Each year nearly 100,000 young offenders are sent to juvenile detention centers around the country. In Texas, the recidivism rate is more than 50 percent. In California, it is between 70 and 80 percent.
In Missouri, it is 7.3 percent.
Why? Here in Missouri, the goal is to help these kids get their lives back on track. For some of these kids, their only “crime” is that they are unwanted and have no homes, no families to guide them. So the Missouri Division of Youth Services works with them so that these young people don’t turn to, or continue in, a life of crime.
For example, here in Missouri, we use the “Token Economy Program” an innovative program for juvenile detainees, a system by which kids earn credits toward privileges. It was created by Earl Ross, who died last week. Earl also worked to recruit tutors and mentors for the young offenders.
Today I attended services for Earl; he was the husband of my friend Donna. To make sure I had the details (where and when) correctly in mind, I looked up Earl’s obituary online. That’s when I learned about his involvement with the “token economy program.” I’d heard about Missouri’s success with young offenders on an NPR program, but I didn’t know about Earl's contribution. (You can read about the program at http://andnowforthegoodnews.blogspot.com/2007/12/treating.html )
I wish I’d had the chance to talk with Earl about his work. I wish I could have learned more about it. And, geez, I could have…I just didn’t know enough about him BEFORE he died!
Which got me thinking: How come we save obituaries for after people are gone? What a waste. I needed to know more about Earl Ross and his good work while I had the chance to talk with him. To ask questions. To learn more.
I think we’ve got this all backwards. I think I’ve probably missed all sorts of chances to learn from people. To hear their stories. To become a smarter, more educated person.
I wish we could introduce ourselves and hand over our obituary “to date.” Okay, it seems odd, but I think it would be useful. First, it would remind each of us that life is fleeting, so we better be making the most of it. Second, it would be an excellent ice-breaker. And third, we could bypass all the meaningless chatter and talk with each other about what matters.
Like Earl Ross’s work.
I wish I hadn’t missed my opportunity to know Earl better.
How about you? Have you ever missed the chance to know someone better? Do you think you should write your own obituary as a way to keep track of your goals? What would you want it to say?
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Non-jet lag
Despite not having taken my trip, I felt like I'm suffering from jet lag, and not sure what day it is. Consquently this is a cross post with the Midnight Ink Authors blogspot. Mostly.
How much do I do to promote Wild Goose Chase? When is enough enough?
I’d planned to be at the Quilters Heritage Celebration in Lancaster, PA for four days this week, signing books. An all expense-paid trip. Paid by me. But the trip was not to be.
After American Airlines cancelled my flight the second day in a row, I was stuck. Getting east from the left coast isn't easy and connecting flights to Harrisburg happen once a day. I was willing to go after a one-day delay but a two-day delay, I decided the trip wasn't worth it. I needed to cut my losses ($60 in cabs going back and forth and back and forth to the airport), and stay the heck home.
But should I gotten there somehow? Isn’t that the American way? It’s clearly not the American Airline way.
Ironically, I’d planned this post to be about the Amish. Lancaster is the original home of the Amish. They never have these kinds of travel problems. They only go to places that the Mennonites can drive them to. Niagara Falls is a big destination. The Grand Canyon. Last time I was there, Rueben Yost told us about his trip to California. Even though he was a farmer, he couldn’t name the spiky leaved plants he was seeing from the bus. Artichokes, we told him. He’d never seen an artichoke.
Traveling by horse and buggy has its limits. Left turns are difficult, evidently. And horses can only pull a buggy about fifty miles a day. Anna, Rueben’s wife, got misty-eyed when she told us how much she missed seeing her daughter. She lived 55 miles away. 55 miles! I’d drive that for the right piece of fabric or a new book. Or to watch the pelicans dive bomb. I’m three-thousand miles from my mother. For Anna, her daughter might as well be on the left coast.
I didn’t get to go the quilt show and meet my new fans, but I did save a lot of money. I think I’ll spend some of it on gas and go to the ocean. Next week, I’ll fly to NY to see my mother.
How much do I do to promote Wild Goose Chase? When is enough enough?
I’d planned to be at the Quilters Heritage Celebration in Lancaster, PA for four days this week, signing books. An all expense-paid trip. Paid by me. But the trip was not to be.
After American Airlines cancelled my flight the second day in a row, I was stuck. Getting east from the left coast isn't easy and connecting flights to Harrisburg happen once a day. I was willing to go after a one-day delay but a two-day delay, I decided the trip wasn't worth it. I needed to cut my losses ($60 in cabs going back and forth and back and forth to the airport), and stay the heck home.
But should I gotten there somehow? Isn’t that the American way? It’s clearly not the American Airline way.
Ironically, I’d planned this post to be about the Amish. Lancaster is the original home of the Amish. They never have these kinds of travel problems. They only go to places that the Mennonites can drive them to. Niagara Falls is a big destination. The Grand Canyon. Last time I was there, Rueben Yost told us about his trip to California. Even though he was a farmer, he couldn’t name the spiky leaved plants he was seeing from the bus. Artichokes, we told him. He’d never seen an artichoke.
Traveling by horse and buggy has its limits. Left turns are difficult, evidently. And horses can only pull a buggy about fifty miles a day. Anna, Rueben’s wife, got misty-eyed when she told us how much she missed seeing her daughter. She lived 55 miles away. 55 miles! I’d drive that for the right piece of fabric or a new book. Or to watch the pelicans dive bomb. I’m three-thousand miles from my mother. For Anna, her daughter might as well be on the left coast.
I didn’t get to go the quilt show and meet my new fans, but I did save a lot of money. I think I’ll spend some of it on gas and go to the ocean. Next week, I’ll fly to NY to see my mother.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Crime in the Kitchen
Note: I’m on a killer deadline at the moment, so pardon if I commit a drive-by blog this week.
I can’t cook.
I know many people say that, but I Really. Can’t. Cook.
The situation is so dire that I’m thinking of possible terms for this condition to submit to the medical lexicon. Should I call it Kitchen Disaster Syndrome? Attention Recipe Disorder?
I’ve always been a lousy meal maker, but I used to maneuver around my shortcoming with a combination of take-out dinners, meals-in-a-box, and frozen-stuff-in-a-bag-that-you-can-dump-into-a-pan meals. But the whole noncooking thing came to a head recently, because for once, I’ve actually been trying to follow recipes. I’ve been really trying. And failing.
Here’s what happens every time I try to cook:
1. I think of what my family and I might want to eat.
2. I search on Yahoo for a recipe, which usually lands me on http://www.recipe.com/.
3. I attempt to follow the instructions.
4. I forget a minor-sounding step.
5. I study the results, which look nothing like the picture on the web page.
6. I bury the evidence and dig up the delivery menus.
It’s that damned Step Four that gets me every time. Even if I print out the recipe and keep it by my elbow, I get distracted during the actual cooking process and leave something out. I leave out something important.
Take last night, for example. I was trying to make Southern Fried Chicken Legs. Not hard, right? Women like me who were raised in the south are born knowing how to make this dish.
I looked up the recipe, printed it and followed it assiduously. The results, however, looked like the shriveled stumps of thousand-year-old chicken mummies. So of course, I reread the recipe with righteous anger. Then I spotted my mistake. I was supposed to have covered the chicken at some point. Probably I was supposed to have covered the chicken at the moment that I was busy dodging ammunition bursts of hot oil droplets that spattered every time I got close to the pan.
So I don’t know. Maybe I’ll keep trying to cure this thing, and learn how to cook. Or maybe I’ll simply give the disorder an official name, like my current favorite, Chronic Inedibility Fatigue. And call it a day.
Suggestions?
I can’t cook.
I know many people say that, but I Really. Can’t. Cook.
The situation is so dire that I’m thinking of possible terms for this condition to submit to the medical lexicon. Should I call it Kitchen Disaster Syndrome? Attention Recipe Disorder?
I’ve always been a lousy meal maker, but I used to maneuver around my shortcoming with a combination of take-out dinners, meals-in-a-box, and frozen-stuff-in-a-bag-that-you-can-dump-into-a-pan meals. But the whole noncooking thing came to a head recently, because for once, I’ve actually been trying to follow recipes. I’ve been really trying. And failing.
Here’s what happens every time I try to cook:
1. I think of what my family and I might want to eat.
2. I search on Yahoo for a recipe, which usually lands me on http://www.recipe.com/.
3. I attempt to follow the instructions.
4. I forget a minor-sounding step.
5. I study the results, which look nothing like the picture on the web page.
6. I bury the evidence and dig up the delivery menus.
It’s that damned Step Four that gets me every time. Even if I print out the recipe and keep it by my elbow, I get distracted during the actual cooking process and leave something out. I leave out something important.
Take last night, for example. I was trying to make Southern Fried Chicken Legs. Not hard, right? Women like me who were raised in the south are born knowing how to make this dish.
I looked up the recipe, printed it and followed it assiduously. The results, however, looked like the shriveled stumps of thousand-year-old chicken mummies. So of course, I reread the recipe with righteous anger. Then I spotted my mistake. I was supposed to have covered the chicken at some point. Probably I was supposed to have covered the chicken at the moment that I was busy dodging ammunition bursts of hot oil droplets that spattered every time I got close to the pan.
So I don’t know. Maybe I’ll keep trying to cure this thing, and learn how to cook. Or maybe I’ll simply give the disorder an official name, like my current favorite, Chronic Inedibility Fatigue. And call it a day.
Suggestions?
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Low-Key Celebration
I celebrated a birthday this week. It wasn’t a milestone, and I initially celebrated alone since my husband was helping my younger son move, and my older son lives even farther away from L.A. Only a few of my friends knew it was my birthday, and I didn’t go out of my way to ask anyone to sympathize with me.
But as it turns out, it’ll be a longer celebration than usual. One of my longest-time friends was in town this week with her husband, and my husband and I joined them at dinner last night--plus, they brought some champagne along as a tasty gift.
Later this week, my younger son will also join us for a celebration dinner.
My festivities tend to be elongated anyway, since my family has three birthdays right in a row. My older son was my birthday present a while back, born 2 days before my birthday. My brother’s birthday is the day between ours. My sister-in-law’s is several days later.
I’ve used my time this week to work on my upcoming Silhouette Nocturne book about a Valkyrie. I also awaited comments on my seventh Kendra Ballantyne, Pet-Sitter mystery manuscript from some critiquing friends before I polish it and send it on--most likely to be called NEVER SAY STY. Maybe my best birthday present came last week, when I was told that Kendra will be a murder magnet at least two more times, in the eighth and ninth books in her series.
In addition, I’m re-plotting another book, a legal thriller, that I’m hoping someday to actually have time to write. I enjoyed my part-time law job, as usual, on weekday mornings. And my two Cavalier King Charles Spaniels, Lexie and her new friend Mystie, are getting along well.
Even though this was a low-key way to celebrate, I have to say I had a pretty good birthday!
--Linda
But as it turns out, it’ll be a longer celebration than usual. One of my longest-time friends was in town this week with her husband, and my husband and I joined them at dinner last night--plus, they brought some champagne along as a tasty gift.
