On Saturday, I drove to For Keeps Sake, a local independent scrapbook store, to drop off personalized books. Their manager Aleeta greeted me with her usual enthusiasm—and lots of questions. She’d just finished Paper, Scissors, Death, and she asked, “Did you pattern Time in a Bottle after a specific scrapbook store?”
No, I didn’t. But I did name the shop after one of my favorite songs, a tune I heard Jim Croce perform live years ago. When I visualized the store, I knew it had a large display window that faced a busy street. I knew it was south of Galleria, on Brentwood, in a transitional neighborhood. Behind the store are houses mainly owned by elderly tenants who are slowly being bought out. Down the street is a gas station. My fictional store occupies the short side of a wonky rectangle. I mentally planted flowers around the asphalt edges of the parking lot after I visited a new age store in the area with just such a floral fringe.
I didn’t have any particular store owner in mind when I created Dodie Goldfader, Time in a Bottle’s proprietor. I named my character after one of my husband David’s former employees, who is now deceased. We both adored “his” Dodie, so I loved the idea of memorializing her in my book. Each time I write about “my” Dodie, I feel happy remembering the woman we knew.
“My” Dodie doesn’t resemble her namesake—except that they are both dear, dear women with kind hearts. I describe “my” Dodie as being as hirsute as the wooly mammoth found on the grounds of nearby Principia College. And “my” Dodie lumbers when she walks, whereas the Dodie of real life was elegant and graceful.
Detweiler was named for a college friend of mine. My life was in turmoil, and his parents offered to adopt me in order to help me get through school. I didn’t take them up on the offer, but I never forgot how kind their offer was! Frank Detweiler was a loyal and true friend, just like Detective Chad Detweiler is in Paper, Scissors, Death.
So now you know a little secret about me and my book. It’s sort of a treasure chest of fond memories. A repository of special people who have made unique contributions to my life—and my husband’s. After all, if you’re going to spend a lot of time with characters, they might as well remind you of people you’ve loved.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Coming soon
Tune in on Tuesday when we'll have a guest blog from DEB BAKER, one of the original KillerHobbyists.
We're thrilled to have you visit, Deb, and welcome your new book, DING DONG DEAD.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Random Acts of Research
You know how they say when you’re thinking about something, things that relate to it seem to keep showing up? I’m deeply involved with writing the fourth book in the crochet series for now titled Murder and the Marshmallow Stitch and yesterday along with this morning I kept running into things in the book.
We met my son’s girlfriend’s parents for the first time yesterday over Thanksgiving dinner at a restaurant. Just after we sat down, the father started talking about his possible allergy to shrimp and since he hadn’t brought an epi pen with, he was going to forgo eating any.
Epi pen, allergy? Wow two important words in my current book. My immediate reaction was to start asking questions about the single shot devices that are used in extreme allergic reactions. I know they contain something like adrenalin and are used to treat anaphylactic shock, but there is more I don’t know. I’m sure the father would know, too. Not only does he possibly have allergies, he is also a retired plastic surgeon. But I stopped myself before I asked a single question. It was Thanksgiving and we’d just met. I didn’t even know if they knew I write murder mysteries. How odd would it have been if out of nowhere I started asking questions about ways to kill people?
After dinner, my husband, son and I went to the movies. As we were watching I felt my eyes open wider as I took in the details on the screen. The action in the story was affected by heavy fog. Wow, sort of like in my book. In the movie it was San Francisco which is almost where it is in my story. Mine takes place near Monterey Bay. I studied what the thick fog shrouding the Golden Gate Bridge looked like and was glad that someone else thought a crippling fog was believable.
And then the capper. This morning when I got up and looked out the window, it was foggy here. Not the thick crippling fog of my book, but foggy enough to see what it tasted like and how it softened the details of the redwood trees in the back of the yard.
A few asides. Although I laughed a number of times, I didn’t care much for the movie we saw - Four Christmases. I thought the tone was uneven, but mostly I just didn’t like the main characters. But on a more positive note, my son is sure his girlfriend’s father would love to talk about the death stuff with me. Yay, another source.
I’m sure I’m not the only one who keeps running into things that relate to what they’re working on. What about the rest of you?
We met my son’s girlfriend’s parents for the first time yesterday over Thanksgiving dinner at a restaurant. Just after we sat down, the father started talking about his possible allergy to shrimp and since he hadn’t brought an epi pen with, he was going to forgo eating any.
Epi pen, allergy? Wow two important words in my current book. My immediate reaction was to start asking questions about the single shot devices that are used in extreme allergic reactions. I know they contain something like adrenalin and are used to treat anaphylactic shock, but there is more I don’t know. I’m sure the father would know, too. Not only does he possibly have allergies, he is also a retired plastic surgeon. But I stopped myself before I asked a single question. It was Thanksgiving and we’d just met. I didn’t even know if they knew I write murder mysteries. How odd would it have been if out of nowhere I started asking questions about ways to kill people?
