My Sisters

I awakened to the sound of my sisters laughing.

And I thought I was in Vincennes, Indiana, again. I reached down to touch my bedspread, a faded chenille. I squinted to see by the light of my aquarium, the one we bought in Evansville after I saved my allowance for months. I listened for the clink-clink-clink of Lady’s dog tags, as she walked from room to room, her beagle nose sniffing and her loving brown eyes taking us in. And I could smell the damp of the basement stairs which ran alongside the wall of the room we shared.

The sparkle of their laughter drifted up to me as I lay in my bed. Jane and Meg, my little sisters. We were here, all here, together in the same house, waking up under the same roof for the first time in years.


JANE ARRIVES

When Jane was born, my father told me, “Now you have a little sister. You’re responsible for her.” I was only three at the time, and it was a heavy responsibility. When she went back to the hospital after being diagnosed as anemic, I prayed, “God, I don’t know who this ‘Janie’ character is, but I hope she’ll be all right.” I remember that I was trying to be good by putting my shoes away. I said my prayer as I stared at the head-and-shoulders of hanging doll whose torso was a series of pockets. Grandma Marge had made the organizer. It was blonde like me, a preview of all of us “Campbell girls.”

THEN ALONG COMES MARGARET...

When Margaret was born, my father said, “She’ll be the best thing that ever happened to this family. You’ll see.” I had heard my mother tell a friend, “I want a baby so badly I can taste it.” I wasn’t sure why you’d taste a baby, and I hoped I’d find out. Margaret was breech, so Mom had to kneel butt-up on the floor for hours so she’d turn. Margaret obliged, and quickly then changed her mind and went back to her original position. Because I was ten, a ripe old age, I was in charge of carrying the basket of her diapers downstairs to our basement and putting them in the washer. The fates intervened briefly when the Kenmore motor burned out, sending the smell of burning rubber billowing through our house.

I did, and have, felt responsible for Jane and Margaret most of my life. Wrongly, I know, because they are both fabulous, capable women.

And I awakened to the sound of their laughter because they’d flown here, from their home in Florida, to care for me.

So I wasn’t in Vincennes. I wasn’t in that little house where I grew up. I wasn’t waking up in that sad broken-down two bedroom rental, with that warped screen door, featuring a prominent “S” for Springer, our landlord. I wasn’t back in that family of origin which draped such a heavy mantle of duty on my shoulders.

I was in my bed, hearing the arpeggio of my sisters’ laughter, trilling up and down. I was supposed to take care of them, but bless them, they came here to take care of me after my surgery on June 16. And as I lay there, and thought of them, and loved them, I thought, “It was worth the surgery just for this, this memory of hearing their laughter again."

**

THANK YOU

My thanks to so many of you for the kind wishes, the cards, the emails and of course, the prayers. Things were a little "rocky" for a while (don't worry, I'll tell all!) but I'm home and getting better every day. Please be patient, as it's taking me a bit to respond.

Still Good After All These Years

I sent in my manuscript for Death and Doilies on Monday and other than getting caught up on laundry and house cleaning, my number one priority was reading. I find it hard to read fiction when I’m writing and before I start my fourth book, I wanted to read about somebody else’s characters.

I have been so wrapped up in mystery I wanted to read something different. I have a personal history with the first book I chose. The first time I read it I was in seventh grade. Our class had its own library made up of castoffs of the school’s library. We might have been allowed to take the books home on the honor system. In any case I loved the beat up book with the red cover so much, I never brought it back. I still have it here somewhere.

Even though a movie was made of it – a very bad movie at that – I thought the book was out of print and unavailable. My old copy too beat up to be readable anymore, so I thought it was lost to me forever.

By chance I was talking to a friend recently about books written in the form of letters, which my seventh grade favorite was, and I thought of www.amazon.com And how easy it is to find needle in the haystack old books – after all I’d found a children’s book I’d adored as a kid called Amos and the Moon. It was long out of print, but I still managed to get a copy in good condition. So, I typed the title into the search box.

To my surprise, I found out it was a classic of sorts and had been re published and brand new copies were available with extra information about the author. Of course I ordered it. The book is called Daddy Long Legs by Jean Webster and was copyrighted in 1912. No, I’m not that old. Apparently when I read it in seventh grade it had been around a long, long time already.

I had to wonder how a book written almost one hundred years ago that I had last read in seventh grade would hold up. It’s the story of an eighteen year old young woman who grew up in a fondling home and is offered a college education by one of the trustees of the home. He wants to remain anonymous – she’s only caught a glimpse of him once as he was leaving and he reminds of her a daddy long legs spider. She’s to write him once a month to tell him about her studies.

The book is her letters to him. Once I started, I couldn’t stop reading. I loved it just as much now as I had in seventh grade. What a surprise. And there was even a mention of crochet.

Dead Men Don’t Crochet which comes out in December centers around Irish crochet. For anyone not familiar – Irish crochet is made with thread. It is most often has motifs of things like flowers or leaves that are joined into a collar or even a gown with crochet stitches so fine it’s hard to see them. It has a lacy appearance and got its start as a way for Irish woman to earn money during the potato famine. It also made lace type items available to more people as only very rich people could afford the Venetian lace it was based on.

In Daddy Long Legs, Judy (she’s the fondling/college student) talks about the clothes she gets a lot. It makes sense. After growing up wearing a uniform of blue gingham, who could blame her for getting excited about having gowns and lovely dresses. Her benefactor pays for her schooling and gives her a generous allowance so she won’t feel different than the other girls. She mentions getting things made of Irish crochet which at that time were contemporary. It was like seeing it from a different angle since when I was doing research, everything I looked at was old.

I guess maybe I didn’t get away from my writing as much as I thought. I have crochet on the brain. But it was nice to know that a book can hold up with time and be read by a seventh grader and someone way beyond and work for both ages. Wouldn’t we all like our books to be that good.

Chemical Reaction

I’ve blogged before about how much I love research. This week I learned about cyanotypes. What fun!

I talked to Linda Stemer, owner of Blueprintsonfabric.com. She treats fabric, silks and cottons, with chemicals (potassium ferricyanide and ferric salt, if you must know) so that a reaction will occur when exposed to sunlight. This is an old process,discovered right about the same time as photography. It’s how architectural blueprints were made before giant copy machines were around.

Check out Linda’s website and poke around. Especially interesting is her link to the NY Public Library and the cyanotypes of Anna Atkins, the first woman photographer. Using images from nature, she made hundreds of prints. The ghostly images over a century and a half old are haunting.

Of course when I heard of this process, I start thinking of ways to use it in a Quilting Mystery novel. My experiments and my talk with Linda had my mind buzzing. You will have to wait until the publication of Ocean Waves, however to find out how blueprinting helps Dewey solve a mystery.

Here’s a photographic journey of the process.


This is what the treated fabric looks like. Kind of a pretty green.



Place your object on the cloth. I used a doily and some balsa palm trees. Put in the sun. I did this toward the end of the day and still got great results. Summer in California, you gotta to love it. Except for the smoke and the drought, of course.




After a ten-fifteen minutes, take to sink and rinse until water runs clear. I never photographed running water before and did this by accident. Very artsy!



Let dry flat. Ta-da!

Fact or Fiction? Deadly "Toilet-lid spider" and other urban myths

Urban myths and legends. Ya gotta love ‘em.

A few years ago, I received a panicked-sounding email from a friend of mine, warning me about a venemous “Two-striped Telemonia Spider” that had been discovered lurking under the toilet lids in public bathrooms. I forwarded the email to my sister, who quickly informed me that the Two-striped Telemonia Spider is an urban myth.

She sent me to a web site called http://www.snopes.com/, where she’d checked out the story. Now, every time I read a scare story about some new threat or disease, it’s the first site I check out.

Here are are some of my favorite urban myths—click the links to the Snopes web site to find out whether they’re true or false.

A Killer Brew

More than a half-dozen people died in a beer flood in the 1800’s. Fact or Fiction?

Water woes

Reusing plastic water bottles can cause them to release carcinogenic toxins. Fact or Fiction?

The Case of the Vanishing Thighs

Thieves are stealing women’s thighs and replacing them with oatmeal (Okay, no matter what they say about this one, it really happened to me!). Fact or Fiction?

Penguins Need Sweaters

Following oil spills, crafters are asked to knit sweaters for oil-covered penguins. True or False?

The Freshest Loaf

You can tell which day a loaf of bread was baked by the color of its plastic twist tag. Fact or Fiction?

What about you? Have you been snookered into believing an urban myth, or discovered that something bizarre was actually true?