Later this week, my younger son will also join us for a celebration dinner.
My festivities tend to be elongated anyway, since my family has three birthdays right in a row. My older son was my birthday present a while back, born 2 days before my birthday. My brother’s birthday is the day between ours. My sister-in-law’s is several days later.
I’ve used my time this week to work on my upcoming Silhouette Nocturne book about a Valkyrie. I also awaited comments on my seventh Kendra Ballantyne, Pet-Sitter mystery manuscript from some critiquing friends before I polish it and send it on--most likely to be called NEVER SAY STY. Maybe my best birthday present came last week, when I was told that Kendra will be a murder magnet at least two more times, in the eighth and ninth books in her series.
In addition, I’m re-plotting another book, a legal thriller, that I’m hoping someday to actually have time to write. I enjoyed my part-time law job, as usual, on weekday mornings. And my two Cavalier King Charles Spaniels, Lexie and her new friend Mystie, are getting along well.
Even though this was a low-key way to celebrate, I have to say I had a pretty good birthday!
--Linda
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
The Morality of Mysteries
I have a theory about the popularity of mysteries. I think people read them – particularly the traditional or “cozy” variety – because they’re about the war between good and evil; and in them good wins and evil is defeated. Every. Single. Time.
This is comforting to read, especially in a world that seems to take this war very lightly. Yes, it’s about murder, but the reader knows the culprit will be, at the end, marched away between two cops who are muttering in his ears, “You have a right to remain silent . . .”
In fact, these books are not about the nasty details of murder or some other crime. In most of these books, the murder takes place “off stage.” The story often begins with someone walking in on a body, or, if the murder takes place during the book, it is rarely described while occurring. If you want nasty details, go to Silence of the Lambs, a book I most sincerely do not recommend.
I wonder if this is why traditional-mystery authors so often come to use exotic or unusual methods of murder. The thrill lies not in the gory details but the strange ones. One of my most unusual murder weapons was a sweater knit party of cat fur, given to an elderly rich man with a weak heart and a lot of allergies. Another was a very thin steel knitting needle. I am going to use a very prosaic item as a deadly weapon in the book I will soon embark upon. We don’t like to smear the pages with gore, we’ll intrigue with weird instead. Possibly this is to move the death into the realm of fantasy (though the methods are real enough; most of us have contacts with medical examiners, forensic investigators and emergency room personnel), since the books are not really about clever ways to die, but clever ways to catch a murderer.
There’s an interesting discussion of morality in three works of literature over at The Claremont Institute which includes one of my favorites, Shakespeare’s “Macbeth.” Go to: https://www.claremont.org/publications/crb/id.1510/article_detail.asp
I invite you yet again to visit my web site, Monica-Ferris.com, as I have just gotten a picture of the model for the pattern that will appear in the back of Thai Die. It is very beautiful, and strongly evokes the style and shape of the Phoenix that ornaments a piece of extremely old Chinese silk embroidery.
This is comforting to read, especially in a world that seems to take this war very lightly. Yes, it’s about murder, but the reader knows the culprit will be, at the end, marched away between two cops who are muttering in his ears, “You have a right to remain silent . . .”
In fact, these books are not about the nasty details of murder or some other crime. In most of these books, the murder takes place “off stage.” The story often begins with someone walking in on a body, or, if the murder takes place during the book, it is rarely described while occurring. If you want nasty details, go to Silence of the Lambs, a book I most sincerely do not recommend.
I wonder if this is why traditional-mystery authors so often come to use exotic or unusual methods of murder. The thrill lies not in the gory details but the strange ones. One of my most unusual murder weapons was a sweater knit party of cat fur, given to an elderly rich man with a weak heart and a lot of allergies. Another was a very thin steel knitting needle. I am going to use a very prosaic item as a deadly weapon in the book I will soon embark upon. We don’t like to smear the pages with gore, we’ll intrigue with weird instead. Possibly this is to move the death into the realm of fantasy (though the methods are real enough; most of us have contacts with medical examiners, forensic investigators and emergency room personnel), since the books are not really about clever ways to die, but clever ways to catch a murderer.
There’s an interesting discussion of morality in three works of literature over at The Claremont Institute which includes one of my favorites, Shakespeare’s “Macbeth.” Go to: https://www.claremont.org/publications/crb/id.1510/article_detail.asp
I invite you yet again to visit my web site, Monica-Ferris.com, as I have just gotten a picture of the model for the pattern that will appear in the back of Thai Die. It is very beautiful, and strongly evokes the style and shape of the Phoenix that ornaments a piece of extremely old Chinese silk embroidery.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Crime in a nutshell
One more Tuesday in Women's History Month … time enough to talk about Frances Glessner Lee (1878–1962), the society matron and International Harvester heiress whose life was dedicated to miniatures and forensics.
This little info-blog is for those who may not have heard of Lee's amazing dioramas, compiled in "The Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death." Lee meticulously crafted miniature scenes in the normal dollhouse scale of 1 inch = 1 foot to teach law enforcement students the intricacies of investigating a crime scene.
The dioramas have extraordinary detail and verisimilitude. The windows open and close and the pencils write; tiny clothespins, whittled by Lee, hold stockings that she knitted using straight pins.
Lee endowed a Department of Legal Medicine at Harvard, and eventually gave seminars to homicide detectives. As far as I can tell from the sources, it was she who came up with the idea of "circling" a crime scene in a methodical pattern to obtain the best vision of what the evidence revealed.
For a look at her macabre scenes: http://www.bellwethergallery.com/artistsindex_01.cfm?fid=28
Long before CSI, Lee was a tireless advocate of forensics science and dedicated miniaturist.
No wonder I wish I could have lunch with her.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Scrapbooking Laws (We Hope Get Passed)
Our guest blogger today is Nicole P. Wait until you read her great scrapbooking laws!
My friends and I recently compiled a list of hopeful Scrapbooking Laws. We are planning to storm Capitol Hill soon and demand that they ALL be put into effect.
1. The Golden Rule of Scrapbooking should be printed on every Scrap Studio wall: A layout a day keeps the blues away.
2. Friends never let friends buy ugly paper.
3. It is illegal to attend a crop and NOT buy at least one item from a vendor.
4. Duct tape should not be a scrapbooker's primary source of adhesive on layouts.
5. It is illegal to use fabric scissors on paper, paper scissors on chipboard, and anything other than Titanium scissors on metal. It is however, permissible, to use that first pair of scrapbooking scissors that weren't really that great in the first place on anything because they are right there and all the others are buried under the pile of junk on your scrapbook desk.
6. Eyelets should NEVER be hammer-set within two feet of an opened container of brads unless the surface upon which the eyelet is being set just happens to be a four-foot thick slab of concrete and thus will not bounce the brads onto the floor.
7. It is illegal to cut buttons in half at a crop. This is a public safety ordinance.
8. The giver of a RAK (Random Act of Kindness) or seller of scrapbook items on Ebay is herewith ordered to purchase additional scrapbook supplies in an amount that is equal to or greater than twice the amount given or sold.
9. Several "hiding" places that the husband is not aware of must me present in the residence of all scrapbookers so unauthorized purchases can be safely stashed until the opportune time.
10. Children must submit written request, in triplicate, specifying exactly which paper they would like to take from a scrapbooker's supply. The scrapbooker addressed then has 48 hours to render a reply to said request. Any child found using one of their scrapbooking mom's "favorite" pieces of paper will be found guilty of theft and sentenced to two month's of laundry services for the Duggar family.
11. No one or nothing should interrupt a scrapper during a crop or scrapping binge.... Just do it yourself.
12. Any and all items within the 4 walls of any scrapbooker’s residence are subject to confiscation by the scrapbooker to be used as scrapbooking supply storage.
13. If a husband wishes to borrow a scrapbooking tool from his wife, the tool must be used properly in the presence of the wife and returned promptly.
14. If a wife borrows a tool of her husband's for scrapbooking purposes, possession is 9/10 of the law, and it becomes hers automatically.
15. Husbands who borrow their wives scrapbook tools without consent or supervision and do not return thus said scrapbook tool to its designated location in the exact condition as it was removed shall be fined no less than double the retail value of said disturbed scrapbook tool.
16. When a scrapbooker’s husband becomes aware of any unpleasant bodily odors emitting from the scrapbooker due to a massive paper-crafting binge, the husband is under no circumstances permitted to comment.
17. Husbands are forbidden from ever giving scrapbooking advice unless the husband
A. Has a college degree in art/design
B. Has a natural gift for art/design AND most importantly
C. Was asked for his advice.
The penalty for violations shall be the forced surrender of his Master Card.
18. No husband, under penalty of death or dismemberment, shall attempt to remove any Michael's ad from the paper and hide it from the wife.
19. Husbands should never make fun of any Carol Duvall episode, even if she says, "You Scrapbookers" and points her finger at the TV screen. It is okay for Carol to do this, but husbands are never allowed to do this unless they want that finger smashed in a Sizzix machine.
20. When shown a completed layout, husbands must respond with a minimum of three (3) acceptable comments, heretoforth known as "compliments", including but not limited to:"Your talent never ceases to amaze me.""Now THAT one will get you published!""Hold on. I've got to call the guys and tell them about this one!"
21. It is illegal for any husband to ever say, "My wife's a scrapbooker" whilst rolling his eyes.
22. Most importantly, take pride in your creations and always remember to have fun!
Contributed to, compiled, and edited by Nicole P. at http://www.tipsfromnicole.blogspot.com/
A special thanks to the members of the All Moments Remembered Message Board for contributing to this post. http://allmomentsremembered.com/bulletins/index.php
I have so enjoyed being your guest blogger today. A huge thanks to the members of Killer Hobbies for inviting me!
My friends and I recently compiled a list of hopeful Scrapbooking Laws. We are planning to storm Capitol Hill soon and demand that they ALL be put into effect.
1. The Golden Rule of Scrapbooking should be printed on every Scrap Studio wall: A layout a day keeps the blues away.
2. Friends never let friends buy ugly paper.
3. It is illegal to attend a crop and NOT buy at least one item from a vendor.
4. Duct tape should not be a scrapbooker's primary source of adhesive on layouts.
5. It is illegal to use fabric scissors on paper, paper scissors on chipboard, and anything other than Titanium scissors on metal. It is however, permissible, to use that first pair of scrapbooking scissors that weren't really that great in the first place on anything because they are right there and all the others are buried under the pile of junk on your scrapbook desk.
6. Eyelets should NEVER be hammer-set within two feet of an opened container of brads unless the surface upon which the eyelet is being set just happens to be a four-foot thick slab of concrete and thus will not bounce the brads onto the floor.
7. It is illegal to cut buttons in half at a crop. This is a public safety ordinance.
8. The giver of a RAK (Random Act of Kindness) or seller of scrapbook items on Ebay is herewith ordered to purchase additional scrapbook supplies in an amount that is equal to or greater than twice the amount given or sold.
9. Several "hiding" places that the husband is not aware of must me present in the residence of all scrapbookers so unauthorized purchases can be safely stashed until the opportune time.