After dinner, my husband, son and I went to the movies. As we were watching I felt my eyes open wider as I took in the details on the screen. The action in the story was affected by heavy fog. Wow, sort of like in my book. In the movie it was San Francisco which is almost where it is in my story. Mine takes place near Monterey Bay. I studied what the thick fog shrouding the Golden Gate Bridge looked like and was glad that someone else thought a crippling fog was believable.
And then the capper. This morning when I got up and looked out the window, it was foggy here. Not the thick crippling fog of my book, but foggy enough to see what it tasted like and how it softened the details of the redwood trees in the back of the yard.
A few asides. Although I laughed a number of times, I didn’t care much for the movie we saw - Four Christmases. I thought the tone was uneven, but mostly I just didn’t like the main characters. But on a more positive note, my son is sure his girlfriend’s father would love to talk about the death stuff with me. Yay, another source.
I’m sure I’m not the only one who keeps running into things that relate to what they’re working on. What about the rest of you?
Friday, November 28, 2008
Black Friday
I don't know what day it is. I know it's the day after Thanksgiving and that means it's Black Friday, but I was never one to get up and shop on this day anyhow. I'm really out of whack. I traveled back from SoCal on a Monday, which threw me off last week. I celebrated Thanksgiving on Sunday and by the real day came and went, we'd already eaten the leftovers and I was over turkey. And totally confused as to what day it was. Holidays will do that to you.
It's not like I work a regular workweek schedule. I'm writing and promoting and while it takes a lot of time, when I do it is up to me. This weekend I'll be working on a manuscript because INKED UP, the second stamping mystery, is due in two weeks and I need to make up the time I've taken off for the holiday. I do have my routines that they help me get into the groove. Put me at Starbucks or OVC, the local independent coffee shop, or the library, and I'm transported to the writing place.
What to you do to work during these distracting holidays?
I just figured out what day it is. Today is the day I get back to work.
It's not like I work a regular workweek schedule. I'm writing and promoting and while it takes a lot of time, when I do it is up to me. This weekend I'll be working on a manuscript because INKED UP, the second stamping mystery, is due in two weeks and I need to make up the time I've taken off for the holiday. I do have my routines that they help me get into the groove. Put me at Starbucks or OVC, the local independent coffee shop, or the library, and I'm transported to the writing place.
What to you do to work during these distracting holidays?
I just figured out what day it is. Today is the day I get back to work.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Holiday
Where did 2008 go? Here it is, Thanksgiving already--the end of the 11th month of the year.
I have a lot to be thankful about. For one thing, our older son and his new wife have joined us for the holiday. Our younger son is now on vacation in Japan. Of course we miss him, especially because of the holiday, but I’m thankful that he has communicated fairly often by e-mail, as anticipated. Mostly when he needs something.
I took our puppy Mystie to the vet yesterday, not for the first time. I call her our nutcase, since she leaps on sunbeams and is more interested in them, and in chasing her ball, than in eating. Her tummy has some issues, and she has been in pain for some injury she can’t describe and we haven’t located. Perhaps it moves with her whims. But we know it’s there because of her frequent, but not consistent, yelps when she leaps and goes up and down stairs, and when we pick her up. She apparently has colitis, which explains some of it. I’m extremely thankful it’s not worse and that she seems to be feeling better already, and that Lexie’s health is so good (not perfect, but what ails her isn’t a big deal).
I’m thankful for my husband Fred. He’s retired and underfoot a lot, but he takes on projects to improve our home and lifestyle. And I’m thankful for my writing, which definitely keeps me occupied, especially when I work on three projects at once.
Oh, and I’m also thankful for the Internet, when it works. Our connection is currently iffy, so I hope I get this posted...
--Linda
I have a lot to be thankful about. For one thing, our older son and his new wife have joined us for the holiday. Our younger son is now on vacation in Japan. Of course we miss him, especially because of the holiday, but I’m thankful that he has communicated fairly often by e-mail, as anticipated. Mostly when he needs something.
I took our puppy Mystie to the vet yesterday, not for the first time. I call her our nutcase, since she leaps on sunbeams and is more interested in them, and in chasing her ball, than in eating. Her tummy has some issues, and she has been in pain for some injury she can’t describe and we haven’t located. Perhaps it moves with her whims. But we know it’s there because of her frequent, but not consistent, yelps when she leaps and goes up and down stairs, and when we pick her up. She apparently has colitis, which explains some of it. I’m extremely thankful it’s not worse and that she seems to be feeling better already, and that Lexie’s health is so good (not perfect, but what ails her isn’t a big deal).
