’re surrounded by the team that just scaled Mount Everest.

I know I’m not the only person whose sense of body self suffers by unrealistic comparisons. Because even if you don’t live by the beach, you’re still exposed to airbrushed images in magazines. And those images have a measurable impact (negative, natch) on body image.

According to studies, the average woman is 5’4” and weighs 140 pounds, while the average American model is 5’11” and weighs 117 pounds. I don’t have to tell you who winds up on the magazine covers. And even those models get airbrushed and touched up to a fare-thee-well.

So if you’re benchmarking your body image against those ideals, fuggedaboutit.

At the moment, I’m just trying to focus on small, attainable goals. Like getting from Chico’s Size 2 to Chico’s Size 1. Or excavating a long-missing muscle that’s been buried somewhere underneath the party pack.

Meanwhile, I’ll try not to let the Bods Beautiful get me down. After all, women like me still have Dove’s “Campaign for Real Beauty.” Those babies got back.

At last, an advertising image I can identify with. And cling to.

My blog is... no blog!

I'm sorry to say that my blog entry is that I don't have anything exciting to say this week! Unfortunately, I'm too bogged down with life to blog. But I promise I'll have a really good entry next week. It's already in process. Stay tuned!

--Linda

Animal in Trouble

Last night was my night to drive for WRR – Wildlife Rescue and Rehab. One evening a week I go to the Humane Society, which has set aside a room for volunteers to help save wild animals brought in by citizens. Sometimes they need to go to a rehabber who lives a long way out of town. Last night there were seven baby mallard ducklings waiting for me to take them on a short, easy trip to the rehabber who will raise them to be released. But when I got there, someone had just brought in a baby bunny, about a third grown, that had spent the night before and all day stuck to one of those sticky strips meant to catch mice and rats. He had struggled mightily, he was goo from one end to the other. But he was breathing, and his black eyes were bright. So I stayed to help. We used Goo Gone, then mineral oil, then a mild detergent used for washing animals, and then fresh water, rubbing and wiping between dunking him in each. He was exhausted to begin with and by the end of all this barely breathing – and still sticky in places. The big problem was he couldn’t stand. One of his front legs seemed entirely useless and the other only sometimes worked. His hind legs were pushing hard, but he couldn’t even sit up on them. This is generally a sign of some serious problem. So what to do? He's only a bunny, there are thousands of them around. But Laura, the volunteer who works Tuesdays, adores bunnies, and she was reluctant to put him to sleep. Maybe it was just exhaustion and muscle strain. But that one front leg barely moved – though nothing seemed broken or dislocated. Bunnies die easily, it was remarkable that after all he’d been through left him not just alive, but struggling as best he could. But if he was seriously injured, if his scapula was broken, he was going to have to be euthanized. Was it kind to let him spend the night in a strange place, in pain, only to be killed the next morning? She asked me what I thought. That was a scary question, literally a life or death question. I’d rubbed him with a tiny towel, held him while she injected him with warm water – he was very dehydrated – and had felt his tiny heart beating, watched his rapid breathing. He’d pushed his head into my palm and closed his eyes. What did that mean? Was he just trying to get away? Or was the warmth of my hand a comfort? I said, “If you had ten bunnies like this, how many would survive?” She said that wasn’t a fair question, she had rarely seen a bunny like this still alive; they usually die of shock during treatment. (That’s why you must not pick up a baby bunny from its shallow nest; it’s not that the mother will abandon it, it’s that the shock of being handled may kill it. Put a twig across the nest and check back in a few hours. If the twig is moved or gone, you know the mother is around.)

In the end we put Braveheart in a nest of towels in a very small cage with a few fresh green leaves of spinach. The cage will rest overnight on a heating pad set on low. I’ll call later today to see if he made it.

The fox I’m stitching is even closer to being finished, I just need to work in more shading down his back and highlight his limbs.

The office is coming along, I can see big swatches of carpet! My pendulum wall clock is ticking and marking the hours! I still have some art to hang on the walls, and I wish I had a mind for organization so I could get more things put in their place – and I wish I had more places. I need another bookcase.

Thai Die has slowed dramatically, but that was to be expected. I’m disappointed, but now that we’re finally truly moved in, I can concentrate on pushing forward.

By the way, please don't use those sticky strips, it's a miserable death even for the nastiest rat.