10. Children must submit written request, in triplicate, specifying exactly which paper they would like to take from a scrapbooker's supply. The scrapbooker addressed then has 48 hours to render a reply to said request. Any child found using one of their scrapbooking mom's "favorite" pieces of paper will be found guilty of theft and sentenced to two month's of laundry services for the Duggar family.
11. No one or nothing should interrupt a scrapper during a crop or scrapping binge.... Just do it yourself.
12. Any and all items within the 4 walls of any scrapbooker’s residence are subject to confiscation by the scrapbooker to be used as scrapbooking supply storage.
13. If a husband wishes to borrow a scrapbooking tool from his wife, the tool must be used properly in the presence of the wife and returned promptly.
14. If a wife borrows a tool of her husband's for scrapbooking purposes, possession is 9/10 of the law, and it becomes hers automatically.
15. Husbands who borrow their wives scrapbook tools without consent or supervision and do not return thus said scrapbook tool to its designated location in the exact condition as it was removed shall be fined no less than double the retail value of said disturbed scrapbook tool.
16. When a scrapbooker’s husband becomes aware of any unpleasant bodily odors emitting from the scrapbooker due to a massive paper-crafting binge, the husband is under no circumstances permitted to comment.
17. Husbands are forbidden from ever giving scrapbooking advice unless the husband
A. Has a college degree in art/design
B. Has a natural gift for art/design AND most importantly
C. Was asked for his advice.
The penalty for violations shall be the forced surrender of his Master Card.
18. No husband, under penalty of death or dismemberment, shall attempt to remove any Michael's ad from the paper and hide it from the wife.
19. Husbands should never make fun of any Carol Duvall episode, even if she says, "You Scrapbookers" and points her finger at the TV screen. It is okay for Carol to do this, but husbands are never allowed to do this unless they want that finger smashed in a Sizzix machine.
20. When shown a completed layout, husbands must respond with a minimum of three (3) acceptable comments, heretoforth known as "compliments", including but not limited to:"Your talent never ceases to amaze me.""Now THAT one will get you published!""Hold on. I've got to call the guys and tell them about this one!"
21. It is illegal for any husband to ever say, "My wife's a scrapbooker" whilst rolling his eyes.
22. Most importantly, take pride in your creations and always remember to have fun!
Contributed to, compiled, and edited by Nicole P. at http://www.tipsfromnicole.blogspot.com/
A special thanks to the members of the All Moments Remembered Message Board for contributing to this post. http://allmomentsremembered.com/bulletins/index.php
I have so enjoyed being your guest blogger today. A huge thanks to the members of Killer Hobbies for inviting me!
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Quilters are Knitters, too
A recent article in The San Jose Mercury News raved about Stitches West, the knitting expo held at the Santa Clara County Convention Center. The writer was so impressed with the numbers (nearly 10,000 shoppers!) and crowed about the growing market—nearly 1.4 billion dollars—that the knitters and crocheters represent.
That article made me cranky. Every year at that same convention center, Pacific International Quilt Festival is held. Twice that number of quilters attend but PIQF garners little or no media attention.
I should have been mollified then, by the appearance of Ricky Tims on the CBS Sunday Morning. He is, after a quilter. A good one. While it was great to see an accomplished non-traditional quilter on a major network, I was still a little cranky because they’d picked a man. Now, I know there are men that quilt. But there are millions of women who quilt. Millions. The latest estimate is 27 million! My guess is at least a million are doing work on the same level as Ricky Tims. Don’t get me wrong, the segment is still worth viewing.
If you poke around on CBS.com, you can find the video called Quilts for Sale. http://www.cbsnews.com/sections/sunday/main3445.shtml
CBS did interview one of the most important women in the quilt world, Karey Bresenhan. Karey is the force behind the International Quilt Festivals, which are held three times a year. The Houston show routinely attracts over 55,000 people. She was the one who told the reporter that quilting was a nearly four-billion-dollar industry. Take that, yarn buyers. Four billion. 55,000 quilters at one show. CBS gave this woman ten seconds of air time.
See why I’m cranky?
It reminds me of an adage in the mystery book world. A male reader will buy only mysteries written by men but women will buy books by both male and female writers.
Women speak with soft voices, often overshadowed by our male relatives, friends and lovers. We quilt, sending the resulting quilts off to wounded vets, flood victims, children of broken homes. We hope that our efforts will somehow change the world.
We knit and crochet, too. I hate to break it to the Mercury News, but I know for a fact some of those Stitches West attendees were quilters.
That article made me cranky. Every year at that same convention center, Pacific International Quilt Festival is held. Twice that number of quilters attend but PIQF garners little or no media attention.
I should have been mollified then, by the appearance of Ricky Tims on the CBS Sunday Morning. He is, after a quilter. A good one. While it was great to see an accomplished non-traditional quilter on a major network, I was still a little cranky because they’d picked a man. Now, I know there are men that quilt. But there are millions of women who quilt. Millions. The latest estimate is 27 million! My guess is at least a million are doing work on the same level as Ricky Tims. Don’t get me wrong, the segment is still worth viewing.
If you poke around on CBS.com, you can find the video called Quilts for Sale. http://www.cbsnews.com/sections/sunday/main3445.shtml
CBS did interview one of the most important women in the quilt world, Karey Bresenhan. Karey is the force behind the International Quilt Festivals, which are held three times a year. The Houston show routinely attracts over 55,000 people. She was the one who told the reporter that quilting was a nearly four-billion-dollar industry. Take that, yarn buyers. Four billion. 55,000 quilters at one show. CBS gave this woman ten seconds of air time.
See why I’m cranky?
It reminds me of an adage in the mystery book world. A male reader will buy only mysteries written by men but women will buy books by both male and female writers.
Women speak with soft voices, often overshadowed by our male relatives, friends and lovers. We quilt, sending the resulting quilts off to wounded vets, flood victims, children of broken homes. We hope that our efforts will somehow change the world.
We knit and crochet, too. I hate to break it to the Mercury News, but I know for a fact some of those Stitches West attendees were quilters.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Twit-on-me, a blowback on twaddle
Sometimes you can see yourself more clearly through the eyes of someone else—even when that person is a little unbalanced. Perhaps especially when he's a little unbalanced.
For me, this morning provided one of those mirrors.
I was taking my daily walk, huffing up the hill toward the beach, when I came upon a man. He was alone on the street corner.
The guy appeared to be down on his luck—his belongings were dangling from dingy-looking plastic bags, and he was holding a cardboard sign, the favored messaging mode of panhandlers. And he was in a wheelchair.
Now, I don’t normally give money to street people. (In Southern California, if you donate to everyone who has his hand out, you’ll quickly go bust.) But maybe it was the wheelchair. Or maybe I was feeling particularly Zen-loaded and beneficent, thanks to the meditation exercises I’ve taken up recently to ward off stress.
So as I approached the man, I reached for the zipper of my fanny pack. I was planning to hand him a dollar. But first, I paused to read his sign. I was expecting it to say something like, “Need $$,” or “Will Do Wheelies for Food.”
But it didn’t.
The sign said Ban Smoking.
I stopped in my tracks.
“Ban smoking?” I said, gaping at the sign.
He glared at me. “Yes!”
At that point, I should have stopped while I was behind and moved on. Instead, I decided that perhaps he was supporting one of those annoying California state initiatives. (You can’t walk ten feet around here without being asked to sign a petition about saving the seagulls, and other meaningful statutes).
So I continued my query. “Do you want to ban smoking everywhere, or just inside?”
Another glare, this one fiercer. “Everywhere!”
Then he launched into a lecture. He told me about Lee Harvey Oswald, and about how Oswald was a smoker. But then Oswald got shot, which showed him.
By this time, his lecture had escalated to a full-pitched, screaming rant.
He worked himself quickly up to his finale. “So the next time you want to be a smart-ass,” he proclaimed, “Stick it up your ass, you twit!”
To which I replied, in my best Land-O’-Flakes way, “Okay sweetie. Have a nice day.”
Which was in itself twittish, I realized.
Now, this guy was probably a couple of crayons short of a 64-box. But still, he had a valid argument—it was patronizing and yes, twaddlish of me to assume that he was homeless and looking for money, and to launch into an unprovoked discussion about his sign.
But as a writer who’s always looking for fresh expressions, I was impressed by his use of words. "Twit" is not a noun that you often hear bandied about, especially by Shouting Men on Street Corners.
When I got home, I immediately went to thesaurus.com. There I found all sorts of amusing synonyms for twit: dodo, dumb cluck, pinhead, schnook, and my personal favorite, dingdong. I’m pleased to note that I’ve already used dumb cluck in my next book, A KILLER WORKOUT. I’ve started another book, and I hope that I'll be able to find a place in it for dingdong. My kind of word. And it will have been brought to you, compliments of the Shouting Man.
As a writer, I have to take advantage of whatever tiny dregs of inspiration comes my way.
Even when it's spelled T-W-I-T.
For me, this morning provided one of those mirrors.
I was taking my daily walk, huffing up the hill toward the beach, when I came upon a man. He was alone on the street corner.
The guy appeared to be down on his luck—his belongings were dangling from dingy-looking plastic bags, and he was holding a cardboard sign, the favored messaging mode of panhandlers. And he was in a wheelchair.
Now, I don’t normally give money to street people. (In Southern California, if you donate to everyone who has his hand out, you’ll quickly go bust.) But maybe it was the wheelchair. Or maybe I was feeling particularly Zen-loaded and beneficent, thanks to the meditation exercises I’ve taken up recently to ward off stress.
So as I approached the man, I reached for the zipper of my fanny pack. I was planning to hand him a dollar. But first, I paused to read his sign. I was expecting it to say something like, “Need $$,” or “Will Do Wheelies for Food.”
But it didn’t.
The sign said Ban Smoking.
I stopped in my tracks.
“Ban smoking?” I said, gaping at the sign.
He glared at me. “Yes!”
At that point, I should have stopped while I was behind and moved on. Instead, I decided that perhaps he was supporting one of those annoying California state initiatives. (You can’t walk ten feet around here without being asked to sign a petition about saving the seagulls, and other meaningful statutes).
So I continued my query. “Do you want to ban smoking everywhere, or just inside?”
Another glare, this one fiercer. “Everywhere!”
Then he launched into a lecture. He told me about Lee Harvey Oswald, and about how Oswald was a smoker. But then Oswald got shot, which showed him.
By this time, his lecture had escalated to a full-pitched, screaming rant.
He worked himself quickly up to his finale. “So the next time you want to be a smart-ass,” he proclaimed, “Stick it up your ass, you twit!”
To which I replied, in my best Land-O’-Flakes way, “Okay sweetie. Have a nice day.”
Which was in itself twittish, I realized.
Now, this guy was probably a couple of crayons short of a 64-box. But still, he had a valid argument—it was patronizing and yes, twaddlish of me to assume that he was homeless and looking for money, and to launch into an unprovoked discussion about his sign.
But as a writer who’s always looking for fresh expressions, I was impressed by his use of words. "Twit" is not a noun that you often hear bandied about, especially by Shouting Men on Street Corners.