I’m thankful for my husband Fred. He’s retired and underfoot a lot, but he takes on projects to improve our home and lifestyle. And I’m thankful for my writing, which definitely keeps me occupied, especially when I work on three projects at once.
Oh, and I’m also thankful for the Internet, when it works. Our connection is currently iffy, so I hope I get this posted...
--Linda
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Killer Writing - How To
Many an author has been told, "I have this great idea for a mystery. I’ll tell it to you, you write it, and we’ll split the money." Nowadays, I just say, "Write it yourself and you can keep all the money."
I’ll even tell you how to do it.
First, think What If . . . What if someone kidnapped a puppy? What if you found out your best friend was an embezzler? What if you found the naked body of a stranger in your bathtub? Once you start thinking like this, you’ll rarely run out of ideas.
Second, Invent the Ending. Figure out the who, what, why, where, when and how. Most mysteries have this place near the end at which the sleuth says, "Let me explain," and proceeds to lay out the whole story, putting the clues in proper order, and showing how s/he figured out who dunnit. That’s the part you write first. Doing this will invent your sleuth, your culprit, other suspect(s) and a witness or two. It will also tell you what kind of mystery you have hold of: private eye, police procedural, amateur sleuth.
Third, Check Your Facts. In mystery fiction "a fact that ain’t so" is a clue, so make sure you don’t inadvertently destroy your credibility by treating something false as true. Writers of mystery fiction garner an enormous amount of information, some of it decidedly esoteric (elephants can’t jump; silencers don’t work on revolvers; needlepoint is not the same thing as embroidery).
Fourth, Invent a Grabber. Start your story off with a bang. "It was all Tom’s fault, he’s the one who brought an elephant to church." Okay, it was a plaster elephant, a contribution to the annual rummage sale. But it should be a troubled rummage sale, with a body found among the winter coats.
Fifth, Move in Logical Steps. First the crime, then the reaction, then the hero or heroine must solve it (why?), then clues are hard to find and/or don’t make sense, then the best suspect is proved innocent, then one last clue makes everything clear – to the detective, but hopefully not the reader. In a "play fair" mystery, all the clues must be laid out for the reader, though not necessarily in the proper order that makes the solution obvious. It is often wise to put the biggest clue in first, before the reader has the characters sorted out, and to hide a clue within a scene that seems to point to some other clue. Example: the murder weapon was hidden on a top shelf, this suspect is too short to have done that. Expose his lack of height during a serious quarrel he had with the victim.
Sixth, Develop Good Characters. You can have a "cast of thousands" if you like, but your reader shouldn’t have to keep track of more than six or seven, so add characters parsimoniously. Make each memorable (red-headed, fat, crabby, ignorant, kind, clumsy, assertive) and refer to the memorable thing every second or third time the character appears. Don’t name them Don, Dan, Dave, Dick, Dawn, Donna and Doris. Name them Sam, Monroe, Gomez, Fran, Hermione, Jewel, and Desktop (a book on naming a baby can help a lot). No real person is all good, or all bad. Give your hero(ine) some flaws, and say something nice about your culprit.
Seventh, Don’t Tell, Show. "Sam was scared" is telling. Showing: "Sam’s breath caught in his throat but it was only the refrigerator starting up. He crouched even lower behind the sagging couch and wished for the sound of sirens."
Eighth, Behave Realistically. If you came home to that naked stranger in your bathtub, would you call your best friend and organize a sleuthing party? No, you’d call the police. (So learn something about police work.) Make your characters behave like real people – only a little funnier, braver, smarter, simpler.
Ninth, Make the Ending Fit the Story. Don’t say at the end that Jewel did it, if we never see Jewel until near the end, or you never made Jewel a suspect. Don’t make the solution that a ghost did it if your reader doesn’t know it’s a ghost story. On the other hand, it can be fun to make your reader think space aliens did it while your detective, who doesn’t believe in space aliens, quietly proves it was a human culprit anxious to make everyone believe it was space aliens.
Tenth, Read the Kind of Stories You’re Trying to Sell. Analyze them, study them, read them over and over. What do you admire about this story? How does the author make you like this character and dislike that one? How does s/he put a picture of a character in your head in so few words? How is the story told, straightforward or in flashbacks? How would I do it differently?
Eleventh, Take Yourself Seriously. Join or form a writers group. Read books about writing. Write something every day – every single day. Persevere. A story gets sold because a writer sends it out one more time than it has been turned down.
Twelfth, remember what Somerset Maughm wrote: There are three rules to writing a novel. Unfortunately, nobody knows what they are.
I’ll even tell you how to do it.
First, think What If . . . What if someone kidnapped a puppy? What if you found out your best friend was an embezzler? What if you found the naked body of a stranger in your bathtub? Once you start thinking like this, you’ll rarely run out of ideas.