The Lure of the Road

On Friday, I head for beautiful Michigan for a week long tour. I’ll drive my car onto the Lake Express ferry in Milwaukee, a few hours later my wheels will touch the soil of my birthland. Then it’s up to Petoskey, Cheboygan, Sault Ste. Marie, Mackinac City and Mackinac Island for bookstore signings to promote ‘Murder Grins and Bears It.”

After that, I drive to Detroit to attend the United Federation of Doll Clubs’ annual convention, where I will join up with several doll collectors I’ve meet online and hopefully turn more doll enthusiasts on to ‘Dolled Up For Murder.”

I love, love, love doing this. Lots of authors complain about the marketing end of the business. Many of us are introverts, preferring to stay in the safety of our homes. Sometimes, fans don’t show up at signings. Once in a while, a bookseller even forgets we are coming.

I used to be painfully shy. Last August, I didn’t know how I was going to get up and speak at my first talk, which happened at a small library in Eagle River, Wisconsin. All that has changed. I have had so many positive experiences and memories. And more new friends in the world than I can count.

I met Peg last year. She belongs to a listserv called the Guppies and she offered to meet me for coffee after a signing. We’ve been friends ever since. Then there’s Shelley, a fun woman who offered to be my friend on Myspace and joined me for lunch in Escanaba.

I travel alone. With two teenagers at home, my husband and I have agreed that we can’t leave them (been there, done that, but that’s another story).

I you are going to be in Michigan between the 13th and 20th, check out my website’s appearance page. Maybe we can hook up for coffee, lunch, a glass of wine.
http://www.debbakerbooks.com/

Super-Quick Photo Turnaround--Tons of Summer Fun!

Last week I had company--my mother, sister, brother-in-law and three little nieces.

My sister, Margaret, teaches art to grade-schoolers at the Lighthouse Elementary School in Jupiter, Florida. She’s the person who originally taught me about scrapbooking. Her daughters are all very crafty, and I really love “playing” with them. They are game to try just about anything “Aunt Jonie” throws their way.

Since I’d had such fun with my “garbage” album (see my June 18, 2007 post), I prepared five fronts and backs before they came. I used cereal boxes and paper bags from the grocery store. With the covers pre-made, all the girls needed was paper to make interior pages (and boy, oh, boy do I have paper) and photos. I figured we’d find something cool to do—something that would yield terrific snapshots.

And of course, we did. Did you know that St. Louis has a museum devoted to dogs? The American Kennel Club Museum of the Dog, known locally as the Dog Museum, commemorates man’s centuries-old relationship with the dog with a collection of artwork including dog paintings, bronze sculptures and etchings. The museum is housed in the historic Jarville House, an 1853 Greek Revival house in Queeny Park. The park was the estate of Edgar Monsanto Queeny, president of chemical giant Monsanto, Inc., from 1928-1960. It’s a lovely place, perfect for any dog-lover. The girls and Nana liked it a lot.

Margaret and I both took photos of our outing. That night I downloaded her memory card and mine. Next I sent our photos to Snapfish (http://www1.snapfish.com/). We selected the pictures we wanted. We chose the sizes and quantities—allowing enough for the girls as well as making copies for Nana--and added a narrow, irregular white border to each image. Then I sent the digital images to the Walgreens right around the corner. The next day at 10 a.m., we picked up our pictures—all 70 of them. The cost? Around $13. (No, that’s not a typo.)

The girls were able to put the photos of what we’d done the day BEFORE in their albums. As you can imagine, it was loads of fun watching them making their own very personalized creations.

Gone walkabout: observing urban wildlife

One of the delights of my new walking regimen is that I get to observe the local wildlife.

Before I started taking the morning walks, I had no idea that my city even had wildlife, except for seagulls and car alarm birds. (Car alarm birds are actually mockingbirds, I think. They’re dead-on mimics of our neighbors’ rude auto alarms: whoop-whoop-whoop, enh-enh-enh. You get the idea.).

In our congested city-by-the sea, the McMansions and aging beach cottages are packed in cheek-to-jowl, fringed by decorative strips. In an environment like that, where could wildlife breed, or even hang out?

The little critters breed and hang out anywhere and everywhere, I’ve now learned.

I first sighted some real urban fauna in a cluster of palm trees near City Hall. As I passed by, I heard a flock of noisy birds squawking in the fronds. I mean, these birds were really noisy. And they were green.

To me, they looked like parrots.