Personality Puppy

Yesterday was Mystie’s six-month birthday. Mystie (short for Mystique) is my younger Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. We adopted her about 4 months ago, and she has been an absolute delight--as well as a real canine character.

I’ve been owned by Cavaliers for many years, and I have to say that Mystie is definitely unique. She’s cute, but that’s a given for Cavaliers. She’s the Blenheim coloration--white and red--although her fur is still puppy-short. Even so, her ears are growing into fluffy and long Cavalier ears.

It’s her personality, though, that’s so winning. We got her partly because Lexie, who is five years old now, became very needy after we lost her dear Cavalier friend Sparquie last year. Mystie and Lexie get along famously. I don’t think Lexie has much choice. Mystie always goads her into playing by chewing on her ears and growling. Lexie retaliates by chasing Mystie, or stealing Mystie’s favorite toy of the moment and playing with it herself. They generally make every night a two dog night, curling up together no matter what the temperature is.

Mystie is the first Cavalier I’ve had who doesn’t immediately wolf down her food. I’m sure she’s not starving, since I do reward good behavior by treats, and she seems happiest with her evening meals when I give her a little canned food with her kibble. But she doesn’t like eating only dry food, which is, I believe, healthier for her. We’ve tried a couple of different puppy foods, and she’s more inclined to eat them if we put some pieces on the floor for her. And, no, it’s not the shape of her bowl that bothers her, since we’ve tried changing that, too. We have to keep Lexie away from Mystie at mealtime, since Lexie eats her own food fast and then goes after Mystie’s. And, yes, I occasionally put a couple of pieces of Lexie’s food into Mystie’s bowl, and they get gobbled first.

Mystie’s favorite pastime is playing Renfield (as in Dracula). She loves to chase flies. Not only that, but she also seems to think all reflections and shadows are kinds of insects to go after. She’s absolutely buggy over beams from a laser pointer, so much so that we’ve stopped using one around her since she’ll hunt for that “bug” for hours after it disappears, going into closets and under and behind furniture--anywhere a little creature could hang out, if it were real. Her housebreaking is not perfect, but she loves to go outside, especially into our dog run, to tear around after the insects buzzing there.

Then there’s her lovability. She leaps over furniture in a single bound. She jumps onto furniture occupied by me and stops, puts her paws around my neck, and starts kissing me.

Do you get the impression I love this pup. You’re right! Even so, my intention has always been for Lexie to be the alpha of their pack, and I encourage it. I also make sure that Lexie gets a whole lot of individual attention, since part of the point of getting Mystie was as a companion for Lexie, not to usurp her place in our household. I couldn’t possibly ignore Mystie, even if I wanted to, but Lexie is much more sensitive and will go off by herself if she thinks she’s being ignored--or if she thinks our scolding of Mystie for her sometimes inappropriate puppy ways is directed at Lexie. I make sure that Lexie is treated like the royalty she is, the primary pup of our family. She gets a whole lot of lap time, as much as she wants and sometimes when she doesn’t want it! Like right now, as I’m writing this. Of course she’s the first puppy love of this household.

Mystie knows some of the rudiments of doggy commands, but I hope to take her to puppy kindergarten soon. I don’t want to do anything that will change her cute personality, but she needs more limits, just like a child.

Lexie has always been inspirational in my Kendra Ballantyne, Pet-Sitter mysteries. She’s absolutely the star of my series, since Kendra’s owned by a Lexie, too. But don’t be surprised if Kendra happens to meet a Mystie sometime in the future...

What’s your favorite puppy or kitty story? And how inspirational are your pets to your writing... or reading?

--Linda

A Contest, A Character

I’ve been encouraged to offer a contest, but I couldn’t think what prize to offer. Then, going through our storage room and making a final sort of boxes left over from our move a year ago (!) I realized I still have rather a large quantity of quilting fabric. I’ve got my quilt, it’s beautiful, but I’m not going to make another. And here’s this lovely fabric, many varieties and colors with one theme: Chickens. Realistic chickens, cartoon chickens, artistic chickens, big and little. Even eggs and chicken wire. Black and white, bright colors, pastels. I don't know how many yards, maybe four? A couple of pounds, anyway. Some cut into squares, others in fat-quarter size.

If you would like this fabric, write and tell me why. Twenty-five words or less. I’ll even pay postage.

Go to my website, Monica-Ferris.com, and contact me through that. Contest ends July 31, 2008.
All writers know the phenomenon: a character in a book suddenly rising and taking over the reins of his or her role from the author. Disconcerting and sometimes exciting – but sometimes it’s annoying. I have been inventing a new boyfriend for my gay character Godwin. Goddy lost his long-time lover quite a few books back, and was accused of his murder. Of course he didn’t do it, Betsy proved that. But since he got over the shock and mourning, he’s been kind of playing the field, date-wise. I have finally decided he needs to settle down, find someone really nice who is also good for him – and whom he can be good for. I came up with this gorgeous young man named Rafael Centillas, a naturalized American citizen born in Mexico. He was supposed to be aloof on the surface but kind and funny underneath. Sweet and perhaps a trifle shy. But the guy who walked into the needlework shop in this scene I’m working on is self-assured and just the teensiest bit abrasive. Fortunately, he still really likes Godwin. I think Godwin likes him, too.
I like a character who knows his own mind, and who will grow into a role in a book. But it’s annoying how, after two dozen novels, I can still lose control over a character right at the start. I’m tempted to tear down that scene in the novel and start it again. Re-boot, so to speak. But maybe I should just let him have his head, at least for awhile.

To stet or not to stet

One of the last entries on my list of "things I wish I'd majored in" is copyediting. It's a tough job, requiring intense attention to detail while not losing sight of the bigger picture.

I do a decent job of submitting a clean manuscript, I think, proofreading meticulously. But, in the end I count on the copyeditor to not fall asleep during the Check for Quotation Marks run-through.

For the most part, I OK every suggestion the copyeditor makes. Only rarely have I used my power of STET.

Here are three instances:

1. The protagonist of my first series is Italian-American from a working class family (read, her father was a laborer). She refers to her parents as "my mother" and "my father." One copyeditor early on in the series wanted to change all those references to "my mom" and "my dad." STET, I cried!

If Gloria (or I) had ever said "Mom" or "Dad," we would have been accused of "acting as if you're too good for Revere" and forced to make the Stations of the Cross for penance.

2. I made a reference in one of my periodic table mysteries to a famous (to physicists) 1935 paper by Einstein, Podolsky, and Rosen. In the margin, the copyeditor wrote: Was able to locate Einstein; cannot locate Podolsky or Rosen.

I couldn't help wondering how long it took her to locate Einstein.

3. On another occasion, I mentioned Gloria's favorite candy: See's chocolate-covered raisins. The copyeditor wrote in the margin: on their website, See's doesn't sell chocolate-covered raisins.

Now, I know my See's. I was ready to write a long post-it about how they may not sell them on the website, but they are featured in their stores. My husband, an engineer always ready with the most practical solution, said, "Why don't you just send him some?"

So I did – I sent one pound of See's chocolate-covered raisins to my copyeditor and one to my editor. I've been a favorite ever since.

What are your copyedit stories? Do you look forward to reading the red or blue marks? Do any of you readers wish you could make your own copyedit marks?

Old wives' tales

By Shirley Damsgaard

I spent a goodly part of my childhood on a farm, in Iowa, and everyone around me seemed old! My mother had been nearing forty when I was born, all my aunts and uncles were in their fifties and sixties, and my grandfather was over eighty. (Of course now that I’m of that “certain age”, my views on getting older have changed, but back then, everyone seemed ancient!)

Now what does one have to do with another? Well, because my entire family were farmers and had grown up in a different era than all my little friends’ relations, people in my family appeared to know “stuff” that my friends’ parents didn’t. They knew if the underside of the leaves on a tree were showing, rain was on the way. They knew when the cattle and horses grew heavy coats, fall was coming to an end and it would be an early winter. They knew that one hundred days after a fog, you’d have rain. My elders had spent their youth in a world without central heating, telephones, and before the coming of the rural electric cooperatives, electricity. They didn’t have the weather man telling them when a storm front was moving in, or if snow was expected. And because their livelihood was tied to the land, they paid attention to signs and The Farmer’s Almanac. Yes, folks, I’m talking old wives’ tales, and my family had hundreds of them!!! And most of them seemed to deal with luck, and/or, the weather.