Second, Invent the Ending. Figure out the who, what, why, where, when and how. Most mysteries have this place near the end at which the sleuth says, "Let me explain," and proceeds to lay out the whole story, putting the clues in proper order, and showing how s/he figured out who dunnit. That’s the part you write first. Doing this will invent your sleuth, your culprit, other suspect(s) and a witness or two. It will also tell you what kind of mystery you have hold of: private eye, police procedural, amateur sleuth.
Third, Check Your Facts. In mystery fiction "a fact that ain’t so" is a clue, so make sure you don’t inadvertently destroy your credibility by treating something false as true. Writers of mystery fiction garner an enormous amount of information, some of it decidedly esoteric (elephants can’t jump; silencers don’t work on revolvers; needlepoint is not the same thing as embroidery).
Fourth, Invent a Grabber. Start your story off with a bang. "It was all Tom’s fault, he’s the one who brought an elephant to church." Okay, it was a plaster elephant, a contribution to the annual rummage sale. But it should be a troubled rummage sale, with a body found among the winter coats.
Fifth, Move in Logical Steps. First the crime, then the reaction, then the hero or heroine must solve it (why?), then clues are hard to find and/or don’t make sense, then the best suspect is proved innocent, then one last clue makes everything clear – to the detective, but hopefully not the reader. In a "play fair" mystery, all the clues must be laid out for the reader, though not necessarily in the proper order that makes the solution obvious. It is often wise to put the biggest clue in first, before the reader has the characters sorted out, and to hide a clue within a scene that seems to point to some other clue. Example: the murder weapon was hidden on a top shelf, this suspect is too short to have done that. Expose his lack of height during a serious quarrel he had with the victim.
Sixth, Develop Good Characters. You can have a "cast of thousands" if you like, but your reader shouldn’t have to keep track of more than six or seven, so add characters parsimoniously. Make each memorable (red-headed, fat, crabby, ignorant, kind, clumsy, assertive) and refer to the memorable thing every second or third time the character appears. Don’t name them Don, Dan, Dave, Dick, Dawn, Donna and Doris. Name them Sam, Monroe, Gomez, Fran, Hermione, Jewel, and Desktop (a book on naming a baby can help a lot). No real person is all good, or all bad. Give your hero(ine) some flaws, and say something nice about your culprit.
Seventh, Don’t Tell, Show. "Sam was scared" is telling. Showing: "Sam’s breath caught in his throat but it was only the refrigerator starting up. He crouched even lower behind the sagging couch and wished for the sound of sirens."
Eighth, Behave Realistically. If you came home to that naked stranger in your bathtub, would you call your best friend and organize a sleuthing party? No, you’d call the police. (So learn something about police work.) Make your characters behave like real people – only a little funnier, braver, smarter, simpler.
Ninth, Make the Ending Fit the Story. Don’t say at the end that Jewel did it, if we never see Jewel until near the end, or you never made Jewel a suspect. Don’t make the solution that a ghost did it if your reader doesn’t know it’s a ghost story. On the other hand, it can be fun to make your reader think space aliens did it while your detective, who doesn’t believe in space aliens, quietly proves it was a human culprit anxious to make everyone believe it was space aliens.
Tenth, Read the Kind of Stories You’re Trying to Sell. Analyze them, study them, read them over and over. What do you admire about this story? How does the author make you like this character and dislike that one? How does s/he put a picture of a character in your head in so few words? How is the story told, straightforward or in flashbacks? How would I do it differently?
Eleventh, Take Yourself Seriously. Join or form a writers group. Read books about writing. Write something every day – every single day. Persevere. A story gets sold because a writer sends it out one more time than it has been turned down.
Twelfth, remember what Somerset Maughm wrote: There are three rules to writing a novel. Unfortunately, nobody knows what they are.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Thank a teacher
REVERE HIGH SCHOOL, MASSACHUSETTS, c. 1950
It's hard to rank all the things I have to be thankful for, but high up there on my list is School. From my first days to just last month in a writing workshop, I've been thankful for learning and those who provide the environment for it.
When I was 6, school was my refuge from a—let's call it "less than pleasant" homelife. My teachers, probably without knowing it, served up the happiest hours of my days. My husband says that's the reason I love to give and to take classes even now.
My high school Italian teacher, Signorina Mafera, died at age 99 a couple of years ago. When she was only 94, she wanted to read my then-new periodic table mystery novels. "I need to learn more about science," she told me.
Every summer, Signorina Mafera took a class in a subject she knew nothing about, so she'd understand better what her freshmen would be going through in the fall. She never married (she hinted that there might have been a dark, handsome man on a cruise one year) and was dedicated to us. She was a very slight woman, but we knew if we failed to work as hard as she did, there'd be Dante's L'Inferno to pay. In a town where only a small fraction of the population even thought of college, and the median income was always well below the state's average, Signorina Mafera made us read La Commedia in Italian.