“Parrots?” My husband said, when I returned home, breathless with excitement at having discovered an exotic species so close to home. “No,” he said, sighing with the air of a world-weary ornithologist. “They must be pigeons.”

“But they’re green.”

“They must be green…pigeons.”

It took several more sightings for me to convince myself (and him) that the birds were, indeed, parrots. I’ve read stories about the famous parrots of San Francisco. Turns out, my little city has tons of them.

Then, I inhaled evidence of a less favored fauna--Pepe Le Pew.

One morning, as I set off on my pre-dawn walk, I caught a glimpse of him, trundling along. It was Pepe.

“I saw a skunk this morning,” I informed my husband. “So that’s what the smell in the morning is, the one we thought was a gas leak.”

“It must have been a cat,” he rejoined. “Can’t be skunks around here.”

“What kind of cat smells like that?” I asked.

“Smelly cat?”

“It had a stripe down its back.”

“Tabby cat wearing vertical stripes?”

Since Pepe, my walkabouts have confirmed that our neighborhood teems with wildlife—everything from possum to an incredible variety of brightly colored birds. I’m especially aware of the birds around this time of year. Our house is the only one in the immediate area that has real trees. Our trees become an annual nursery ward for hatchlings. And from just a few neighborhoods away come rumors of deer and coyote sightings.

My newfound appreciation of urban wildlife aside, I wouldn’t relish running into a coyote during my morning walks.

My lust for safari adventure has its limits.

-- Kathryn Lilley

Are We Our Characters?

The answer is: yes and no!

I've just been reading a mystery written by a friend, the first in a new series. The protagonist shares the writer's profession. Of course I found myself wondering how much of the protagonist's life and thoughts were real, and how much was fiction.

Oh, no doubt the murder investigation was a figment of the writer's imagination. But the details of the protagonist's life? This friend and I aren't close enough for me to know for sure, but at least some had to come from reality.

My fellow bloggers here obviously share some of the loves of their mystery protagonists. That comes across in their entries here, and they incorporate details in their stories from what they've learned by participating in their own hobbies.

And me? Well, I've maintained for a while, about my Kendra Ballantyne, Pet-Sitter mystery series, that Kendra's a lawyer, and I am, too; that she lives in the same neighborhood that I do; and that she happens also to have a tricolor Cavalier King Charles Spaniel named Lexie. But I deny that our lives are the same. Neither is our lawyering. She's a litigator, and I'm a transactional real estate specialist. But I know legal lingo and I think like a lawyer, so that part definitely comes from me.

So, are we our characters? Well, I hope our readers have a good time figuring that out!

--Linda

Happy Fourth of July!

Well, we’re in our new place. I think it’s going to be really nice, once we get the last of the boxes unpacked and the contents stowed away – or gotten rid of. I thought we’d gotten rid of all our extraneous material goods, until we found ourselves surrounded by boxes and no place to put a great deal of it. Funny what you’re suddenly willing to part with just to have breathing room.

Another thing moving did is uncover things so long stored away I’ve forgotten I had it. I’m finding old books, old collectibles, old stitching patterns, even old kitchen utensils. Some I spring upon with exclamations of delight, others I look askance at, saying, “What on earth was I thinking when I bought that?” Yesterday I put the last of the kitchen stuff away – and jut in time, because we’re having company for the Fourth, and there were potatoes to boil, soft drinks to chill, counters to clear to put out the buffet on. But my office still looks like a corner of a warehouse. At least my computer is hooked up and connected to the Internet, so I can now and again do a little writing or contact someone far but dear to me.

The cats have made their peace with the new place, at least so far as I can tell. One sigh: they have gone back to the evening whine for a bedtime treat, which had ceased for awhile.

I visited the old place yesterday, which is being renovated for sale. Fresh paint, new carpeting, even the railing between the dining room and sunken living room is being replaced. Already the place no longer looks like ours, so no pang of nostalgia was felt. My niece Reggie is up from Ft. Myers with a friend, Jimmy Ray (don’t you love southern names?), and they are painting the old place. Kind of a paid vacation. They are enjoying the weather, which they find cool and refreshing. (Me? I’ve got the air conditioning on full time! I don’t find eighty-three cool OR refreshing!)

I haven’t put needle into fabric for several days and I’m starting to get anxious about that. There’s a darling fox with his hungry tongue hanging out that is nearly finished and I want badly to get at it. Maybe tomorrow, in the park, waiting for it to get dark enough for the fireworks . . .