Here are some of my favorites:
Opening an umbrella in the house is bad luck.
If you wean calves in the dark of the moon, they won’t bawl for their mamas.
Never put a hat on a bed.
If your ears burn, someone’s talking about you…if you nose itches, you’ll kiss a fool.
Never light three cigarettes with the same match.
Spilling salt is bad luck and to remove it, you must toss a pinch over your left shoulder.
If it rains on Easter Sunday, it will rain the next seven Sundays in a row.
Carrying a buckeye brings good luck.
Goosebumps mean someone just walked over your grave. (Honestly, as a child—that one never made a lot of sense to me. After all, how could someone step on your grave if you weren’t dead yet??)
It’s bad luck to walk under a ladder.
Potatoes must be planted on Good Friday.

And last, but not least, my favorite and one I truly believe in:
People act strange around the time of a full moon.

Oh, I forgot one. When I was pregnant with my oldest son, I decided to make sauerkraut.(Looking back now—I don’t know why I did it, but it must’ve seemed like a good idea at the time!) I think I put up about thirty jars of the stuff. The next day, I called my mother and proudly related my accomplishment to her. Unfortunately her response was “You know they won’t seal.”

“What?” I replied, thinking of all that hard work going to waste. “Why not?”

“You’re pregnant,” she said, “sauerkraut doesn’t seal for pregnant women.”

Now what the seals on Mason jars had to do with bouncing hormones was beyond me, and I was getting this advice from a woman who thought talking to her houseplants made them grow, but I didn’t argue. A few months later, I discovered that yes, indeed, the seals on at least half the jars had failed! Pregnant or not, I never made sauerkraut again!

So what are some of your favorite old wives’ tales?

Be the first to email Shirley c/o Joanna’s email at savetales@aol.com and we’ll mail you a magnet with Old Wives’ Tales on them.

**
Shirley is the author of the Ophelia and Abby Mystery Series. Her new book The Witch’s Grave is scheduled for release December 2008. Visit her at www.shirleydamsgaard.com

L.A. When It Sizzles

Like Terri, I am going to be on the short side this week.

I have been back from Chicago for a week and it seems I went from the steam bath to the oven. Not that I have had time to notice since I am in the homestretch of finishing my third crochet mystery. It is either titled DEATH AND DOILIES or UNRAVELING THE CROCHET CODE.

I have been hovering over my computer non stop all week and have pretty much forgotten what day it is.. I did watch the news last night, or I think it was last night. and the weather man predicted something like 110 for Woodland Hills which is the next community over in the San Fernando Valley. It’s usually a little cooler here, which today probably meant 109.

It’s been too hot to want to go anywhere or do anything, which has made the week long hovering easier. I usually go to the gym almost every day, but this week I’ve been skipping. It was too hot even for yoga.. Thank heavens for sugar free popsicles.

Any crocheting I’ve done this week has been strictly related to the book. This book features filet crochet which is done with thread and is light and airy. It’s perfect hot weather crochet.. This is not the time to have a wool afghan draped over your lap while you finish the fringe.

My big news of the week is I am going to be talking about HOOKED ON MURDER, the first of my Berkley Prime Crime crochet themed mystery series live Wednesday morning June 25, on the AM Show on www.cableradionetwork.com It airs from 7:00 a.m. to 8:00 a.m. pacific time and is encored 9:00 a.m. to 10:00 a.m. and 12:00 a.m. to 1:00 a.m.

My thoughts have been on the Midwest and the flooding. For the past four summers or so, right around this time I have gone to Iowa City to the Summer Writing Festival at the University of Iowa. I have always stayed at Iowa House which is part of the student Union and right on the Iowa River. I have always requested a room with a river view and enjoyed sitting by the river watching the fireflies come out as it got dark.

It is one thing to see pictures on the news, it’s different when you’ve been there.

Maybe next week

I had a brilliant idea for this blog. Witty, insightful, relevant. The words flowed easily and the post practically wrote itself. All of the readers were just so happy to stop by and get a dose of my particular brand of reality.

And then I woke up.

My problem with blogging right now is that I'm in having difficulty surfacing from my writing world. Ocean Waves is due at the end of the month, and I am spending all my time with Dewey and friends at Asilomar. The California coast alternates between brilliant sunshine and creepy fog. Dewey is hot on the trail of the bad guys, Buster is nearby yet inaccessible,and Kym...Oh poor, Kym.

That is the dream I cannot wake from. Not just yet.

P.S. I will be signing Wild Goose Chase in the real world. Wednesday, June 25th at Barnes and Noble in the Pruneyard in Campbell, CA at 7 pm. And Friday from 1-4pm at Always Quilting in San Mateo during Shop Hop by the Bay. Come see me.

Dating, cougar-style

Let’s talk about dating and “cougars”—also known as women over fifty.

No matter what side of the golden-birthday suit you wear, doesn’t the mere sound of that subject make you wince?

In my circle, no matter how Zen we are about turning forty, the big Five-Oh is a whole ‘nother story. Fifty prompts a reaction that sounds a bit like a big cat hocking up a hairball. Hah-yack! It’s a tough dating market out there, especially for women who have to restart a long-dormant dating career due to divorce or other sudden bout of singledom. Men’s dating stock seems to increase in value with age, but we women often find ourselves stuck in a bear market. Or a depression.

During my recent college reunion, dating was a hot topic. During one of our late-night chatfests in the common room (a tribal ritual that involved the imbibing of copious amounts of spirit juice), a recent divorcee posed the following question: “How do I start the whole dating thing again?”

I leaned forward and offered up a tip from Mimi Morgan, a character in The Fat City Mysteries.

“Here’s a dirty little secret about men,” I said. “Men are all about packaging. You gotta take what you got and vamp it up.”

My theory was rejected by a unanimous round of head-shaking. This amazed me. Call me a plastic surgery junkie, call me a shallow-head resident of La-La Land, but I thought all women knew this basic fact about the male species—men's initial reaction to a woman is based on appearance. After that comes love and feelings (hopefully), but here’s the ugly truth: Looks. Do. Matter.

Here’s how one of my characters describes the Four Cycles of Love: 1) Breaking up; 2) Losing weight; 3) Plastic surgery; 4) Starting a new relationship.

Okay, so that character is really shallow. But she has a point. Back when we were in our thirties, to get prepared for dating we thought mostly about getting in shape, plus maybe buying some new clothes and make-up. When we’re over fifty, we may require a little extra intervention. I’m not talking about Sex and the City or face-lifts, but I am suggesting that we need to redress Mother Time in whatever way that works. It may be a little collagen or Botox, or yoga classes, but here’s the bottom line: you’ve got to look like you still like to do it. And that may involve pushing beyond our comfort zones.

In my own case, nothing makes me happier than a day when I’m alone in the house and I can settle into what Oprah calls “schlumpadinka” mode. Sweats, tee shirt, no makeup—you may know the routine.

Some weeks after our wedding date, when I first emerged in full schlumpadinka splendor, I looked at my husband and said, “Oh honey, I’m so sorry.” I realized he’d never actually seen me look like that before; I’d always been in dating mode. Poor guy. It was too late to back out—he’d already walked down the aisle.

Then, when I had to get some publicity event a couple of years ago, I reverted right back to dating-preparation mode. I took a hard look at some candid shots, then picked up the phone and dialed my best friend’s plastic surgeon for a consult. (This is LA, after all. We all have friends who have plastic surgeons.)

Two rounds of fat grafts, one eye lift, a professional photographer and one make-up artist later, I considered it all to be worth the trouble. Men didn’t cherchez le frump when we were twenty years old, and they definitely don’t when we’re fifty. But some women disagree that we should have to play that game.

“He should like me for who I am,” they object.

Well, yes, but consider this update from the dating battlefront: Every Friday night, my tiny seaside turns into a hunting ground for YOPPS (Young People on the Prowl). The town’s many bars fill with guys jammed in with girls who teeter around the boardwalk in tight skirts and stilettos. The only women over forty are the bemused married matrons who actually live in the town; all the Happily Marrieds are dressed in sweats and comfortable walking shoes.

But if one of those Happily Marrieds becomes a Suddenly Single when she’s fifty, she might want to refresh her dating memory with a couple of lessons from her YOPP sister.

Lesson 1: Cleavage never hurts.

Lesson 2: Stilettos hurt, but they often help.

What about you? Do you have any tips for reentering the dating game, at any age? Anything to avoid?

Working Dogs

The American Kennel Club identifies dog breeds by group. One is the Working Group. But that’s not what I’m blogging about today. No, I want to cheer on the actual working dogs, dogs who fulfill a function that helps people, which people can’t necessarily do for themselves.