We stayed in touch through the years, and I know I thanked her often for her great influence on my life. I wish I could thank all the other teachers I might not have had the wisdom to acknowledge at the time.
I'll try to make up for it now by saying Thanks to dedicated teachers everywhere!
And to non-teachers as well, I wish a wonderful Thanksgiving weekend!
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Using Colored Pens on Stamped Images
I recently saw a You Tube tutorial on using and blending colored markers. I’m too cheap to buy an expensive set, but I wanted to try the techniques with the markers I have. I have some lovely LePlume markers from Marvy, some nice Martha Stewart brand markers, and recently I bought a set marketed by JoAnn’s Fabrics. I doubt these are the same quality as markers that artists like Mary Engelbreit use! As I understand it, artists use Copic markers which are alcohol based and won’t tear up your paper. My markers are cheap, so maybe I’ll ask for a few Copics for Christmas! Here’s a website that answers some of my questions about these markers http://www.copicmarker.com/faq.html
Even so, I can still have fun, and one of my new favorite activities is to color in stamped images while David and I watch television. I'm trying to learn more about color--how the juxtaposition of colors changes how they look and how to mix different colors together in pleasing ways. I use watercolor paper because it’s much sturdier than regular paper, and I can really scrub away with my markers. (Mine are probably water-based, so they soak into the paper.) I can go over the dried colored areas with sparkly pens.
As you can see, the choice of colors can really change an image! If you want to try this, start by coloring in the image with the LIGHTEST colored pen you have. Then, work a darker color along the outside edge while you keep that LIGHT colored pen open in your hand. You’ll want to quickly go over the dark color with the LIGHT pen to blend. Have fun!
Even so, I can still have fun, and one of my new favorite activities is to color in stamped images while David and I watch television. I'm trying to learn more about color--how the juxtaposition of colors changes how they look and how to mix different colors together in pleasing ways. I use watercolor paper because it’s much sturdier than regular paper, and I can really scrub away with my markers. (Mine are probably water-based, so they soak into the paper.) I can go over the dried colored areas with sparkly pens.
As you can see, the choice of colors can really change an image! If you want to try this, start by coloring in the image with the LIGHTEST colored pen you have. Then, work a darker color along the outside edge while you keep that LIGHT colored pen open in your hand. You’ll want to quickly go over the dark color with the LIGHT pen to blend. Have fun!
(By the way, I know the circles aren't even. I cut each one out, sanded the edges and temporarily adhered them to a sheet of paper to scan them for sharing.)
What do blog readers want?
This is an informal, unscientific survey to find out what KillerHobbies readers would like to see on this site.
What would you like read about? Our writing process? Our families? Our pet peeves (you can take that many ways)? Our vacation trips? Our book events? Would you like to see "how to" crafts tips? More contests and drawings? Book and movie reviews? Quantum physics? Knock knock jokes. Hugh Jackman? -- oops that was yesterday's post.
Let us know!
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Finding Kindred Spirits
I was so busy reading about Hugh Jackman being the sexiest man alive in People Magazine I lost track of time and all of a sudden I remembered it was Friday night and time to write my blog. I usually have a topic in mind, but this week my mind is blank.
While I was trying to think of something, I went to the Ravelry.com site. I’ve been meaning to do it for awhile and since I was basically stalling, it seemed like the perfect time. It has around 150,000 members who like yarn arts. I found out about it by chance when they started a discussion group about Hooked on Murder and one of the people in the group emailed me and told me about it.
You have to be a member of Ravelry.com to take part in a discussion group and at least at that time there was a waiting list. I finally moved up the line and became a member. It was very cool to go to the discussion group and read the posts. It also felt a little odd to have people talking about my characters and which guy they preferred for Molly. Some people gave casting suggestions in case it ever became a movie. It was fun to see how they pictured my characters. I never would have thought of Meryl Streep for CeeCee Collins.
Tonight when I went to Ravelry.com, I looked at some of the other groups. There are zillions of them from all over the world - and even one dedicated to my little corner of the San Fernando Valley.
Another group is run by the Crochet Liberation Front. They gave me an jokey award for Hooked on Murder. Something about setting your picot free. Knitters have lots and lots of novels and mysteries. Crocheters only have me and Bendy Carter. I decided to join the discussion group and left an introduction.
Now I just hope I can find my way back to the groups I just joined.
While I was trying to think of something, I went to the Ravelry.com site. I’ve been meaning to do it for awhile and since I was basically stalling, it seemed like the perfect time. It has around 150,000 members who like yarn arts. I found out about it by chance when they started a discussion group about Hooked on Murder and one of the people in the group emailed me and told me about it.