When I got home, I immediately went to thesaurus.com. There I found all sorts of amusing synonyms for twit: dodo, dumb cluck, pinhead, schnook, and my personal favorite, dingdong. I’m pleased to note that I’ve already used dumb cluck in my next book, A KILLER WORKOUT. I’ve started another book, and I hope that I'll be able to find a place in it for dingdong. My kind of word. And it will have been brought to you, compliments of the Shouting Man.
As a writer, I have to take advantage of whatever tiny dregs of inspiration comes my way.
Even when it's spelled T-W-I-T.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
LA’s New Forensics Laboratory
I had the absolutely delightful privilege and honor this week of being among the members of the Mystery Writers of America, Southern California Chapter, who toured the brand new Hertzberg-Davis Forensic Science Center at the California State University, Los Angeles.
We congregated first in a room where well-known--and excellent--author Jan Burke spoke to us about The Crime Lab Project she founded, and some of the realities about forensics analysis that CSI and similar shows get wrong. Most places, including those in large cities like LA, have a horrendous backlog of evidence to be analyzed to identify not only suspects in major crimes, but missing persons as well. Imagine the suffering of the poor families! Jan told one story about a missing person whose family was not notified for 10 years that his remains had been found... even though they had been found only three months after he went missing.
Why is there such a backlog? Well, even the most affluent areas don’t necessarily fund their crime labs adequately. The most urgent situations may--or may not--get the most attention.
Jan suggested that we subscribe to her newsletter, which I did. And since the introductory info also suggests letting other people know about it, I’m going to put the information right here: just send an e-mail saying “subscribe” to clpnews-subscribe@yahoogroups.com
You can also just visit The Crime Lab Project website: http://www.crimelabproject.com
Another speaker, and our host, was Barry Fisher, the Crime Lab Director. He explained that the facility is used jointly by the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department and the Los Angeles (city) Police Department.
And then we took our really wonderful tour.
So what did I learn on this visit? Some of the information was fascinating. Here are just a few of the facts we were told:
Did you know that there is a style of handwriting typical of people incarcerated in prison for long periods? They have plenty of time on their hands, pun intended, and often will practice a special form of handwriting--in pencil only since pens are not allowed in prisons.
There is a piece of electrostatic equipment that can read impressions on pads of paper invisible to the eye--to determine what was written on a top sheet that has been torn away.
Then there are alternate ways of obtaining fingerprints besides just dusting with black powder, by using special equipment and Super Glue.
Evidence in capital crimes is saved forever, but in non-capital cases evidence is saved for the period of the statute of limitations plus one year.
There are local and national databases for fingerprints and DNA evidence, but, although progress is being made, information is not always examined and analyzed in a timely manner, and even when it is analyzed it is not always uploaded quickly.
Then there is NIBIN, the National Integrated Ballistics Information Network, where authorities upload information from all over the country about crimes in which guns are used, to help find patterns and apprehend suspects.
Will I use any or all of this in my Kendra Ballantyne, Pet-Sitter mysteries? Perhaps, but I suspect I’m more likely to use it in my upcoming Silhouette Nocturne, working title MORTAL OPTIONS, in which the hero and heroine are both members of a fictional police force.
--Linda
We congregated first in a room where well-known--and excellent--author Jan Burke spoke to us about The Crime Lab Project she founded, and some of the realities about forensics analysis that CSI and similar shows get wrong. Most places, including those in large cities like LA, have a horrendous backlog of evidence to be analyzed to identify not only suspects in major crimes, but missing persons as well. Imagine the suffering of the poor families! Jan told one story about a missing person whose family was not notified for 10 years that his remains had been found... even though they had been found only three months after he went missing.
Why is there such a backlog? Well, even the most affluent areas don’t necessarily fund their crime labs adequately. The most urgent situations may--or may not--get the most attention.
Jan suggested that we subscribe to her newsletter, which I did. And since the introductory info also suggests letting other people know about it, I’m going to put the information right here: just send an e-mail saying “subscribe” to clpnews-subscribe@yahoogroups.com
You can also just visit The Crime Lab Project website: http://www.crimelabproject.com
Another speaker, and our host, was Barry Fisher, the Crime Lab Director. He explained that the facility is used jointly by the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department and the Los Angeles (city) Police Department.
And then we took our really wonderful tour.
So what did I learn on this visit? Some of the information was fascinating. Here are just a few of the facts we were told:
Did you know that there is a style of handwriting typical of people incarcerated in prison for long periods? They have plenty of time on their hands, pun intended, and often will practice a special form of handwriting--in pencil only since pens are not allowed in prisons.
There is a piece of electrostatic equipment that can read impressions on pads of paper invisible to the eye--to determine what was written on a top sheet that has been torn away.
Then there are alternate ways of obtaining fingerprints besides just dusting with black powder, by using special equipment and Super Glue.
Evidence in capital crimes is saved forever, but in non-capital cases evidence is saved for the period of the statute of limitations plus one year.
There are local and national databases for fingerprints and DNA evidence, but, although progress is being made, information is not always examined and analyzed in a timely manner, and even when it is analyzed it is not always uploaded quickly.
Then there is NIBIN, the National Integrated Ballistics Information Network, where authorities upload information from all over the country about crimes in which guns are used, to help find patterns and apprehend suspects.
Will I use any or all of this in my Kendra Ballantyne, Pet-Sitter mysteries? Perhaps, but I suspect I’m more likely to use it in my upcoming Silhouette Nocturne, working title MORTAL OPTIONS, in which the hero and heroine are both members of a fictional police force.
--Linda
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Easter
Last week I was in Wisconsin wishing hard for just the slightest sign of spring. It was as if God or nature heard me, because next day a thaw set in and by the end of the week, as I was taking a final walk with the dogs, I found three little green spears of iris (of all things!) coming up out at the end of the driveway by the mailbox. I stooped and just took them in for about a minute. How sweet the sight of them was!
But now I’m back in Minnesota and we had some wet snow Monday and Tuesday, and I think it will be two or three weeks before anything green dares poke its head up in front of some south-facing wall. But I could be wrong.
Easter is coming this Sunday, extremely early for this moveable feast. I have heard it will be two hundred years before it comes this early again. We had friends over for corned beef and cabbage for St. Patrick’s Day, and my sister-in-law is having some family over for a Good Friday meal, so Easter won’t call for a big feast in our home this year. I think I’ll fix a “beer chicken,” and my favorite Aunt Velva’s bean salad.
You all know what a “beer chicken” is, don’t you? When I first heard about it, I kept waiting for the punch line, because I thought it was a joke. Then I didn’t try it because I heard it was to be prepared on a grill, and we don’t own a grill. Then I did try it in an oven and Oh My Goodness! It is so delicious! And so easy, too! Heat the oven to 250 or 275 degrees. Then open a can of beer, and drink about a third of it and put the can down in the center of a cookie sheet, the kind with a rim around it. Take one whole chicken and rinse it off under the tap. Sprinkle salt and pepper on the chicken while holding it upside down (I use seasoned salt), then set the chicken down on the can until it is almost all up inside the chicken. Use his poor little legs to help keep him upright. Twist his wings around his back. Sprinkle more salt and pepper on his shoulders, chest and tummy. Put the sheet in the oven and check it after an hour with a meat thermometer. I find it takes between and hour and ninety minutes. The only hard part of this whole operation is getting the beer can out of the chicken, but I have found that letting it cool for five minutes usually does the trick. Have someone hold the chicken over the sink while you pry at the can with a fork. You will not believe how tender and juicy the meat is. What’s interesting is that you can’t taste the beer; what’s even more interesting is that no other beverage gets as delicious a result.
So long as we’re talking recipes, here’s Aunt Velva’s Bean Salad: Empty two cans of dark red kidney beans into a strainer and rinse thoroughly. Chop half a sweet onion medium fine. Chop four or five little sweet gherkins. Hard boil three eggs, chop two of them. Put the onion, gherkins and chopped egg into a bowl with the beans. Take a quarter cup of cider vinegar, a half a cup of sugar, and a cup of sour cream and mix them well. Pour over the bean mixture. Peel the third egg and slice it thinly and strew over the top of the salad. This is excellent if made on the day and superb after a night in the refrigerator. You can substitute Splenda for the sugar and plain yogurt for the sour cream, and it’s still pretty good. I make it just twice a year, Thanksgiving and Christmas. God bless Aunt Velva, who taught it to my mother before I was born.
And Happy Easter
But now I’m back in Minnesota and we had some wet snow Monday and Tuesday, and I think it will be two or three weeks before anything green dares poke its head up in front of some south-facing wall. But I could be wrong.
Easter is coming this Sunday, extremely early for this moveable feast. I have heard it will be two hundred years before it comes this early again. We had friends over for corned beef and cabbage for St. Patrick’s Day, and my sister-in-law is having some family over for a Good Friday meal, so Easter won’t call for a big feast in our home this year. I think I’ll fix a “beer chicken,” and my favorite Aunt Velva’s bean salad.
You all know what a “beer chicken” is, don’t you? When I first heard about it, I kept waiting for the punch line, because I thought it was a joke. Then I didn’t try it because I heard it was to be prepared on a grill, and we don’t own a grill. Then I did try it in an oven and Oh My Goodness! It is so delicious! And so easy, too! Heat the oven to 250 or 275 degrees. Then open a can of beer, and drink about a third of it and put the can down in the center of a cookie sheet, the kind with a rim around it. Take one whole chicken and rinse it off under the tap. Sprinkle salt and pepper on the chicken while holding it upside down (I use seasoned salt), then set the chicken down on the can until it is almost all up inside the chicken. Use his poor little legs to help keep him upright. Twist his wings around his back. Sprinkle more salt and pepper on his shoulders, chest and tummy. Put the sheet in the oven and check it after an hour with a meat thermometer. I find it takes between and hour and ninety minutes. The only hard part of this whole operation is getting the beer can out of the chicken, but I have found that letting it cool for five minutes usually does the trick. Have someone hold the chicken over the sink while you pry at the can with a fork. You will not believe how tender and juicy the meat is. What’s interesting is that you can’t taste the beer; what’s even more interesting is that no other beverage gets as delicious a result.
So long as we’re talking recipes, here’s Aunt Velva’s Bean Salad: Empty two cans of dark red kidney beans into a strainer and rinse thoroughly. Chop half a sweet onion medium fine. Chop four or five little sweet gherkins. Hard boil three eggs, chop two of them. Put the onion, gherkins and chopped egg into a bowl with the beans. Take a quarter cup of cider vinegar, a half a cup of sugar, and a cup of sour cream and mix them well. Pour over the bean mixture. Peel the third egg and slice it thinly and strew over the top of the salad. This is excellent if made on the day and superb after a night in the refrigerator. You can substitute Splenda for the sugar and plain yogurt for the sour cream, and it’s still pretty good. I make it just twice a year, Thanksgiving and Christmas. God bless Aunt Velva, who taught it to my mother before I was born.
And Happy Easter
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
A well-oiled machine
This week's blog for "March is Women's History Month" starts with four fourth-grade boys and a machine.