Some working dogs are companion dogs. There is at least one organization that provides canine assistance to people with emotional issues, such as post-traumatic stress syndrome. I can easily believe that people in difficult emotional situations are helped at least a little by hugging a non-judgmental canine companion who’s always delighted to be with them. Other dogs visit hospitals or hospices to help cheer up the patients, if only temporarily. I’ve also saved articles about local senior citizen homes where the seniors aren’t the only residents. Sometimes they’re permitted to bring their own pets, and other times the pets are there thanks to the homes’ management who understand that older folks who may have lost friends and family can be cheered tremendously by a happy pup.

Then there are the dogs who use their noses for people’s sake. Just this week, the news reported that a cadaver dog located the remains of a woman who had been missing for eight years. It was definitely not a good situation, but at least her poor family might reach closure now. Authorities brought the well-trained dog to the Mojave Desert, where he indicated interest in a particular spot. Sure enough, when the people dug, they found what the dog had scented.

Especially poignant these days are stories I read of military dogs who bond with their handlers in overseas assignments. Sometimes the soldiers ask to be buried with their dogs should they be killed while on duty. I’ve read that the dogs are sometimes given military ranks higher than their handlers’, both as an honor to the dogs for their devoted duty, and to ensure there would be some consequence to the handler should he or she mistreat his comrade in paws. Sometimes, the soldiers even work out a way to bring their canine partners home to the U.S. with them when their tour is over.

I write occasionally about working dogs in my Kendra Ballantyne, Pet-Sitter mystery series. Kendra’s pet-sitting assistant Rachel sometimes takes her dog Beggar to a senior citizens’ home to help cheer the residents. Others compete in reality shows. But I have more working canines in some of my upcoming Silhouette Nocturnes. ALPHA WOLF, the first one, which will be published in January 2009, includes military canines along with their human shapeshifting counterparts. The second one, to be published in June 2009, with the working title MORTAL OPTIONS, stars a lady cop who happens to have Valkyrie powers--and a K-9 partner.

Okay, so I love writing about dogs as much as I enjoy reading about them. But nothing compares with having them in the family!

What’s your favorite working dog story?

--Linda

Summer Fun

I’m going to a Saint Paul Saints game on Friday with two friends. Perhaps you’ve heard of this team. They are not major league, but they are whatever league it is that’s just under major. Our Minnesota Twins will occasionally pull a player from the Saints to join the Twins, or send one of their fading or misbehaving players to the Saints. I guess that makes the Saints a "farm team." Anyway, they play excellent baseball. I don’t go to Twins games, for several reasons. One is, they play indoors on artificial grass in a ballpark so huge you need binoculars to see anyone’s face. It reduces the event to a video game, distant and too perfect. The Saints play in a much smaller ballpark, outdoors, so we all get dusty and sometimes rained on and you can see the clenched faces and massive hands, and hear the grunts of effort when a ball is hit or thrown. The players are good; every game there is at least one play that brings the crowd to its feet.
And then there are the comic elements. The ball boy is a pig. No, not dirty – in fact, she is as pink and clean as it’s possible for a pig to get. She starts the season as a piglet, tempted to trot out to the pitcher’s mound by a man showing her a bottle. She is dressed in costume, a UPS shirt one inning, a tutu the next. Pigs grow fast; as the season draws to an end, the animal outweighs any of the players.
There are weird contests between innings, kids carrying liquids in tablespoons or rolling automobile tires in a race down and back along the third base line; adults dressing one another in gender-inappropriate, size extra-extra-extra-large clothing in a minute or less. Around the sixth inning there’s an Asian man who sings an old pop or disco song in a key of his own invention. There are weird prizes: if a named Saint slides into second base during the game, every person attending gets a coupon for a White Castle hamburger (which are popularly called "sliders"). A man in a parachute harness is hung on the right field wall; if a ball comes his way and he catches it, he wins ten thousand dollars. (Think about it. Right field fence, man unable to move left or right. I think that is the safest ten thousand dollars in the state.)
Then on Saturday I’m going to an ice cream social. We have these two great friends who make ice cream, sorbets, sherbets, and ices. Once each summer they fire up their great big grill and invite a great crowd of friends to come and grill their own meat, picnic on the lawn, and sample fabulous frozen desserts.
Which reminds me: Thursday I’m going down to Owatonna, about an hour south of the Cities, to visit Bob Larson on his cattle ranch and buy six or eight weeks’ worth of Scottish Highland meat. The cattle are those little creatures with long light-colored fur, bangs over their eyes, and horns a yard wide from tip to tip. They look like something out of a cave painting, and indeed they are a very ancient breed. Bob lets them run wild and chemical-free winter and summer. Now and again he’ll go round up two or three, fatten them for a week or so on corn, then send them to be butchered. It’s kind of strange to stand at a fence and look at them, beautiful and strange in the pasture, then go to the big old freezers in Bob’s garage and buy hamburger, steaks, roasts, and hot dogs made from their aunts, uncles and cousins. But I like that a whole lot better than the other choices.
Did I mention I’m not getting a whole lot of writing done this week?
I am just starting to set up a little book tour for Thai Die when it comes out in December. So far just two places locally and then The Mystery Bookstore in Omaha. Love that shop – and Kate takes her visiting authors out to dinner to a Bohemian restaurant just up the street. She has a "Stitch and Bitch" group that meets in the shop, and they’ll be in session the day I get there, December 13. Always fun, I’ll have to remember to bring a project along. If anyone has a suggestion for a place to stop along the way, or not too far out of it, let me know. And pray for good weather!

Searching For A Starry Night, A Miniature Art Mystery

by guest blogger, Chris Verstraete

Thanks, Camille for hosting me!

With miniatures in common, for fun, Camille (Margaret) and I decided to swap questions and appear at each other’s blogs today. Visitors can comment at both our blogs for a chance to win books and neat prizes!

Be sure to stop at Chris’ Candid Canine blog http://candidcanine.blogspot.com for a chance to win a signed copy of Searching For A Starry Night and the chance to win a miniature party table!

“Searching For A Starry Night” is my first published book. It released June 15 and can be ordered on line or through my website: http://cverstraete.com/Starry_Night.html

About the book
“Searching For A Starry Night” is a mystery for ages 10 –15 focusing on the search, by teens Sam and Lita, for a missing miniature replica of Van Gogh’s painting, “(The) Starry Night.” A spooky family legend, a friend’s mischievous Dachshund named Petey, a crabby housekeeper and a dog-hating gardener/handyman all help – or hinder – the girls in their search. See details and a sample chapter at http://cverstraete.com/Starry_Night.html.

What's your favorite part of your book?
I think one of my favorite parts, actually a paragraph, involves Sam’s observation of her canine friend, Petey, the mischievous little Dachshund who “helps” solve the mystery of the missing miniature Van Gogh painting (Try saying that fast!).

Sam sprawled on her cot with a pencil, opened the book, and started a puzzle. Lita fell onto her cot and scribbled in her notebook. Next to them, lying on his blankets on the floor, Petey snored and turned over on his back, sticking his legs up in the air. Sam tried not to giggle as he rolled over to his side, reminding her of a Vienna hot dog without a bun. All he needed was relish, she thought.

Tell us about you, the kinds of work you’ve done, and your collection.
I think I’ve been collecting forever, or at least it looks that way! (lol!) I have enough stuff saved and stashed for future projects that I could start my own store. I have many favorite pieces in my collection, but a recent addition is a fantastic miniature oil of Van Gogh’s “Starry Night” done by miniaturist Lucie Winsky. (See my blog, http://candidcanine.blogspot.com for more about the artist and the painting.)

I’ve had my share of jobs, too, waitress, newspaper reporter, freelance writer, waitress… notice a trend? Ha. I enjoy writing about all kinds of topics for various newspapers and magazines.

Is your main character someone you'd want to invite over to "play" and why?
I’d love to play with Sam and Lita! Actually I’d love to get a closer look at the housekeeper Mrs. Grace’s dollhouse collection if she’d let me. Well, actually I already know what many of her projects look like since most of her miniatures are based on things in my own collection.


What's in your character’s collection that you wish was yours - and will you make it in real life?
I did give crabby housekeeper Mrs. Drake a few other miniatures that I don’t have. She has a fantastic pink Victorian dollhouse that’s filled to the brim. I used to have a Victorian dollhouse that was painted lavender but it took up a whole wall in the living room. First house, so you know how that goes; we went overboard. We ended up taking it apart. (I hear all the miniaturists’ gasps. ha!)