You have to be a member of Ravelry.com to take part in a discussion group and at least at that time there was a waiting list. I finally moved up the line and became a member. It was very cool to go to the discussion group and read the posts. It also felt a little odd to have people talking about my characters and which guy they preferred for Molly. Some people gave casting suggestions in case it ever became a movie. It was fun to see how they pictured my characters. I never would have thought of Meryl Streep for CeeCee Collins.
Tonight when I went to Ravelry.com, I looked at some of the other groups. There are zillions of them from all over the world - and even one dedicated to my little corner of the San Fernando Valley.
Another group is run by the Crochet Liberation Front. They gave me an jokey award for Hooked on Murder. Something about setting your picot free. Knitters have lots and lots of novels and mysteries. Crocheters only have me and Bendy Carter. I decided to join the discussion group and left an introduction.
Now I just hope I can find my way back to the groups I just joined.
Friday, November 21, 2008
It takes a village, people
One of the most important page in our books is the acknowledgements. There we pay homage to those who have helped us along the road to being published. Our critique groups. Our agents and editors. Our mothers.
Today, I’d like to acknowledge those who are helping me now. Helping me marketl my books, find a fan base and along the way, create my career as an author. Last weekend, I drove 400 miles down to Southern California to sign books. I’m amazed at the number of people that were required to make it happen.
So thanks go out to:
My friend, ML, who introduced me to her in-laws, Dr. and Dr. G, who put me up for the weekend. The three of them fed me, sheltered and supported me in all ways great and small. Every artist needs a patron and lucky me to find two with a fabulous wine cellar.
The shop owners. Mary at The Fabric Patch in Montclair didn’t know me at all when I called up and suggested she might want to have me sign books in her store. In this economy, heck, in any economy, it takes a leap of faith to spend your inventory dollars on an unknown quantity. Mary took that leap and we sold many copies of WILD GOOSE CHASE and OLD MAID’S PUZZLE.
Joan Bunte of Stamp Your Heart Out in Claremont jumped on the bandwagon early and put me on her schedule before STAMPED OUT was released. She ordered several dozen books. We sold out and had an exciting afternoon, with stampers and writers.
The employees, who set up cookies and snacks and made sure the customers were happy and having a good time. A special shout out to those who'd read the book and were enthusiastically recommending it to all within earshot.
I stopped at several book stores and found copies of my books on hand and gratefully signed them. It was evident everywhere I went that shop owners were being cautious. I thank the book buyers and owners that have my book on their shelves.
The fans, of course. One gentleman had taken three buses and a train to get to a signing. Yet another, Simmy, came just hours after having evacuated from the Chino Hills fire. Safely.
These are some of the people who made that weekend possible. Everytime I do a signing, there are a legion of people working to make that happen. For those past and present events, I say thanks.
Today, I’d like to acknowledge those who are helping me now. Helping me marketl my books, find a fan base and along the way, create my career as an author. Last weekend, I drove 400 miles down to Southern California to sign books. I’m amazed at the number of people that were required to make it happen.
So thanks go out to:
My friend, ML, who introduced me to her in-laws, Dr. and Dr. G, who put me up for the weekend. The three of them fed me, sheltered and supported me in all ways great and small. Every artist needs a patron and lucky me to find two with a fabulous wine cellar.
The shop owners. Mary at The Fabric Patch in Montclair didn’t know me at all when I called up and suggested she might want to have me sign books in her store. In this economy, heck, in any economy, it takes a leap of faith to spend your inventory dollars on an unknown quantity. Mary took that leap and we sold many copies of WILD GOOSE CHASE and OLD MAID’S PUZZLE.
Joan Bunte of Stamp Your Heart Out in Claremont jumped on the bandwagon early and put me on her schedule before STAMPED OUT was released. She ordered several dozen books. We sold out and had an exciting afternoon, with stampers and writers.
The employees, who set up cookies and snacks and made sure the customers were happy and having a good time. A special shout out to those who'd read the book and were enthusiastically recommending it to all within earshot.
I stopped at several book stores and found copies of my books on hand and gratefully signed them. It was evident everywhere I went that shop owners were being cautious. I thank the book buyers and owners that have my book on their shelves.
The fans, of course. One gentleman had taken three buses and a train to get to a signing. Yet another, Simmy, came just hours after having evacuated from the Chino Hills fire. Safely.
These are some of the people who made that weekend possible. Everytime I do a signing, there are a legion of people working to make that happen. For those past and present events, I say thanks.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
More Controversy
Not! For my last couple of posts, I wound up getting into areas where there were differences of opinion. Of course my opinion is what really counted (hah!) but I decided to blog about something non-controversial this week.
Guess what I came up with. Not a lot!