Bear with me.
For a school project, the boys built a Rube-Goldberg-type machine for putting a hamburger patty between two buns. The machine has three eye-catching parts. From the left, to start the process, a red and blue koosh ball drops down a chute into a cup and sets off a series of actions involving levers and strings. In the middle of the process, a nail is catapulted toward the balloon and pops it. Very dramatic. That sets off another series of actions such that at the end (bottom right of photo) a mousetrap is triggered to flip a hamburger bun on a waiting patty.
The process sounds very familiar to me — it reminds of how I might set up a novel. I have a good hook to open and an appropriately action-packed scene for the end. And usually I have a grabber of a scene in the middle. But getting from one of these highlights to the other often involves some less-than-thrilling scenes whose only glory comes from how well they move the plot.
My job on the Rube-Goldberg project was to talk about the physics and the energy exchanges involved in the various actions, make suggestions about the presentation, and otherwise enjoy the energy and intelligence of four extraordinary fourth graders.
Working with the boys on their presentation, I found myself advising them to use "causal" terminology (theologians, close your ears) to explain how the steps interact with each other. It's not just that "this happens and then that happens" but one step follows from another, each step causing the next reaction.
It's just as important in a novel to have each scene follow logically from the one before it, moving the story along. A novel is not a series of scenes, but a dramatic unfolding, where the choices and actions in each scene motivate what happens in the next.
We all remember the difference between a sequence of events (The King died and then the Queen died) and a story (The King died and then the Queen died of grief.)
A novel may be a work of art, but at its core, it's a well-oiled machine.
And, oh, yes, the Women's History Month note:
A bright third grade girl, a sibling of one of the boys, was also at the presentation. She was every bit as excited as they were and raised her hand constantly to answer questions and perform tasks.
I've sent off a package to her. Just a little inspiration in the form of a DVD of the Marie Curie biopic, selected readings about women in science, and of course, some variations on the periodic table.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
How to Get Lucky--Happy St. Patrick's Day!
1. Take risks. Calculated ones. Don’t worry so much about failure. Instead, think in terms of abundance and opportunity. Some of what you do won’t work out. So what? Something’s bound to “stick” if you keep at it. I wrote a book not knowing if it would sell. That was a risk. But if I hadn’t written the book, I wouldn’t have anything to sell, right? So it was a calculated risk I was willing to take.
2. Put yourself “out there.” If you want to get hit by lightning, go stand in an open field during a thunderstorm. Be where people who can help you can find you. For example, by going to Sleuthfest I was able to meet my agent and my editor.
3. Show up. No one is going to come to your front door and ask you to be the next bestselling author or scrapbook designer or rock star. You need to circulate. You need to be around people who are doing what you want to do. That way, when an opportunity comes, you’ll know about it.
4. Meet people and make a good impression. You never know who will be the person the Universe sent to help you. So…be open and friendly. I met Emilie Richards, USA Today bestselling author, at a book festival. I didn’t know she was a BIG name. But I’ve been taught to treat everyone with respect, so we enjoyed each other’s company and have since become friends. Only after we’d “clicked” did I discover she was a mega-author.
5. Ask yourself, “What do I have to give that is uniquely mine?” I often send people four-leaf clovers I’ve found. I make small scrapbooks for friends. I invite people to come along on a tour of the Steinway factory. Those are lovely “things” I have to offer. What do YOU have that’s unique to you?
6. Work harder than anyone else on the planet. I work seven days a week, usually at least 8 hours and often 10 or 12. I am constantly learning. I always ask myself, “What does this mean to me and how can I use what I’ve discovered?”
7. Steal with your eyes. Watch other people carefully. Don’t make the same mistakes they do, but do learn what they do right.
8. Believe in a Universe of abundance and opportunity. You can only receive if you have open hands and an open heart.
9. First be a giver. When you give to others, it comes back to you, many times over.
10. Acknowledge your hard work. Psychologists have found that when women are complimented we often say, “Oh, I was lucky.” Maybe you were, but more likely you worked hard. If you only think you were lucky, you won’t have the courage to tackle new things—the courage that comes from saying to yourself, “Yes, this is daunting but I’ve handled tough situations before and I can figure this out.” So give yourself credit. That will fuel your ability to tackle new challenges.
Remember: Today’s the last day to sign in to receive our newsletter—AND by doing so to enter to win our Box O’ Books and our Mrs. Grossman’s Stickers Contests.
Remember: Today’s the last day to sign in to receive our newsletter—AND by doing so to enter to win our Box O’ Books and our Mrs. Grossman’s Stickers Contests.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Everything I learned in quilt class
I learned everything I needed to know about life in quilt class.
Taking classes is one of the joys of quilting. I take them to learn new techniques, to socialize with my buddies, or for the sheer pleasure of sewing. Looking back on the classes I’ve attended, I can see I learned a few life lessons along the way, too.
Red is a neutral, Freddy Moran told us. The idea that a bright color could be neutral is counter-intuitive. I began to see a deeper meaning. It means simply, anything goes. Whatever your favorite color is, whatever your method of quilting is, whatever your ‘red’ is, go for it. Surround yourself with color. Surround yourself with your favorite things. Be yourself. That’s what Freddy does.
Fabric envy. The late, great Doreen Speckman told me to glance over at my neighbor’s fabric and admit that she had better fabric than I did. You know, a grass is greener kind of thing. She wanted us to get over the fabric envy so we could move on to create our own projects. To me it was about admitting my limits, and having fun anyway.
The back of your quilt block must be as neat as the front. Teacher Sharyn Craig insisted on this. She was readily available as we sewed, but would not answer a one-on-one question unless the block was neatly trimmed with no threads hanging. I fought this. Took me a while to learn this is not about appearances. This is about how you feel about yourself. It’s hard to feel good surrounded by loose threads and clutter. It’s like cleaning your desk or kitchen at night. A fresh slate makes me feel freer.
Margaret Miller taught me to have fun. Her enthusiasm for life, even while seeing its imperfections, taught me that it’s all in the interpretation. Psychologists asked elderly people if they were happy in their lives. They were surprised that the ones that answered yes had not lead lives free from strife. Just the opposite. But they were happy anyway. Be happy anyway. Margaret chooses to greet her students with a smile, to exclaim over their work, to be enthused. Her energy never flags and it is contagious.
This is not to say all my teachers were right. My first quilt teacher was wrong, dead wrong. She told me my fabrics had to match. I went along with her, but I learned from her that authorities could be wrong. I learned to trust my own vision.
To trust myself, to trust life. To surround myself with beauty and order and not be jealous. I learned it all in quilt class.
Taking classes is one of the joys of quilting. I take them to learn new techniques, to socialize with my buddies, or for the sheer pleasure of sewing. Looking back on the classes I’ve attended, I can see I learned a few life lessons along the way, too.
Red is a neutral, Freddy Moran told us. The idea that a bright color could be neutral is counter-intuitive. I began to see a deeper meaning. It means simply, anything goes. Whatever your favorite color is, whatever your method of quilting is, whatever your ‘red’ is, go for it. Surround yourself with color. Surround yourself with your favorite things. Be yourself. That’s what Freddy does.
Fabric envy. The late, great Doreen Speckman told me to glance over at my neighbor’s fabric and admit that she had better fabric than I did. You know, a grass is greener kind of thing. She wanted us to get over the fabric envy so we could move on to create our own projects. To me it was about admitting my limits, and having fun anyway.
The back of your quilt block must be as neat as the front. Teacher Sharyn Craig insisted on this. She was readily available as we sewed, but would not answer a one-on-one question unless the block was neatly trimmed with no threads hanging. I fought this. Took me a while to learn this is not about appearances. This is about how you feel about yourself. It’s hard to feel good surrounded by loose threads and clutter. It’s like cleaning your desk or kitchen at night. A fresh slate makes me feel freer.
Margaret Miller taught me to have fun. Her enthusiasm for life, even while seeing its imperfections, taught me that it’s all in the interpretation. Psychologists asked elderly people if they were happy in their lives. They were surprised that the ones that answered yes had not lead lives free from strife. Just the opposite. But they were happy anyway. Be happy anyway. Margaret chooses to greet her students with a smile, to exclaim over their work, to be enthused. Her energy never flags and it is contagious.
This is not to say all my teachers were right. My first quilt teacher was wrong, dead wrong. She told me my fabrics had to match. I went along with her, but I learned from her that authorities could be wrong. I learned to trust my own vision.
To trust myself, to trust life. To surround myself with beauty and order and not be jealous. I learned it all in quilt class.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Writer’s Chatroom and Dallas Book Diva
We interrupt this blog for a little BSP…
I was honored to be a guest at Dallas Book Diva and the Writer's Chatroom this week.
First, I was interviewed by Cheryl Nason at Dallas Book Diva. (You can hear the interview at http://www.cherylnason.blogspot.com/).
Cheryl is a wonderful interviewer, and she made me feel very comfortable. You can click on a link on the site to purchase the books directly, which is a great service to authors.
My second experience was a two-hour online chat at the Writer’s Chatroom. (Check out the site at http://writerschatroom.com/)
This was my first visit to the Writer’s Chatroom, and it was so great to be hosted as an author! Going in, I wondered if there could possibly be two hours’ worth of questions that would come my way, but before long I was typing my heart out! (There is a “halftime show” to let the author take a finger break).
It was a lively discussion with about 20 or so people, and we touched on everything from writing to dieting to sex (natch, this is chick lit, after all!). I was so happy to “meet” everyone online, and can’t wait to attend again. The staff at the Chatroom does a great job of making the author feel comfortable fielding questions and communicating online with readers. The two hour chat flew by!
I was honored to be a guest at Dallas Book Diva and the Writer's Chatroom this week.
First, I was interviewed by Cheryl Nason at Dallas Book Diva. (You can hear the interview at http://www.cherylnason.blogspot.com/).
Cheryl is a wonderful interviewer, and she made me feel very comfortable. You can click on a link on the site to purchase the books directly, which is a great service to authors.
My second experience was a two-hour online chat at the Writer’s Chatroom. (Check out the site at http://writerschatroom.com/)
This was my first visit to the Writer’s Chatroom, and it was so great to be hosted as an author! Going in, I wondered if there could possibly be two hours’ worth of questions that would come my way, but before long I was typing my heart out! (There is a “halftime show” to let the author take a finger break).
It was a lively discussion with about 20 or so people, and we touched on everything from writing to dieting to sex (natch, this is chick lit, after all!). I was so happy to “meet” everyone online, and can’t wait to attend again. The staff at the Chatroom does a great job of making the author feel comfortable fielding questions and communicating online with readers. The two hour chat flew by!
If you haven't discovered these two sites as a reader or as an author, I recommend you stop by for a visit. It's a great way to discover new books and points of view!
I think interactive online venues [(in additon to blogs, of course! (grin)] are a wonderful new way for authors to "meet" readers, and for readers to discover new writers.
What about you? Are there any interactive author/reader venues that you have discovered, and that have been rewarding?