What's your next mini project?
What isn’t in progress might be a better question, ha! I still have a Christmas tea shop sitting on my kitchen table partially done. Maybe I’ll finish it by next Christmas. I’m working on my witch’s greenhouse and have a witch’s bakery to do next. I never seem to finish on the given holiday, it seems. I want to make a Van Gogh studio, also. And never mind the other ideas that I’ve been saving things for. Photos of my miniatures can be seen by clicking miniatures at http://cverstraete.com.

Describe your dream mini project you hope to do one day.
I’ve love to do a house façade in a Tudor style with Paper Clay like Rik Pierce’s houses, http://www.frogmorton.com/ .I love the look of an exterior courtyard and façade in a roombox. I’d also like to do an elegant Brook Tucker type room http://www.brooketucker.com/ since most of my work is usually of more “everyday” type rooms.

How did you begin writing books? Your degree and education?
I have a journalism degree and write for newspapers and magazines, but fiction always drew me. I started writing short fiction and was having a lot of fun with it. Writing a book was a “to-do” for me, too. I have a couple adult mysteries in the works and a set of mystery stories I’ve been working on featuring Sam and Lita.

What inspired this mystery? Why’d you pick miniatures as a subject?
Family would say I eat, breathe and sleep miniatures. Ha! For the book, I thought a theft seemed the ideal crime to focus on.

Did you have a dollhouse (or other minis) in childhood - what did you have? What do you remember of it? What did you like about it?
Like most kids growing up in the 1950s, I had a metal dollhouse with plastic furniture. I don’t remember too much about it, though I do recall later not liking the house much. I think I was more of a “doll” person growing up. We always had stuffed animals. The Thumbelina doll was (and still is) my favorite. Now, I love to add dolls to my miniature rooms.

If a cyclone/fire/tsunami, etc were coming, what one miniature would you take with you when you evacuated and why? What is special about it?
I can’t pick one. I’d have to take all three: I loved planning my Tudor Tea Shoppe and my Teapot Shoppe. (Tiny teapots are addicting!) I also enjoyed planning the Raggedy Ann roombox. My Dogcatcher’s House was also fun to do. I like doing themed projects. I’d have to leave ahead as I’d have to bring other stuff like the miniature dolls, genealogy papers, and the real-life dog, too.

What have you made? What's in your collection?
Since you have a mortuary, I guess my haunted house is my comparable project. I’m a Stephen King fan and love scary movies, so it was great fun getting gory and coming up with strange ideas. And once I found a certain doll set on eBay, I knew I had to make an extra room for it. (Click photos on my website, http://cverstraete.com to see the haunted house. Warning: The back room is NOT for the touchy or squeamish!)

How'd you research your book?
I did do some reading on miniature art and Van Gogh, but didn’t want to get super technical in the book as I wanted it to be more of a light-hearted “fun” mystery.

What’s your craft background?
I’ve always been pretty artistic and crafty. I used to draw, too, and used to enjoy sitting on the radiator by the front window to sketch the houses across the street. I tried a lot of crafts. I think that’s why I enjoy dollhouses as you can do all kinds of different things for a project.

What’s next in your series is: name, release dates.
I don’t have a next –yet. I am working on a series of short mystery stories with Sam and Lita.

Have any funny moments doing miniatures?
I’m with you; I try to avoid the Super Glue. And as careful as I try to be, I always end up getting paint on a good shirt. I think my bad projects were so bad, they were best forgotten because I can’t think of one. Ha!

Describe your craftroom - where do you work on minis? Want to share a pic of your craftroom? C'mon show us!
I don’t have a specific room though I sure wish I did. I work at the kitchen table and am trying to keep things orderly (which never lasts!) I have things all over in my office and everywhere else.

This was fun! Thank you sooo much for hosting me!

Jane’s Time Management Strategy: Just Say No to Cookies

For many years, I was the official “cookie baker” for my family’s holiday get-togethers. Chocolate chip cookies were my specialty, but I dabbled in sugar, chocolate, apple, creamy fillings, and other gourmet styles, too.

As the years passed, and I became busier at work, I grew less entranced with the prospect of baking dozens of cookies under enormous time constraints. In fact, to me, baking cookies for the holidays became a duty, not a pleasure. Then came the year when I was up past midnight completing the task. I was irritated and snappy. The next day, I grumbled to my husband that this had to stop. “I’m too busy to bake all these
cookies!” I complained. And, cleverly, I thought, I asked him to call my mother and tell her that I was no longer going to bake cookies. He declined.

The next year, as cookie-baking time approached, I girded myself, picked up the phone and said, “Ma, I’ve made a decision. I’m just too busy. This year, I’m not going to bake cookies. I’m going to buy them instead.”

I’d expected a long, sad silence, followed by, “All right, dear,” or some similar, kindly worded phrase that left me feeling inadequate and guilty. Instead, do you know what my mother said? “Sounds smart!”

And in that one flash of a moment, I learned an important lesson. I learned that what I’d perceived as an obligation had never, in fact, existed at all. My family thought I liked baking cookies. And I did! I just didn’t like having to bake them. I’d volunteered once, then a second time, then a third, until finally it became an expected part of family get-togethers. I could have stopped any time, but I didn’t think I could The sense that it was a non-negotiable duty was all in my own head.

I recall that story a lot when I’m struggling with time management issues. I really, really want to spend my time doing things I value—not doing things other people value—or doing things because I think other people value them—or doing things that have become part of a tradition simply because they’re been done in the past.

That’s pretty unconventional thinking, I know. Most people value traditions for their own sake. I don’t. I value traditions for the deeper meaning they convey to me at that moment in time. And those deeper meanings shift as my circumstances and needs change.

For instance, I used to decorate like a wild woman for every holiday. I don’t anymore. For Halloween, as an example, I used to suspend paper skeletons from the ceiling in front of windows, adding backlighting so they’d glow eerily as they fluttered. To say nothing of the spiders and cobwebs and jack-o-lanterns! Now I put a few mini-pumpkins on the fireplace mantle and call it a day.

Why the change? I liked my big-time decorations—a lot. It was fun to do and fun to live with. I don’t do it anymore because I don’t need the joy the decorations provided to fill a void and I’d rather spend my time doing other things.

During the period when I’d decorated every nook and cranny of my apartment, I was enduring a tough time in my life—my mother had died, my brother had died, my beloved cat had died, and I’d gotten divorced after a 20-year marriage—all within a year or so. Decorating provided joy during a joyless time.

Things are different now. I’m happily remarried and doing work I adore. For the moment, all is well in my world.

In the Josie Prescott Antiques Mysteries, my protagonist, Josie Prescott, is an antiques appraiser who uses her knowledge of antiques to solve crimes.

Josie likes to cook. She uses the recipes her mother wrote out by hand in a leather bound book as she lay dying, part of her legacy to her beloved daughter. Josie likes it when the recipes take time. She doesn’t want to hurry when she cooks. To her, multiple steps and complex instructions mean that she gets to spend extra time with her mom.

That’s luxury! To be able to spend time as you choose.

All of Josie’s mom’s recipes are on my website: www.janecleland.net. (There are oodles of fun, free elements on the website in addition to the recipes, including several autographed book give-away drawings, an opportunity to pit your antiques appraisal skills against those of the experts in What’s It Worth? You Be the Judge, text and audio podcasts of excerpts, and book club discussion questions... and more. Sign up for the free newsletter, too!)

Time—we all have only so much of it. If you’re like me, you strive to spend it wisely, by your own definition of “wise.”

But if you bake cookies for the holidays, may I please have one?

Your thoughts? I’d welcome your comments.