I’m not really the kind of person who goes out looking for an argument. But most of the topics I came up with can have more than one side--even when related to lovable animals.
For one thing, I keep hearing about all the poor pets who are the unsung victims of the current economic crisis. Now, that’s something I can get weepy about--people who have to give up not only their homes because of foreclosures, but their beloved pets, too. And there aren’t enough people out there to adopt the poor abandoned babies. The controversy there? How’d we get in this situation in the first place? And what’s happening to the pets who don’t find a home?
Okay, here’s something I care about that came up over the past week that’s a terrible shame: the California wildfires. Lots of people lost their homes. I haven’t heard anyone mention much about the loss of wildlife. At least there are a lot of organizations out there extending helping hands, to both people and pets. Some places offered shelters for animals whose owners had to take refuge in evacuation facilities during the fires and others are helping to supply food to pets whose owners have lost their homes. I Googled the California wildfires and pets and came up with a lot of them. There was an excellent article on dogchannel.com, for example--and some of the organizations included Petco, PetSmart, the ASPCA, the Red Cross, the American Kennel Club and the California Federation of Dog Clubs. I applaud them all!
Okay--the fires were absolutely terrible, but the help that’s been extended as a result? No controversy there!
And another good thing? I’m well underway in my first draft of my next Kendra Ballantyne, Pet-Sitter Mystery.
So maybe this post isn’t so bad after all.
--Linda
Guess what I came up with. Not a lot!
I’m not really the kind of person who goes out looking for an argument. But most of the topics I came up with can have more than one side--even when related to lovable animals.
For one thing, I keep hearing about all the poor pets who are the unsung victims of the current economic crisis. Now, that’s something I can get weepy about--people who have to give up not only their homes because of foreclosures, but their beloved pets, too. And there aren’t enough people out there to adopt the poor abandoned babies. The controversy there? How’d we get in this situation in the first place? And what’s happening to the pets who don’t find a home?
Okay, here’s something I care about that came up over the past week that’s a terrible shame: the California wildfires. Lots of people lost their homes. I haven’t heard anyone mention much about the loss of wildlife. At least there are a lot of organizations out there extending helping hands, to both people and pets. Some places offered shelters for animals whose owners had to take refuge in evacuation facilities during the fires and others are helping to supply food to pets whose owners have lost their homes. I Googled the California wildfires and pets and came up with a lot of them. There was an excellent article on dogchannel.com, for example--and some of the organizations included Petco, PetSmart, the ASPCA, the Red Cross, the American Kennel Club and the California Federation of Dog Clubs. I applaud them all!
Okay--the fires were absolutely terrible, but the help that’s been extended as a result? No controversy there!
And another good thing? I’m well underway in my first draft of my next Kendra Ballantyne, Pet-Sitter Mystery.
So maybe this post isn’t so bad after all.
--Linda
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
THE WINNAHS!
Sorry to be posting so late; I'm in Florida being passed along to various relatives and just got back to a place where I can borrow a computer and get online.
Boy, was it hard picking wht winners of the Boyfriend for Betsy contest! I dithered and dathered (neologism) and finally went with my emotions and picked Connor Sullivan. I was going to change his name to Terence O'Sullivan but my two sisters objected, saying Conner Sullivan tripped more euphoniously off the tongue. And then this morning I met a very handsome young man (okay a boy) walking a gorgeous black standard poodle. He was my niece's neighbor. I love black standard poodles, so she hailed him over to meet the dog. The dog's name is Chloe, and the boy's name is Connor. Okay, okay, some things are a *sign.* Betsy's new boyfriend is Connor Sullivan. The fictional Connor, as invented for me, has a very interesting background, being Irish born.
It was a near thing, though. Second place goes to a man with a Scottish background, whose physical description is devastating. Plus, I have serious weakness for the Scots.
In fact, all the entries were serious competitors, from the carpenter to the retired attorney who wants to buy ISBN's next door to Betsy's shop, to the cancer survivor photographer. I even like the cranky guy who stomps into town and buys the local newspaper.
My deepest thanks to everyone who sent an entry, it has keep me entertained for weeks, wven while it made me tear my hair out picking a winner!
Boy, was it hard picking wht winners of the Boyfriend for Betsy contest! I dithered and dathered (neologism) and finally went with my emotions and picked Connor Sullivan. I was going to change his name to Terence O'Sullivan but my two sisters objected, saying Conner Sullivan tripped more euphoniously off the tongue. And then this morning I met a very handsome young man (okay a boy) walking a gorgeous black standard poodle. He was my niece's neighbor. I love black standard poodles, so she hailed him over to meet the dog. The dog's name is Chloe, and the boy's name is Connor. Okay, okay, some things are a *sign.* Betsy's new boyfriend is Connor Sullivan. The fictional Connor, as invented for me, has a very interesting background, being Irish born.