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Life’s Compartments
Monica’s very moving post yesterday about caring for an aging parent, then turning to her writing, brought home to me one of the things I’m finding so interesting about my own life these days--although I am not currently in a similar position with the older generation in my family and really admire Monica for what she is accomplishing.
I have a lot of other kinds of things going on all at once, and it’s both exciting and frustrating to deal with them. I didn’t worry about it as much when my kids were younger, when I held a full-time job and also wrote; I just did it all. Now, I think about it, too!
I’m an empty-nester when it comes to my sons. They’re both wonderful, self-sufficient adults. I’m always thrilled to have them visit or to talk to them on the phone, but I no longer have to be as concerned about rearing them on a day-to-day basis.
However, I have a part-time law job and writing deadlines to deal with all at the same time. And throwing an adorable but active puppy into the mix changes the dynamics and how much time I have to deal with everything else. Fortunately, Lexie, who was the younger dog of the house till last year, is stepping right into being the more mature puppy. She’s been playing a lot with Mystie, our new Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, which allows me to write when the pup is tired out enough to sleep.
Then there are all the other things to do with writing that are time-consuming--planning trips to conferences, doing speaking engagements, participating in writing organizations and critique groups...
Oh, and yes, did I mention my husband? Fortunately, he’s supportive and helpful and generally low maintenance. But I want to spend time with him, too.
So, I guess I’d better stop writing this for now. I’ve got lots of other stuff to do!
--Linda
I have a lot of other kinds of things going on all at once, and it’s both exciting and frustrating to deal with them. I didn’t worry about it as much when my kids were younger, when I held a full-time job and also wrote; I just did it all. Now, I think about it, too!
I’m an empty-nester when it comes to my sons. They’re both wonderful, self-sufficient adults. I’m always thrilled to have them visit or to talk to them on the phone, but I no longer have to be as concerned about rearing them on a day-to-day basis.
However, I have a part-time law job and writing deadlines to deal with all at the same time. And throwing an adorable but active puppy into the mix changes the dynamics and how much time I have to deal with everything else. Fortunately, Lexie, who was the younger dog of the house till last year, is stepping right into being the more mature puppy. She’s been playing a lot with Mystie, our new Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, which allows me to write when the pup is tired out enough to sleep.
Then there are all the other things to do with writing that are time-consuming--planning trips to conferences, doing speaking engagements, participating in writing organizations and critique groups...
Oh, and yes, did I mention my husband? Fortunately, he’s supportive and helpful and generally low maintenance. But I want to spend time with him, too.
So, I guess I’d better stop writing this for now. I’ve got lots of other stuff to do!
--Linda
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Caretaking
I’m in Wisconsin this week, caring for my mother while my sister, in whose house Mom lives, takes a well-earned break. It’s strange caring for one’s mother. She isn’t a child, though she can be childish. She’s able to stand but not walk and so a wheelchair takes her from station to station around the house: bedroom, living room, bathroom. Even with eyeglasses she has trouble reading and she can no longer do needlework (both great passions all her life). She watches movies (right now she’s driving everyone crazy because she watches one movie, “Comfort and Joy,” once or twice a day) and sports shows (golf, tennis, baseball, football). My sister set up bird feeders outside her big front window and Mom loves to sit most of the day to watch her “circus,” as many varieties of birds and two kinds of squirrels come up to chow down. She has her good and her bad days. Tuesday, she mostly slept.
Therese is in Florida but her husband, Thomas, is here. He helps a lot, but Mom is bashful about bathroom things and changing from nightgown to daytime clothes, so that’s the main reason I’m here.
Another is to spend time with Mom. She’s nearly ninety and getting a little more frail every year, so this is a more precious than bothersome time. She’s on a fairly rigid schedule of bathroom visits and medications and she’s pretty good at manipulating me into ignoring some of the rules. At bedtime Tuesday evening she decided she was very comfortable in her chair (she sleeps in a recliner, the kind that lifts her onto her feet to get out of it) and didn’t want to make a bedtime bathroom call to change into a nightgown. I almost got into an argument with her, when she suddenly capitulated. And now, thinking about it, I suspect she’s angry. Angry at getting old, at being helpless, at having to be taken care of like a small child. I’d be angry, too. But she has to follow the rules, or she may get some serious life-threatening complication – her skin is fragile from sitting all the time, and needs tender, frequent care, for example, to avoid pressure sores. I suspect the argument didn’t happen because she’s afraid that might be mentioned, and she might burst out that she doesn’t care if she gets ill and dies. Because she’s afraid that might be true.
Meanwhile, southern Wisconsin is having the same trouble as mid-Minnesota getting spring started. There is still a lot of snow on the ground around here. Therese had to put off her plane flight to Florida for a day when a sudden, brief, intense snowstorm closed the airport. (Of course state farther south were getting clobbered with late-season blizzards, and even Florida had tornadoes a few days ago.)
I’m glad I had a week in Mexico City, it has helped me cope with this endless winter. But oh, for a mere snowdrop blooming in some protected corner of a garden! Or just the tip of the light green spear of a daffodil pushing up through the soil! The chickadees and cardinals are singing, so I know spring is coming, but it seems very distant – and this Sunday is Palm Sunday. I’ll have to wear my winter coat over my Easter dress Sunday after next. That’s not uncommon in Minnesota. But I’m thinking I’ll be wearing my furry winter boots, too, and that is not common at all. Hard to believe that in two months there will be lilacs blooming in my neighborhood.
I got the final design for the cover of Thai Die the other day. They made some changes from the original sketch, which I really loved. But then, I’m not an advertising agent, so I assume they know what they’re doing. So far they certainly have. Only, they put a smoking gun on the cover, which is great – but it’s a Derringer! The guns mentioned in the novel are not Derringers. I thought about making a change in the text, but realized that in the two places I could do that, a Derringer was definitely not the right kind of gun for the story. It’s a pretty and exotic weapon on the cover, however.
Therese is in Florida but her husband, Thomas, is here. He helps a lot, but Mom is bashful about bathroom things and changing from nightgown to daytime clothes, so that’s the main reason I’m here.
Another is to spend time with Mom. She’s nearly ninety and getting a little more frail every year, so this is a more precious than bothersome time. She’s on a fairly rigid schedule of bathroom visits and medications and she’s pretty good at manipulating me into ignoring some of the rules. At bedtime Tuesday evening she decided she was very comfortable in her chair (she sleeps in a recliner, the kind that lifts her onto her feet to get out of it) and didn’t want to make a bedtime bathroom call to change into a nightgown. I almost got into an argument with her, when she suddenly capitulated. And now, thinking about it, I suspect she’s angry. Angry at getting old, at being helpless, at having to be taken care of like a small child. I’d be angry, too. But she has to follow the rules, or she may get some serious life-threatening complication – her skin is fragile from sitting all the time, and needs tender, frequent care, for example, to avoid pressure sores. I suspect the argument didn’t happen because she’s afraid that might be mentioned, and she might burst out that she doesn’t care if she gets ill and dies. Because she’s afraid that might be true.
Meanwhile, southern Wisconsin is having the same trouble as mid-Minnesota getting spring started. There is still a lot of snow on the ground around here. Therese had to put off her plane flight to Florida for a day when a sudden, brief, intense snowstorm closed the airport. (Of course state farther south were getting clobbered with late-season blizzards, and even Florida had tornadoes a few days ago.)
I’m glad I had a week in Mexico City, it has helped me cope with this endless winter. But oh, for a mere snowdrop blooming in some protected corner of a garden! Or just the tip of the light green spear of a daffodil pushing up through the soil! The chickadees and cardinals are singing, so I know spring is coming, but it seems very distant – and this Sunday is Palm Sunday. I’ll have to wear my winter coat over my Easter dress Sunday after next. That’s not uncommon in Minnesota. But I’m thinking I’ll be wearing my furry winter boots, too, and that is not common at all. Hard to believe that in two months there will be lilacs blooming in my neighborhood.
I got the final design for the cover of Thai Die the other day. They made some changes from the original sketch, which I really loved. But then, I’m not an advertising agent, so I assume they know what they’re doing. So far they certainly have. Only, they put a smoking gun on the cover, which is great – but it’s a Derringer! The guns mentioned in the novel are not Derringers. I thought about making a change in the text, but realized that in the two places I could do that, a Derringer was definitely not the right kind of gun for the story. It’s a pretty and exotic weapon on the cover, however.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Handcuffs not included
What a date! Me, two cops, and a government agent for breakfast in Denver.
From left to right, Michael Siverling, criminal investigator; Sergeant Michael Black of the Matteson, Illinois police department; and Rick McMahan, a special agent for the ATF.
Okay, it wasn't a date, just a bonding session before our panel at Left Coast Crime. But what mystery writer doesn't love to spend time with law enforcement experts?
These men can boast experience in SWAT team training and leadership and undercover narcotics work. They've investigated everything from extreme militias to outlaw motorcycle gangs to homicide and child abduction cases.
I think it's correct to say that everyone enjoyed hearing their "war stories." The panel was called "Down These Mean Streets," but these guys were anything but mean in Denver. And I suspect that when they're not on the job, they're pretty sweet. Here's one clue: two of them have "cat" in their email names, and the third has "peach." How mean can they be?
Other LCC highlights
Our own Terri Thayer told you about one of her highlights. I was there for her, "let's bring it back to sex!" comment (see her Saturday 3/8 blog). I can attest to the interest and great response she got!
I had several great conversations with Deb Baker, one of the founding ladies of KILLERHOBBIES, and wiggled my way into a seat next to her at the banquet.
The hospitality room, set up by the Rocky Mountain SinC chapter included an amazing daily spread of snacks and chocolate (chocolate is not a snack, but a food group).
I was also able to take a side trip to the Denver Museum of Miniatures, Dolls, and Toys, and indulged myself in their gift shop.
The miniature bar I put together and donated to the auction brought in a lot more money than any of my cozy reading scenes …. Hmmmm.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Arirang and St. Pat's and Box O'Books!
May Peace and Prosperity Come to All of UsOn February 26, the New York Philharmonic Orchestra played a concert in Pyongyang, capital of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. The Philharmonic President and Executive Director Zarin Mehta wrote “this is an excellent occasion to expose North Korea to one of the greatest cultural performances in the world, and it would promote unprecedented openness on the part of the North Korean regime.”
I’ve been blessed with the opportunity to travel the world. I can honestly say that when we have the chance to meet other people from other cultures, we quit thinking of ourselves as “us” and “them.” Once we are face-to-face, we smile, we laugh, and on some deep level, we connect with others, even if we don’t speak the same language. To me, that’s the saddest thing about where we are today as a country: It’s no longer safe for us Americans to travel as we once could.
I’ve been blessed with the opportunity to travel the world. I can honestly say that when we have the chance to meet other people from other cultures, we quit thinking of ourselves as “us” and “them.” Once we are face-to-face, we smile, we laugh, and on some deep level, we connect with others, even if we don’t speak the same language. To me, that’s the saddest thing about where we are today as a country: It’s no longer safe for us Americans to travel as we once could.
About that Encore...