Today's guest blogger, Jane K. Cleland, is the author of "Antiques To Die For." Visit her at www.janecleland.net

Signing in the Rain

There must be something about the combination of outdoor book signings, Chicago and me that courts disaster.
BLUE SCHWARTZ AND NEFERTITI’S NECKLACE came out in September. It takes place in my Chicago Hyde Park neighborhood and the release coincided with a local children’s book street fair. The fair was even sponsored by 57th Street Books which happened to be Blue’s favorite bookstore. It would seem that all the planets, or whatever it’s supposed to be, were in alignment.
I remember that afternoon thinking how this was to be my very first time on the other side of the signing table. My friend Judy Libby even drove up all the way from Springfield to share the moment.
My signing time was toward the end of the fair and it was to be at a table on the street. The sky was white, but non threatening so I wasn’t worried. This is no lie, but as Judy and I walked the two blocks to the fair, something happened in the last half a block. It started to pour. Not drizzle, not light rain – pour. The kind of rain where it seems someone unzipped the sky and let a deluge fall out.
By the time we reached the signing table, it was covered with a tarp and frantic people were carrying books inside. Most of the fair goers were fleeing for someplace dry. The bookstore people were very nice and moved my signing inside. Meanwhile Judy troweled the bookstore for customers. She found some wet girls waiting to be picked up. They were just the right age for the book and several of them got copies.
When the mother’s showed up and the only shoppers were a couple of men, Judy and I left and went out to dinner. When we walked outside, the rain had stopped and the puddles were already drying up.
Flash forward to last weekend and my first signing of another book in Chicago at a street fair. This time it was the Printers Row Fair which is held in the South Loop. Julie Hyzy, the president of the Chicago area chapter of Mystery Writers of America as nice enough to give me a signing slot for HOOKED ON MURDER, a crochet mystery in their booth.
The sun was shining when I arrived at the MWA sideless tent. I took my spot at the table and all four of us signers had a stack of books and a ready pen. Lots of people came by and many of them stopped. My friend Mike Caselman came by with his family. Things were looking good and books were moving and then the wind started. Someone mentioned a coming storm and that we should cover everything with plastic when it came. It was hard to believe bad weather was on the way. The sky was still blue, though there were some big clouds.
The thing they say about Chicago weather – if you don’t like it, wait a minute – is no joke. Within minutes the dark turned dark and ominous. The wind snapped all the tarps people were putting over their booths, and the doors on the porta potties blew open and shut. A garbage can did cartwheels past our booth.
And then it started to rain. No drizzle or a few wet spots, it went directly too pouring again. It was raining so hard, it honestly looked like a sheet of water.
We covered our table with plastic and bravely held our signing spots. Though by now most of the people going by were running.
When I looked around, there were clumps of people under the canopies, and huddled under building overhangs. We all had the same idea. It rains, it pours, it stops.
Not today.
When the lightening started, a fair official came by and told us we had to evacuate our booth. Apparently the metal rod sticking up in the middle did a good job of attracting lightening and could have fried us if we stayed put. I found an awning on a building and hung out with one of my signing mates.
Could it get worse? The tornado siren sounded and then I heard a lot of emergency type sirens in the distance. The woman from the next booth, also under our awning screamed every time the lightening flashed.
As the rain finally began to let it, there was another tornado siren, but this time further away. When the rain turned to drizzle and people began to come out of their shelters, I looked at my watch. My signing time was over. I headed for the train and went home.
It turned out there was a damaging tornado on the south end of the city.
The funny thing is if both signings had gone by without incident, they certainly wouldn’t have been as much of an adventure or given me anything to write about. Who ever wants to hear about a good time? I guess there is definitely something to be said for disaster. But next time I do a signing, I think I’ll try inside.

How quilting and writing are alike, volume a

Research for the writer is the equivalent of fabric buying for the quilter. A project reaches a point where you recognize you've got a gap. You don't have the right red, or the right action for your protag. So off you go to the library or fabric store.

It's inspiring, wonderful fun, but if you're not careful, research or fabric collecting becomes the destination instead of the journey.

I used to read the encyclopedia as a kid, marveling as I turned the page at what was in there. "Having" to do research is the freedom to go off a tangent. There, I find tidbits of information that lead me to places I hadn't imagined. See connections that weren't readily apparent. Truths that lie hidden. All of the things that make a story richer and more layered.

Walking into a fabric store is asking to be seduced. You're ready, hoping to find something that will transport you. Waiting for the colors to drawn you, the patterns to make your heart beat faster. The manufacturers know this, and over the last twenty years, have come out with new fabric lines, new designers, new color palettes every season. We struggle to keep up. We buy more than we could use in a lifetime, and slap a magnet on the fridge that reads "She who has the most fabric wins."

The trick for both is knowing when to stop.

Too noir for comfort

I think I just checked into the Bates Motel.

Actually, it’s a nationally-advertised economy chain, but at the rate things are going, I’ll be amazed if I come out in one piece.

Here’s how it started: I was on my way to my mother’s house in South Carolina, and somehow got off course between the Blue Ridge Mountains and the Palmetto State. At close to midnight, I pulled off the interstate and entered the lobby of a motel. It belongs to a chain that advertises on national TV, so I figured it had to be decent.

The night clerk, a portly, red-haired gentleman, actually tried to talk me out of staying at this establishment. If I hadn’t been drop-dead tired, he would have succeeded.

The first thing out of his mouth was, “If you’re used to mid-service level motels, this isn’t the place for you.”

By “mid-service level,” I’m thinking he meant the Ramada, or maybe a Holiday Inn Express.

Now, I’m no snob, and I was so bleary-eyed by this point, I would have accepted the room key to a pup tent.

So I said, “As long as you have wifi, I’m your gal.”

He took my charge card, handed me a map, and told me about a few things about the lay of the land, so to speak.

“This building here, this is where the truckers and prostitutes are,” he said, pointing to the farthest-outlying row of rooms on the map. “But you’re on the other side. Your room has a microwave and wifi. It’s nonsmoking”

I blinked. “Beyond nonsmokers, who stays on that side?”

“Mostly construction workers,” he said. “They stay here for months at a time. They get a little noisy, so be prepared. Do you want first floor or second?”

“First,” I replied. “How noisy do they get, as a general rule? Like, do they get knocking-on-doors noisy?”

He gave me a solemn look. “Yah. But we got security. Our guy’s got a crazy stare and one of his hands only has two fingers. So they don’t give him any crap. Gimme a call if they bother you and I’ll send him right over.”

That was vastly reassuring, I gotta tell ya.

As I drove around the building to get to my room, I saw a young woman in short-shorts and platform heels entering a truck. I have to assume she was not there for the wifi or the nonsmoking room.

There were three or four men hanging around the second-floor walkway as I parked in front of my room. They stared curiously as I unpacked my laptop and a pink stuffed horse I was taking to my niece as a present. Those men looked like they might be horse thieves, so I wasn’t taking any chances--Pink Horsie was coming with me.

My nonsmoking room has an acrid atmosphere that’s making my eyes water, so I think that part of the clerk’s description was a flat-out lie.

I think he was right about the prostitutes, though. And the noise in the parking lot is ramping up, so he might have been right about the party-hearty construction workers.

All I know is, if I hear a knock on the door, I’ll be calling on Crazy Seven Fingers, the security guard.

I can’t wait to make his acquaintance.

Chicago and More

I had a fantastic time last weekend, in Chicago.

First, I was there for the bridal shower for my older son’s fiancée. The event was in Indiana, in a cute party room connected with a lounge. I had concerns about everyone’s safety going and coming because of all the tornadoes and thunderstorms in the area. Yes, there were showers on the shower. From what I heard, flooding occurred near the home of one of the attendees, but despite the power going off there wasn’t much effect on the party. Fortunately, the place was equipped with a generator, so the lights just blinked off, then on again.

I got to meet some of my son’s future in-laws (including a delightful dinner the night before with his fiancée’s parents) as well as family friends, and they were all delightful! Looks as if my son chose well in many ways.

I also had an opportunity to bond with my grand-puppy, my son’s Puli named Piper. She’s adorable and nearly as cuddly as my Cavalier King Charles Spaniels.

Most of all, I got to spend some time with my son and his fiancée. That’s what made it most worthwhile!

Coincidentally, the bridal shower was the same weekend as the Printers Row Book Fair sponsored by the Chicago Tribune. I was fortunate enough to be able to sign with lots of other nice mystery authors, first at the Big Sleep Books booth, and then at the Midwest Chapter of Mystery Writers of America booth. The hosts of both booths were fun and charming, and I sold and signed lots of books--including quite a few copies of my June release, DOUBLE DOG DARE, Kendra Ballantyne, Pet-Sitter’s sixth mystery! And, yes, it also rained on Printer’s Row, although at first I was scorched by the sun and drenched by the humidity. I grew up in a similar climate, in Pittsburgh, but I’ve lived in L.A. long enough not to be used to such unwieldy weather. I didn’t even remember my umbrella that day.

Okay, enough about that fun trip. Two other things I wanted to mention here.

First, I know most of you reading this are far from the Los Angeles area, but I wanted to mention a dog lost by one of my neighbors in the Hollywood Hills. She’s a little shih-tzu terrier mix named Moxie. We don’t know these neighbors but saw them searching for their baby, and since then have seen their posters and flyers all over the place. They’re even offering a reward. So, if any of you happen to see Moxie, please let me know and I’ll tell them. I’m just hoping she’s in the arms of a puppy-napper who is kind, if not honest, and not up in the hills here as coyote food. I’ve been watching for her for over a week, wishing I could help.

