Bad News, Good News

I missed blogging last week. One reason was, we’re packing to move. Actually, we have hired a moving company, so we don’t have to do everything, but on the other hand, my husband has books, I have books, and we have books; so we are each packing our own books so they don’t all end up in one huge pile. Plus, we are sorting through the accumulation of twenty years and discovering what a pair of pack rats we are. So things are being kept, sold, given away, and thrown away. Our new place is about two-thirds the size of this one, which is encouraging the disposal of things. We closed on Tuesday, handing over a check that was scary in size. And for right now, we own two homes.
The second reason was even bigger: I had a book come apart in my hands. Not a literal book; that is, not a book you pick up and have the pages fall out. No, this was a book I have been writing for months, with nine chapters on the computer, eight of which had been shown to my writer’s group and carefully commented on. Based on the synopsis, my editor had been complaining there was not enough stitching in it, so I was adding lots and lots of it. But it turned out that what she didn’t like was the core plot, which involved an ancient golden Buddha hidden inside a fake-stone one. My agent and I had a long talk last week, in which she finally explained the problem in words I could understand. I was angry of course, because why hadn’t that been made clear long ago? But a day or two later my agent phoned again and we brain-stormed and came up with a fresh angle, and suddenly, instead of having to start on a brand new book, the plot of Thai Die became viable again. My editor loves it. What’s even better, the changes needed aren’t so enormous that I have to start completely over – in fact, I can keep chunks of the plot already written, with alterations. All I have to do is research the history of silk . . . Oh, well. It’s an interesting topic. I have already learned that a roomful of silkworms munching on mulberry leaves make a sound like heavy rain. And that there are pieces of brightly colored silk more than two thousand years old.
This past weekend I was at a quilt show in St. Paul. It started Thursday and ended Saturday. It’s amazing how fun and exhausting it can be to be friendly and interested and excited from ten to five, three days in a row. I signed a lot of books, which was great. On Sunday this nice woman stopped and we talked. She is a professional quilter. I have never made a quilt. But about three years ago I bought a few pieces of fabric at a quilt show. Then more at another. The only requirement I had was that it have a chicken theme. At first I bought it because I like chickens and the patterns were amusing or beautiful. You would not believe how much chicken-themed fabric there is out there, and I kept buying it. After awhile I had so much I knew I was going to have to make a quilt of it – I was buying “fat quarters,” which contain a quarter yard each, and so are not big enough for me to do anything else with it. I decided it was just going to be squares, none of those complex patterns for me. So I took a couple of lessons and bought a fabric cutter and cutting board and a very large, clear-plastic ruler. Just to make it a bit more interesting, I decided some of the squares would be stitched (counted cross stitch, needlepoint, punch needle, applique). I bought some stitching patterns – there are a lot of chicken patterns, too, I must not be the only person who likes chickens. But somehow the writing kept getting in the way and the fabric, only a little of it cut into squares, just sat in a box. I did most of the stitched squares, but not all of them. I wanted the quilt for our bed in our new place, but we’re moving June 26, and I was upset with myself for not getting this done. But this wonderful woman, the professional quilter, said she’d make the fabric into a quilt for me – and at a price that is very reasonable! I wanted to hug her, I wanted to fall on her neck weeping with joy. I told her I wanted to complete a couple more stitched squares, then I’d send everything to her. Her name is Karen and she lives in Wisconsin, and I’m not telling you any more than that for fear some of you would get in line ahead of me. But I’m reasonably sure that my birthday present to myself this year is going to be a new quilt.
So life is exasperating, infuriating, frustrating, exciting and, most of all, good.