I thought you might like to know more about one part of the concert that’s been under-reported. The performance concluded with a final encore of the traditional North and South Korean folk song "Arirang." I remember the song from my visit to Korea in 1986. Here are some of the words:
“Arirang, Arirang, O Arirang/The Pass of Arirang is long and arduous,/But you will climb to the hilltop,/ Where the sun will always shine./The times we live in are most trying,/ To this thousand miles of river and mountains/May peace and prosperity come.”
That’s a scrapbook page of me with some nice ladies I met on my visit. I was told that as Korean men were marched away to death camps by the Chinese, they sang Arirang. I’ve sung it since to Koreans—and they always tear up. Maybe it’s my voice! But more likely, it’s that they know I paid attention. I heard something that made an impression on me, and I have remembered it all these years. A song of longing for peace and prosperity in the face of tragedy and war. What could be more appropriate?
You can hear the whole concert at http://nyphil.org/about/virtualtours/0708/korea/index.cfm
St. Patrick's Day Project with Mrs. Grossman's Stickers
And in honor of St
. Patrick’s Day, here’s a fun recycling project using Mrs. Grossman’s Stickers. Save a plastic container from a restaurant or grocery store. (Mine had dip in the center and veggies around the outside.) Choose a container that’s more “rubbery” than brittle! Clean and dry it well. Add the stickers--I selected the cute leprechan and clovers. Coat the stickers with clear nail polish. (Buy clear nail polish at the Dollar Store for this.) Voila! You’ll have a fun container for treats. Because of the nail polish, the container can be washed carefully by hand and re-used. This is really great for taking treats to a get-together or for a bake sale. I put shamrock cookies around the outside and Jelly Bellies in the center. You know, it's all about the presentation.
Box O'Books Contest Ends Next Monday!
I added two more books to the box this weekend. And after seeing how cute those Mrs. Grossman's Stickers are, how can you resist this fun contest? Remember...you must sign in on this blog to be entered. That means filling in the boxes to the right that ask to add you to our mailing list. Now...what will we do with your address? You might receive a newsletter from us...but you can opt out of that when it comes if you wish. Or you might receive a notice if we're doing a signing. That's it. Not big stuff. (We aren't sophisticated enough to do BIG stuff!)
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Left Coast Crime 2008
“Terri – thanks for bringing it back to sex!”
That’s how Marcus Sakey, author of The Blade Itself and At the City’s Edge, signed my copy. At the Sex & Violence panel at Left Coast Crime 2008 today in Denver, CO., the talk had turned to violence. I raised my hand and asked if we could bring the talk back to sex. Marcus cheered and awarded me a copy of his book. Score!
My question to the panel was how their family reacts when they read the sex scenes they’ve written. Several of my cousins worried that an aunt might not be able to handle the sex in my book. I happen to know she would love it. My nieces are another story. I don’t think they’re ready to read a sex scene that their favorite aunt wrote. And I’m never asking my son how he liked it.
My mother read my manuscript and caught a major continuity error. It just so happened to occur during the love scene. Buster and Dewey have just had lunch on his big, broad, plush seat of his pickup when lust overtakes them. Afterwards, Mom pointed out that Dewey put her pants back on – twice, about six paragraphs apart. Ooops. What can you say except, “Thanks, Mom!”
Left Coast Crime is one of my favorite conferences. Picture your favorite authors, and some newbies about to become your favorite, wandering, available for chatting up. The panels are informative and often quite funny. Crime writers seem to come equipped with a quick wit, so they’re easy to listen to.
And if it gets too boring, we can always bring it back to sex.
That’s how Marcus Sakey, author of The Blade Itself and At the City’s Edge, signed my copy. At the Sex & Violence panel at Left Coast Crime 2008 today in Denver, CO., the talk had turned to violence. I raised my hand and asked if we could bring the talk back to sex. Marcus cheered and awarded me a copy of his book. Score!
My question to the panel was how their family reacts when they read the sex scenes they’ve written. Several of my cousins worried that an aunt might not be able to handle the sex in my book. I happen to know she would love it. My nieces are another story. I don’t think they’re ready to read a sex scene that their favorite aunt wrote. And I’m never asking my son how he liked it.
My mother read my manuscript and caught a major continuity error. It just so happened to occur during the love scene. Buster and Dewey have just had lunch on his big, broad, plush seat of his pickup when lust overtakes them. Afterwards, Mom pointed out that Dewey put her pants back on – twice, about six paragraphs apart. Ooops. What can you say except, “Thanks, Mom!”
Left Coast Crime is one of my favorite conferences. Picture your favorite authors, and some newbies about to become your favorite, wandering, available for chatting up. The panels are informative and often quite funny. Crime writers seem to come equipped with a quick wit, so they’re easy to listen to.
And if it gets too boring, we can always bring it back to sex.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Smooth sailing
I’m feeling happy this week.
I’m always happy when the writing is going well. Some people say, when bad things happen in life, “At least you have your health.”
I say, “At least the writing is going well.”
Except when it isn’t. Then I become a crabby, not-so-safe person to have around.
I recently emerged from one of those fogs. When I’m lost in the mist, I am prone to random outbursts and existential lamentations. Mid-mist, I become convinced that some essential brain oil has changed levels—that my creative juices have ebbed so low that they can no longer be measured by any dipstick of prose. I worry that I will never again achieve the engine horsepower that pulled me through the last book.
And then, somehow, I find the rhythm of the words again. I keep chugging, and the wind picks up. And then I’m moving along.
So for now, it's smooth sailing on Book 3. Hooray!
I’m always happy when the writing is going well. Some people say, when bad things happen in life, “At least you have your health.”
I say, “At least the writing is going well.”
Except when it isn’t. Then I become a crabby, not-so-safe person to have around.
I recently emerged from one of those fogs. When I’m lost in the mist, I am prone to random outbursts and existential lamentations. Mid-mist, I become convinced that some essential brain oil has changed levels—that my creative juices have ebbed so low that they can no longer be measured by any dipstick of prose. I worry that I will never again achieve the engine horsepower that pulled me through the last book.
And then, somehow, I find the rhythm of the words again. I keep chugging, and the wind picks up. And then I’m moving along.
So for now, it's smooth sailing on Book 3. Hooray!
Breaking News!!
I'll be a guest at The Writer's Chatroom on Sunday, March 9th:
Join us at 7 p.m. Eastern Time, 4 p.m. Pacific for a fun conversation!
Thursday, March 6, 2008
New Addition!
Okay, we did it. We found Lexie, our Cavalier King Charles Spaniel who turns 5 on Saturday, a brand new Cavalier companion!
That’s right. We brought a new puppy into our household. She’s 8 weeks old, and her name is Mystie, short for Mystique. I generally like to work the letter Q into my doggy names since the kennel name I use for the very rare litters of Cavaliers I breed is Ubiquity.
Mystie’s the Cavalier coloration called Blenheim: chestnut and white. She’s tiny and already full of determination to get into everything she can. It’s a challenge to wear her out so she’ll sleep while I’m writing. Or even at night, since she’ll wake up and cry in her crate until she’s taken outside. At least she’s well on the way to being housebroken. She loves to prance, and dart away when we want to scoop her up, and play with absolutely anything within her reach--which means we’re ultra careful about what’s in her vicinity.
So what does my ostensible excuse for adopting Mystie think of her? Well, Lexie isn’t sure yet. She’s not as well socialized as her alter ego, the tricolor Cavalier in my Kendra Ballantyne, Pet-Sitter mysteries who, unsurprisingly, is also named Lexie. Kendra’s Lexie is always out and about with other dogs, and she unstintingly makes friends with them.
My Lexie is generally intimidated by other dogs. But she’s not intimidated by Mystie, no matter how much Mystie lunges at her to play, chews at her ears, or barks her little squeaky barks at her. Lexie’s confused sometimes, curious other times, probably a bit jealous, and not necessarily interested in her new friend... yet. But Lexie’s just getting a taste of her own medicine, since she was the same way a little less than five years ago with Sparquie, the Cavalier we lost last year. Sparquie and she eventually became good friends, although Sparquie was always the alpha in their pack. But when Sparquie started losing her hearing, Lexie was the one to let her know if there was another dog barking or something else she might be interested in.
I suspect, as time goes on, Lexie will start to appreciate being alpha in her new pack. In any event, we’re still giving her lots of attention and love.
Although I don’t intend to show Mystie, she comes from champions--Covenant Cavaliers. We got to meet her beautiful parents as well as some adorable siblings and half-siblings.
I’ve seen comments on an Internet loop for Cavalier aficionados where I lurk about how some people don’t understand why anyone would choose a breed whose main purpose in life is to love and be loved--in other words, they’re not necessarily watch dogs, and certainly aren’t guard dogs or hunters (thank heavens!) despite being spaniels. I can’t imagine a purpose that’s any more perfect!
What about you--what do you expect out of your dogs or other pets?
Anyway, we definitely welcome Mystie. I’ll let you know, now and then, about how Lexie and she progress in their new pack relationship. And will Kendra and her Lexie have a Mystie in their future? Not in the immediate future... but perhaps someday.
--Linda
That’s right. We brought a new puppy into our household. She’s 8 weeks old, and her name is Mystie, short for Mystique. I generally like to work the letter Q into my doggy names since the kennel name I use for the very rare litters of Cavaliers I breed is Ubiquity.
Mystie’s the Cavalier coloration called Blenheim: chestnut and white. She’s tiny and already full of determination to get into everything she can. It’s a challenge to wear her out so she’ll sleep while I’m writing. Or even at night, since she’ll wake up and cry in her crate until she’s taken outside. At least she’s well on the way to being housebroken. She loves to prance, and dart away when we want to scoop her up, and play with absolutely anything within her reach--which means we’re ultra careful about what’s in her vicinity.
So what does my ostensible excuse for adopting Mystie think of her? Well, Lexie isn’t sure yet. She’s not as well socialized as her alter ego, the tricolor Cavalier in my Kendra Ballantyne, Pet-Sitter mysteries who, unsurprisingly, is also named Lexie. Kendra’s Lexie is always out and about with other dogs, and she unstintingly makes friends with them.
My Lexie is generally intimidated by other dogs. But she’s not intimidated by Mystie, no matter how much Mystie lunges at her to play, chews at her ears, or barks her little squeaky barks at her. Lexie’s confused sometimes, curious other times, probably a bit jealous, and not necessarily interested in her new friend... yet. But Lexie’s just getting a taste of her own medicine, since she was the same way a little less than five years ago with Sparquie, the Cavalier we lost last year. Sparquie and she eventually became good friends, although Sparquie was always the alpha in their pack. But when Sparquie started losing her hearing, Lexie was the one to let her know if there was another dog barking or something else she might be interested in.
I suspect, as time goes on, Lexie will start to appreciate being alpha in her new pack. In any event, we’re still giving her lots of attention and love.
Although I don’t intend to show Mystie, she comes from champions--Covenant Cavaliers. We got to meet her beautiful parents as well as some adorable siblings and half-siblings.