Also--I was also enthralled by a news story this week, especially after being in the tornado-prone Midwest. It was about a Rottweiler named Chase who was seen by a bunch of neighbors being lifted and twisted around in a twister--and lived to bark about it. Yay, Chase!

So... what’s the most exciting thing you’ve done this week? I’ll bet it can’t top mine! And have you seen poor Moxie...?

--Linda

Golf?!? Pity Party

I think I’m taking up golf. I only think so because I’ve gone golfing exactly one time, and for only nine holes – and my partner and the other two gentlemen we were golfing with allowed me to pick up my ball and throw it on occasion, because I was holding up the game. Or when we were crossing a creek. I was pretty good at putting, because I’ve played miniature golf for years. But going up the fairway? Not so much.
So twice since then I’ve gone to a driving range and hit a bucket of balls. My range rarely exceeds fifty yards, and is often much less than that. But you know something? I’m going to go again.
But there’s something about the game. I’ve always loved to watch it on television, though I’ve heard that many sports fans think it’s more exciting to watch paint dry. One thing pro golf tours on television don’t seem to show: there are some hills on those courses! I’m not in great physical shape and some of the hills on the course we played were pretty steep! And those pros make it look so easy. They take a swing and the ball just flies. Me? I swing and miss. Or swing and it dribbles a few yards.
My favorite Tiger Woods story, one I saw for myself: He was playing on a rainy day and the green he was coming up to had a distinct tilt toward the fairway. He hit his ball too hard and it went over the green and down a grass-covered, cliff-like slope that was about eight feet high, landing in a shallow puddle in tall grass. The two commentators watched as he came around behind and studied his lay. They noted that the hole on the green was near the top, which would make it very hard to land near from behind. They discussed first, whether Tiger could get up on top in one stroke, and then how far down the green the ball would roll. And then how many spectators, who were crowding around, would get splashed when Tiger swung. The answer was: a lot! Grass and mud and water flew in all directions as Tiger took a mighty swing. But the ball rose beautifully to the top of the little cliff, landed just barely on the green – and stopped. I don’t think it was more than fourteen inches from the hole. There was an incredulous silence, then one of the commentators said, "I think some of Tiger’s shots are animated."
I remember when I was struggling to get published, many years ago, and managed to get into a writers’ group. One member was regularly published. At one meeting she told of some problems she was having with her editor about her covers, about her deadlines, about some difficulty over the plot of her latest book. I sat there trying hard to keep a sympathetic look on my face, but all the while I was eaten with envy. Oh, how I wished I had her problems!
Well, be careful what you wish for . . .! My editor didn’t like the direction Thai Die was taking and made me do a massive re-write. I groaned and grumbled and complained, but I did it. Now, both she and my editor ganged up on me about the synopsis of Blackwork I submitted. We actually held a three-way conference call over it. I won a point or two, but I’ve been groaning and grumbling and complaining to anyone who’ll listen about the points they won. I’d be more specific about their complaints but I don’t want to let everyone know that I wasn’t being very bright about the plot points – and they were right to make me change some things. It helps when I remember we all three want the same things: a good story that sells lots of books. So boo-hoo, poor me – okay, pity party’s over.

Water, water

Another weekend, another miniatures show.

This time I learned how to make water. One of the crafters was selling her 5-inch fish ponds. She was kind enough to explain how she got her water to look so real. I ended up with a neat kit containing resin and hardener and instructions on the proper combination.

The crafter constructed her pool by filling a marbled container with about half the resin mixture, layering in a variety of tiny, colorful fish, then adding the rest of the mixture.

I'm going to use my first batch of water to fill a miniature bathtub scene I'm working on. My plan is to fill the tub up to about three quarters, then place a body, face down, and then fill the rest of the tub. It will be tricky to make the body seem to float. I'll have to review Archimedes Principle of Buoyancy. I'll also need to add a trace of blood somehow. Or, maybe I'll drop a mini hairdryer in before the resin sets.

When I tell my friends my plans for the tub full of water, I hear groans and cries of horror.

Sorry, but I am a Killer Hobbyist, am I not?

Do you find yourself twisting things like this? Morphing them easily from an idyllic little fish pond into a crime scene?

Mermaids...and Beyond--Where a Hobby Can Take You

SHIMELLE LAINE and ACROSS THE POND

You never know where the love of a hobby will take you. For example, through scrapbooking I met the phenomenally talented Shimelle Laine. Let me say that she’s done as much or more than anyone I know to change the way we all see our pages. Shim brings a sense of design sensibility and playfulness to her pages that’s absolutely outrageous. Plus, she’s incredibly generous with her time and talent. In addition, she’s a superb journaler. Shim leads with her heart, and her observations on life and the world are stunning. Here’s a tidbit of Shim to get you started as a fan. Note the apt analysis. So Shim. (She's so cool.)

Joanna Campbell-Slan asked me to help judge the first ever Best of British competition, along with Mary Anne and Bev of UKScrappers. Opening each envelope was great fun and we discovered some talented scrappers who came to be great friends. It felt like the UK industry was starting to become real, as if it had just been a velveteen rabbit in the past.

To read more, go to...
http://www.shimelle.com/paper/346/time-is-fleeting#cpreview

So, getting to know Shim, Mary Anne and Bev was really the starting point for the whole Best of British Contest.

WORLD AQUARIUM AND CONSERVATION FOR THE OCEANS FOUNDATION GALA

Last week, I had another chance to see where my hobby could take me. I was asked to illustrate an invitation for the World Aquarium and Conservation for the Oceans Foundation Gala, to be held July 23 here in St. Louis. The theme was mermaids—and all oceanic life, of course. I have a real soft spot in my heart for mermaids. Have had ever since I read The Little Mermaid by Hans Christian Anderson. (Incidentally, as memory serves that’s a lot darker story than Disney’s version. I believe that’s where I first encountered the idea that one must suffer for beauty.)

I have to admit, I was a bit daunted by the project. But soon I found my ideas flowing. There’s a blank space for the group to put in the title because I wanted their typeface to match whatever goes INSIDE the invitation. I created the illustration a half again bigger than what will be its final size, which made it easier for me to manipulate the paper in the layers of the mermaid’s tail and the fish. I used the folded paper stripping method in negative space to create the tail and fish.

MY EZINE...ARE YOU ON THE LIST?

My free ezine went out last week. We have in excess of 4,300 subscribers. If you aren’t on the list, be sure to email me at savetales@aol.com for a copy. We had a lot of people go to savetales@aol.com and ask for a free downloadable copy of the flame pattern on my book cover. The offer’s still open. Just email me at savetales@aol.com and put “downloadable file” in the subject line so I know you aren’t spam.

CONTEST REMINDER

Remember—the first person to email me the title of this post (MERMAIDS will do) at savetales@aol wins my summer fun package: my favorite flavor of Crystal Light, a bag of Good and Plenty, and a copy of Jess Lourey’s Knee High by the Fourth of July.

SEND THOSE PRAYERS AND GOOD THOUGHTS, PLEASE

Okay—and next Monday send those prayers and good thoughts my way, okay? I’m having surgery. Jane Cleland has promised to guest blog on June 16, and I hope to have an extra special guest blogger on June 23. (I won’t spoil the surprise--but I think you'll really enjoy this person and her ideas on art, creativity and our children.)

HOW ABOUT YOU?

Where has your hobby taken you? What unexpected pleasures have you enjoyed because you found a favorite pastime?

Comfort Crochet

What is that line from the old song – something about when this old world starts getting you down you should head for the roof?

The only time I’ve been on my roof was to rescue my cat who’d become trapped there and nobody was very happy.

When things start getting me down, or I get tense, I have a better remedy and it doesn’t require a ladder.

I didn’t know there was a name for it until I read a bunch of posts on a list I belong to called Crochet Partners. I just called it making something easy. But on the list they referred to it as comfort crochet. Everybody has their own version. Many of the people on the list are far more proficient than I am and what’s comforting to them would cause me to have an anxiety attack.

In my second book DEAD MEN DON’T CROCHET that comes out in December, the crochet group is making shawls for a women’s shelter. The idea is having a shawl around your shoulders feels comforting and the group even calls them Hugs of Comfort.

The pattern I made up for the book is simple and repetitive. Basically you keep repeating the same four rows. I made two shawls while I was writing the book and I discovered they are not only comforting to wear, they are comforting to make.