One thing I came across while unpacking is a set of sample boards with different kinds of yarn attached to it. Several are more like ribbon than yarn, and one of those is more than half an inch wide, overdyed in shades of cream, bronze and a pinky gold. I’ve never tried knitting with such a broad ribbon, and now I’m all intrigued. What would a sweater or vest look like done in that? Inquiring minds want to know. I may have to contact the manufacturer and find out who carries it locally. Of course, I also want to sign up for a class in knitting lace. And I came across a painted canvas that is partly a beautiful stem of iris, almost life size, and the rest divided into sections to be filled with different needlepoint stitches, white stitching on white canvas. I’d forgotten I had that. The iris is done, but I never got around to the stitches. I remember seeing a finished model of it, and how walking past it made the light shift on the stitches, highlighting first one, then another. I’d like to get back to that one. And there’s a Christmas stocking I’d like to work on, too. (sigh) I’d like to take a year off writing and just stitch.

There’s this one little problem with the idea of a year off: how would I pay for all the materials I’d use when our income would take this nosedive? It’s a sweet trap, writing. You wish and yearn and strive to get to where you’re earning some money at it, hoping for the day you can quit your regular job just to write. Then, when you succeed, you find you’ve given up one job for another. I worked in an office for many years and dreamed of the day when I could write full time. Somehow I didn’t notice that tricky little term, “full time.” In fact, I think I’m working more hours now than I did at that office job. But would I go back? No, no, no, and no. I think this is what I was born to do, and I consider myself extremely fortunate to have a job I love.

A Day at the Beach

Here's a scene I didn't create.
I recently had a traumatic birthday where both digits changed. A big party with seven birthday cakes and lots of friends and gifts helped!
My in-laws gave me the basic elements of this beach scene as a present. I grew up on Revere Beach, Massachusetts, where my first mystery series is set, making this choice of miniature very special.
The red hat: my sister-in-law has kept this hat, which belonged to one of her dolls, since childhood. It was in her collection of cherished things, and she was generous enough to share it with me. She added the ribbon to make it more of a sun hat.
The sunglasses (barely visible on the book): my brother-in-law made the little glasses in the blink of an eye (so to speak) by twisting thin wire into shape. The dark lenses are tiny pieces of film (from the old days of non-digital cameras).
The sand: my brother-in-law is a model train builder with a thirty-foot-by-thirty-foot building on his property all to house his reproduction of the Allegheny subdivision of the C&O railroad. His model, which was the cover story of Model Railroader magazine a couple of years ago, has rolling hills and creeks, as well as a sixteen-stall roundhouse and smoothly running trains. He makes sand that looks like sand, water that looks like water — a master craftsman. More on this marvel another time!
The book: my little addition, made as I usually do with little blocks onto which I glue any cover I want. I've gotten pretty good at sizing and can take a cover of any size from the Internet and shrink it to fit. This one is the most recent in my periodic table series, The Oxygen Murder.
I also added some Fritos, flip-flops, and a thermos of coffee. The nice thing about a day at the beach is that you can keep thinking of things to add.
An umbrella is next, I think. Guess I'll have to find somewhere to get a drink that comes with one just the right size.

Lucky, Lucky Me

I have a bizarre talent. I can find four-leaf clovers. By the handful. While walking and glancing down. (It's easier to stop and look. And squatting to look is too easy. Almost cheating.)

No, I'm not kidding.

It started when I was a kid, growing up in a small town in Indiana. I was often bored. Across the alley was a big, lush patch of clover.

Now I'd read about four-leaf clovers, and they sounded pretty nifty. So I spent hours searching for them. To no avail. I mean, I sat in that clover until my butt was numb and still couldn't find a four-leafer. Then came the epiphany: A four-leaf clover should stand out in the crowd. After all, it's different. It should stick out like the proverbial sore thumb.

Next thing I knew, I was finding four-leaf clovers by the handful. (Definition of handful: Two days ago I found 25. Okay, 23 were four-leaf and two were five-leaf.)

Today, I taught my nieces to find them. Katigan said, "I've never looked for them because they're impossible to find." So I explained the paradigm shift, "Look for the unusual. For the one clover that's different from the rest." Her younger sister, Makenna, was listening. Makkie found one right away. A few minutes later, Katigan discovered her first.

Here's the point: In finding four-leaf clovers, as in most of life, luck is where you find it--and it's all in the way you look at things.