I’ve seen comments on an Internet loop for Cavalier aficionados where I lurk about how some people don’t understand why anyone would choose a breed whose main purpose in life is to love and be loved--in other words, they’re not necessarily watch dogs, and certainly aren’t guard dogs or hunters (thank heavens!) despite being spaniels. I can’t imagine a purpose that’s any more perfect!
What about you--what do you expect out of your dogs or other pets?
Anyway, we definitely welcome Mystie. I’ll let you know, now and then, about how Lexie and she progress in their new pack relationship. And will Kendra and her Lexie have a Mystie in their future? Not in the immediate future... but perhaps someday.
--Linda
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Now Here's a HAT!
People who know me know I love hats. One of the hardest parts about downsizing for our recent move to a smaller place was selling or giving away some of my many hats. I still have about two dozen. I am going to try to attach to this entry a photograph we took in Mexico City, in the wonderful Museum of Anthropology. It is a reproduction of the feathered headdress of Moctezuma (I understand that’s the new proper spelling; I learned it as Montezuma). He was the ruler of the Aztec empire when the Spanish arrived. The Aztecs thought Cortez, their leader, might be a god. They devised a test, bringing out assorted closed chests and signing that Cortez should pick one to open. Cortez picked the one that had this marvelous feathered concoction in it, the one only a king was permitted to wear, and they knew he must be a god.
If I can't get it to attach, go to my website, Monica-Ferris.com, and hunt it down there -- it's worth the trip!
Anyway, the feathers are iridescent tail feathers from a South American bird, and they seem to glow with an inner light. I can just see myself striding up the aisle of my church on Easter Sunday morning in that hat. Or coming into a gathering to sign my newest book. That would be even more spectacular than the gold-net-covered object I wore last Christmas, the one that looks like a cross between a Christmas-pageant angel and a Brillo pad.
Because I write mysteries, I wonder how Cortez might have known to select that chest. Was it because the Aztecs who carried the chests to him treated that one with special care? Was it because someone told Cortez in advance to pick that particular chest, and if so who? And why? I think the simplest solution is the right one; the people who knew which chest held the feathered headdress treated it like a group of Catholic priests might treat a chest in which lay hidden a consecrated host. Just walk along the row kicking each chest in turn, and listen for the half-stifled intake of breath when you get to That One.
If I can't get it to attach, go to my website, Monica-Ferris.com, and hunt it down there -- it's worth the trip!
Anyway, the feathers are iridescent tail feathers from a South American bird, and they seem to glow with an inner light. I can just see myself striding up the aisle of my church on Easter Sunday morning in that hat. Or coming into a gathering to sign my newest book. That would be even more spectacular than the gold-net-covered object I wore last Christmas, the one that looks like a cross between a Christmas-pageant angel and a Brillo pad.
Because I write mysteries, I wonder how Cortez might have known to select that chest. Was it because the Aztecs who carried the chests to him treated that one with special care? Was it because someone told Cortez in advance to pick that particular chest, and if so who? And why? I think the simplest solution is the right one; the people who knew which chest held the feathered headdress treated it like a group of Catholic priests might treat a chest in which lay hidden a consecrated host. Just walk along the row kicking each chest in turn, and listen for the half-stifled intake of breath when you get to That One.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Welcome, March -- Women's History Month
Check this out: Ann Parker blogged yesterday about 19th century women and their occupations. According to an 1880 census, 52 women claimed "prostitute" as a career, but only 1 writer (a journalist) appears on the list.
Which brings me (please bear with the loose segue) to women mystery writers.
I remember reading an early Sara Paretsky/V.I. Warshawski novel. The details escape me, but I know I held my breath while V.I. was being knocked around, rolled into a ditch, and hit over the head. It was the first time I'd encountered a female investigator who underwent the same rough treatment as all the male PIs I'd read.
Now there are so many of "us," it's no longer a surprise when a female protagonist holds her own in an action sequence, or when a female mystery writer turns out prose no less gritty than the guy down the block.
But what, if any, are the differences between male and female protagonists when it comes to crime novels? I've seen blogs about how women humanize victims better than men do, how they explore motivation more thoroughly or have a keener sense of justice.
Really?
Monday, March 3, 2008
You Can Get LUCKY...Really LUCKY!
I think I live a charmed life. Really I do. And now my good fortune can rub off on you. (Uh, that rhymed, didn’t it?)
You—or a friend— can enter our Box O’Books Contest with a value of more than $150 (yes, I added another book over the weekend)—but there’s more. The lovely folks at Mrs. Grossman’s Stickers have offered another prize: A selection of their stickers with a $50 Retail Value. So now we have two contests with two super prizes, and all you have to do is sign in to this blog before March 17, 2008 which is St. Patrick’s Day. On March 18, 2008, we’ll draw choose two email addresses from the folks signed in, and notify you whether you’ve won the Box O’Books or the Mrs. Grossman’s Stickers. You’ll have 48 hours to respond, and then we’ll move on to another person signed in.
So tell all your friends! They can sign up, too, and maybe they’ll share.
Meanwhile, what can you do with stickers? Glad you asked…
1. Decorate a card like the one here. If you go to http://www.mrsgrossmans.com/stickerideas/ you’ll see the card, and instructions, as well as a link to templates you can use to make your own version of the card.
2. Decorate kids’ lunch bags or any plain gift bag. You can buy solid colored gift bags at WalMart or dollar stores and jazz them up with stickers.
3. Decorate a thin strip of cardstock--say 2" x 6" or 2" x 7"-- punch a hole in one end and thread ribbon through that, and use it as a bookmark.
I’ll share other ideas next week. Meanwhile, tell your friends about the contest. I truly believe that sharing makes all of us more lucky!
You—or a friend— can enter our Box O’Books Contest with a value of more than $150 (yes, I added another book over the weekend)—but there’s more. The lovely folks at Mrs. Grossman’s Stickers have offered another prize: A selection of their stickers with a $50 Retail Value. So now we have two contests with two super prizes, and all you have to do is sign in to this blog before March 17, 2008 which is St. Patrick’s Day. On March 18, 2008, we’ll draw choose two email addresses from the folks signed in, and notify you whether you’ve won the Box O’Books or the Mrs. Grossman’s Stickers. You’ll have 48 hours to respond, and then we’ll move on to another person signed in.
So tell all your friends! They can sign up, too, and maybe they’ll share.
Meanwhile, what can you do with stickers? Glad you asked…
1. Decorate a card like the one here. If you go to http://www.mrsgrossmans.com/stickerideas/ you’ll see the card, and instructions, as well as a link to templates you can use to make your own version of the card.
2. Decorate kids’ lunch bags or any plain gift bag. You can buy solid colored gift bags at WalMart or dollar stores and jazz them up with stickers.
3. Decorate a thin strip of cardstock--say 2" x 6" or 2" x 7"-- punch a hole in one end and thread ribbon through that, and use it as a bookmark.
I’ll share other ideas next week. Meanwhile, tell your friends about the contest. I truly believe that sharing makes all of us more lucky!
Saturday, March 1, 2008
I think I know who that is...
Today at the coffee shop, the lean guy in gym sweats smiled at me. The usually dour-faced woman giggled. The leather-vested Harley dude nudged his friend and pointed. I didn’t get it. Was Starbucks putting something funny in the coffee today? Was I looking particularly fetching? Maybe someone was behind me throwing up devil horns.
Then I realized what was making the patrons smile in my direction. I’d forgotten what I was wearing. A present from Beth, my critique partner, the sweatshirt reads: “Careful, or you’ll end up in my novel.”
And it’s true, you might. But I guarantee you won’t know it’s you.
Folks reading my book might think they recognize the characters. I hope so. My characters are meant to act like real people. But no one in my book is based on a real person.
Let me lay your fears to rest. First of all, most of the true stories I’ve been told are too unbelievable to be put in a novel. I really can’t have a character as snotty as your mother-in-law. No one would believe her antics. Truth is stranger than fiction, as the saying goes. Like most clichés, there’s something to that. And I’m writing fiction. The truly bizarre has no place in my stories. Besides, real life is full of coincidences and happenstance, two devices I’m no longer entitled to use.
That’s not to say I don’t steal from you. A tick, a way of moving through the world, a manner of dress. Those fabulous earrings. I might even quote you, although that’s usually without realizing it.
Author Cornelia Read says that she writes about things that make her mad. That’s true for me too. While her anger is reserved for people doing truly heinous things to the young and innocent, mine are more of the 11-things-in-the-grocery-line variety. I use that aggravation and give it to one of my characters.
There’s no question that writing is a great release. It feels wonderful to knock someone down a peg. Someone, who in real life, you have to sit down across the table from. Or work with. Or worse yet, live with. It’s good for the spirit. I’m sure it keeps down the actual murder rate.
Justice is mine. I can really sock it to the crabby salesperson or the long-ago boss who thought my time wasn’t as valuable as hers. Since I’m writing about murder, I can even kill that person off.
So if you cut me off on the highway, or insult my sister’s baby or spit in my soup, I will have the last laugh. You’ll never know. If your hair is red, I’ll make it blonde. If you’re a guy, I’ll give you a big shelf of a bosom. Swedish, Armenian. You get the idea.
What that sweatshirt might have said: Careful, you might end up DEAD in my novel.
Then I realized what was making the patrons smile in my direction. I’d forgotten what I was wearing. A present from Beth, my critique partner, the sweatshirt reads: “Careful, or you’ll end up in my novel.”
And it’s true, you might. But I guarantee you won’t know it’s you.
Folks reading my book might think they recognize the characters. I hope so. My characters are meant to act like real people. But no one in my book is based on a real person.
Let me lay your fears to rest. First of all, most of the true stories I’ve been told are too unbelievable to be put in a novel. I really can’t have a character as snotty as your mother-in-law. No one would believe her antics. Truth is stranger than fiction, as the saying goes. Like most clichés, there’s something to that. And I’m writing fiction. The truly bizarre has no place in my stories. Besides, real life is full of coincidences and happenstance, two devices I’m no longer entitled to use.
That’s not to say I don’t steal from you. A tick, a way of moving through the world, a manner of dress. Those fabulous earrings. I might even quote you, although that’s usually without realizing it.
Author Cornelia Read says that she writes about things that make her mad. That’s true for me too. While her anger is reserved for people doing truly heinous things to the young and innocent, mine are more of the 11-things-in-the-grocery-line variety. I use that aggravation and give it to one of my characters.
There’s no question that writing is a great release. It feels wonderful to knock someone down a peg. Someone, who in real life, you have to sit down across the table from. Or work with. Or worse yet, live with. It’s good for the spirit. I’m sure it keeps down the actual murder rate.
Justice is mine. I can really sock it to the crabby salesperson or the long-ago boss who thought my time wasn’t as valuable as hers. Since I’m writing about murder, I can even kill that person off.
So if you cut me off on the highway, or insult my sister’s baby or spit in my soup, I will have the last laugh. You’ll never know. If your hair is red, I’ll make it blonde. If you’re a guy, I’ll give you a big shelf of a bosom. Swedish, Armenian. You get the idea.
What that sweatshirt might have said: Careful, you might end up DEAD in my novel.
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