Unlike my blog sister Joanna, I still have to watch my work, even with the shawls, but there is something meditative about the movement of the hook and the looping of the yarn.

When I’m feeling overwhelmed and breathless with too many things to do that all need to be finished immediately (sounds familiar, doesn’t it), I take a few minutes and work my version of comfort crochet. The tight feeling in my head goes away and my breathing becomes deep and peaceful. Often, as my mind relaxes, answers to pressing questions just show up. And when I’m ready to go back to the swirl of things, I’m that much closer to a completed shawl.

The great things about comfort crochet is that it can also be portable. Now that I have conquered granny squares, they have entered into my repertoire of comfort crochet possibilities. Squares are great. There is no big almost finished shawl in a bag to lug along. You don’t need to carry a lot of yarn or tools. And you can actually have a finished product in a short space of time.

I started carrying square supplies when I fly. It is the best way to get your mind off turbulence, having the seat in front of you almost in your face, and the screaming child across the aisle. I found a perfect plan of what to do with the squares in a movie. It was just part of the set, but there was this gorgeous throw made out of all-black granny squares with crocheted pink flowers attached to each square. I know that making a square takes me about an hour, so flying from L.A. to Chicago, which I do often, I could probably make three squares and have the added feature of arriving refreshed and relaxed. I forgot to mention that – not only is comfort crocheting relaxing, you end up feeling like you’ve had a nap.

So, while going up on the roof, assuming you have a flat one with a view and some nice patio furniture and the weather is accommodating , might help some people get away from it all, I’ll take comfort crochet every time

B is for Bronchitis

B is for Bronchitis and Book Deadlines and Blogging, no way this week. Instead, some pictures.

Some of my latest projects. Sewing is stress relief, and I try to get into the sewing room at least once a day. I also take advantage of the local shops who have free sewing days. Thank you, Always Quilting.

Some of the results:
A baby quilt:


From Lazy Girl Designs, the Miranda bag. How Sex and the City is that?



Also from Lazy Girl Designs, a few zipper bags. Fun to make.





This is where my head is at right now. Images from foggy Asilomar, the site of the third Quilting Mystery, Ocean Waves.

College reunion time!

I'm posting early and muy rapido tonight, because I'm dashing off to catch a red-eye for the east coast--thank you Linda, for letting me barge into your Thursday posting! (And if you haven't seen Linda's post on her 20th book, DOUBLE DOG DARE, keep reading! Twenty books and going stronger than ever! Hooray, Linda!)

Back to reunion thoughts...

It’s been (gulp) thirty years since I set foot on campus. Last time I was there, I was a youngster. Now I’m—well, you do the math. (I always hated math, and a thirty-year milestone is only reinforcing my feelings on the whole subject.)

But I’m excited to be going back—I’ll be staying in my old dormitory, and seeing old friends and familiar faces. The reunion schedule is packed with wonderful lectures and discussion sessions. And to top it all off, they’re going to feature my book as the “class book” for discussion, so I’ll get to return as the “author” of the class, which is kind of a dream come true for me.

But the real reason I’m looking forward to it is the opportunity for reflection. Thirty years is a long, long time. I plan to do a lot of walking around Lake Waban and thinking about how life has changed. How I’ve changed, the good and bad of it. What I’ve learned. What I carry forward from those days. What I've left behind. I'll have more on that next week.

How about you? Have you attended any major milestone reunions from high school or college, and how did they go? What was the primary thing you valued from it, and were there any surprises?

I’d love to hear about it!

Kendra’s--and My--New Adventure

Tuesday was the official availability date of Kendra’s latest adventure, DOUBLE DOG DARE. It’s my twentieth published novel. Do you imagine that, after so many, I’d get blasé about the whole thing?

Not!

I love writing, and I love being published. Nothing brought that home more to me recently than first seeing DOUBLE DOG DARE on a bookstore shelf. Plus, I attended part of BookExpo America last weekend and loved every exciting moment of it!

I spent much of Saturday helping to staff the Mystery Writers of America booth, where I ran into quite a few other mystery writers, local and not, who were there to give away books to people in the publishing industry and, hopefully, create hype for their creations. Me, too! My wonderful mystery publisher, Berkley, sent a box of DOUBLE DOG DARE books for me to autograph and give away. I felt almost giddy when I saw a line form, mostly people who knew the series and wanted the latest one. Wow!

I had the opportunity to visit other booths, too. Did I collect autographed books for myself? You bet! Plus, I met some delightful attendees at the booths of both of my current publishers: Berkley and Harlequin. I visited the Dorchester booth several times and talked with one of the nice people I’d met years ago when I wrote time travel and fairy tale romances published by them. I popped over to the nearby Romance Writers of America booth, too, to talk to the folks there.

I’m currently working on my second Silhouette Nocturne, so I was really glad that I visited the Harlequin booth in time to see a couple of Nocturne authors. I’m already excited about the series, but they helped to spur me to even greater enthusiasm!

Among the great people I met at the booth for the Penguin Group (USA), parent company to Berkley, were some folks who are involved with paperback sales. They even wanted me to send along some bookmarks for Kendra’s books for them to distribute. Of course I did!

DOUBLE DOG DARE is my only book being published this year, and I love it. I’ll also love next year when I’ll have at least one more Kendra book out--NEVER SAY STY--plus two Nocturnes and a Nocturne Bites (an e-novella!).

From some of the commentary I read after BEA, the book industry is feeling today’s economic crunch. Attendance may have been lower than at other BEAs. But in my humble opinion, books rule, and readers, too!


--Linda

WHERE DID YOU GET THAT HAT?

The other day someone told me in an e-mail that she liked the fancy white hat I’m wearing in the photograph at the top of this blog. She asked me where I got it so I told her the whole story. And now, I would like to tell you.

I found the hat in a little shop in Muncie, Indiana. The shop is called Town Boutique, and is owned by a tiny black woman named Mattie Coleman. She caters mostly to the black women of Muncie who like to dress up for church. Perhaps you have read the wonderful book, "Crowns"? Or seen the play made from it? The hats are supposed to be a foretaste of their heavenly crowns and so are as elaborate and beautiful as the women can afford. The hat I am wearing in that photograph is beautiful and elaborate – but tame by comparison with some of the hats in Miss Mattie’s shop. (I call her Miss Mattie, she calls me Miss Mary.) It was Miss Mattie who persuaded me to try on an enormous purple platter of a hat with a curved rhinestone triangle draped over the crown, and the brim edged with purple marabou feathers. When I saw that incredible object sitting on my lowly head, I realized I didn't have the nerve to wear it in public. I said I didn’t have anything to wear with it, which was true. I turned to hand it back to her and there she was, holding a matching purple suit by the hanger. What could I do? But it took me almost an hour of standing in my hotel room, one hand on the doorknob, to summon the nerve to walk out into the mystery convention in that suit and hat. It caused such a sensation that I have never again been afraid to wear one of Miss Mattie's hats. In fact, I’m trying to establish a reputation for wearing fancy hats, hoping to arrive at the day when someone can walk into a bookstore and say, "There’s this author, she writes mysteries. I can’t remember her name, but she wears these hats," making a gesture around her head to show they are large and complicated. And the clerk will reply, "Oh, you must be thinking of Monica Ferris." I may never get there, but the journey has been really fun!

Anyway, I was in Riverside, California, attending a needlework convention, and wearing the white hat. I loved it, the crown sat right atop my head, but the brim was built at a decided angle, and set off with a huge bunch of white net with sparkles caught up in it. Classy, and memorable –On the other hand, I’d had the hat for a couple of years, and so was wearing it less and less. I was walking back to the hotel when this big, dark van pulled suddenly to the curb and a black woman got out and hurried over to me. "Where did you get that hat?" she demanded. She was sooooo disappointed when I told her it was years old and purchased very far from California. She was going to a wedding the next day, and wanted a fancy hat to wear. She’d bought a hat – she took it out of the bag she was carrying. It wasn’t a bad hat, a small red velvet affair with a little rhinestone ornament on one side. I took my hat off and we tried on one another’s hats, using the darkened windows of her van as a mirror. I liked the red hat on me -- but when she put that white hat one, it suddenly roared back to life. In fact, it looked a whole lot better on her than it ever had on me. So I said, "Would you like to trade?" She screamed and threw her arms around me and said the most amazing thing: "Honey, I’ll say a prayer for you every day the rest of my life!" My heart just melted, I haven’t felt that blessed in my whole life – and I’ve had bishops making the Sign of the Cross over me. We hugged again, and she got back in her van and drove away. I hope she keeps her promise.