It was a near thing, though. Second place goes to a man with a Scottish background, whose physical description is devastating. Plus, I have serious weakness for the Scots.
In fact, all the entries were serious competitors, from the carpenter to the retired attorney who wants to buy ISBN's next door to Betsy's shop, to the cancer survivor photographer. I even like the cranky guy who stomps into town and buys the local newspaper.
My deepest thanks to everyone who sent an entry, it has keep me entertained for weeks, wven while it made me tear my hair out picking a winner!
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Kill Maybe
Just when I think I don't need any help with my process, I learn otherwise. Today I'm inspired by creativity coach Dr. Eric Maisel, whose books and talks always tap into something I need.
Here are a couple of paragraphs from his latest newsletter:
Listen to yourself this week. When you say something that sounds suspiciously like maybe, stop yourself. If, for example, you hear yourself say, “I’m pretty tired today so maybe I’ll paint tomorrow,” exclaim, “Die, maybe!” Champion yes instead. Say, “I will paint today!” If you hear yourself say, “I wonder if there’s enough light left to paint, so maybe I’ll paint tomorrow,” exclaim, “Die, maybe!” Say, “Let me use this last light!” Every yes of this sort is a passionate call to action: kill maybe and get on with your work.
Kill maybe. Say no to your work when you want to take your daughter to the museum or when you want to bring your mother a rose. Say yes to the work often, every day or as frequently as you can. Never say maybe—turn every maybe into an appropriate no or a vibrant yes. Of these three words, yes, no, and maybe, two are brilliant and one is the kiss of death.
Thanks, Eric!
Does anyone else ever need a little push in the YES direction?
Monday, November 17, 2008
Book #3 and the Awful, Terrible, No-Good Week
It's nearly one a.m. and I just finished Book #3 in the Kiki Lowenstein series.
I like editing work all in one piece, so I started around 9 a.m. and kept after it until, well, now. Boy, my shoulders are killing me. I have this tendency to hunch them up as I type for long periods. When you read your own work all the way through, it's like reading any book--you pick up the discrepancies better because everything is right there, fresh in your mind.
I'd thought about going upstairs to bed. Or reading someone else's work.
But here's a little secret: I love writing. And when I'm writing I'm telling myself a story. Why read someone else's book--a work you can't change--when you can read your own in-progress-work and make the characters do what you want? And I love Kiki and her friends so much that I enjoy seeing what's happening with them. Trust me, this is a very exciting book. Characters deepen. Relationships are explored. You'll learn about the Veiled Prophet celebration here in St. Louis, a city-wide pageant that dates back to the 1860s!
A Rotten Week
So finishing Book #3 will, I hope, ensure that this week is better than last. I mean, I did NOT have a good week. I...well, I can't even type all the crummy stuff that happened because it's just too depressing. You know how you'll have this one thing and then another and it's like a train wreck and YOU're IN IT!!!
This I will share: I lost the book I had put aside for last month's Marvelous Monday gift. ARGH. So, dear poster, you know who you are, we're going to have to decide whether I buy another copy of that particular book or you'll be happy with another book in my larder.
Groan. It's got to be around here somewhere! Or is it? Is it possible that when my son came home from college last week, he borrowed it? ARGH!
And mess? My office is a total swamp. It's so bad that tomorrow will be dedicated to cleaning up. After I write a report I need to get done that's past due. And call the doctor's office to get a new order from her for lab tests. (Nothing serious.) And, well, I'm so behind on my thank you notes I feel totally ashamed. And interview questions for Alex Kava that I need to work on.
But the Good News Is...
I had two great signings over the weekend. One at the Waldenbooks Store in West County Mall where we sold out of books and another at For Keeps Sake where we did the same. Last weekend I had great fun at Daisy Lane in Mattoon--we sold a ton of books there, too.
And one of you lucky posters today--someone who comments--will get some fun trinket from my giveaway cabinet. Which I did get cleaned yesterday, and which is full of fun stuff.
Now...to bed!
I like editing work all in one piece, so I started around 9 a.m. and kept after it until, well, now. Boy, my shoulders are killing me. I have this tendency to hunch them up as I type for long periods. When you read your own work all the way through, it's like reading any book--you pick up the discrepancies better because everything is right there, fresh in your mind.
I'd thought about going upstairs to bed. Or reading someone else's work.
But here's a little secret: I love writing. And when I'm writing I'm telling myself a story. Why read someone else's book--a work you can't change--when you can read your own in-progress-work and make the characters do what you want? And I love Kiki and her friends so much that I enjoy seeing what's happening with them. Trust me, this is a very exciting book. Characters deepen. Relationships are explored. You'll learn about the Veiled Prophet celebration here in St. Louis, a city-wide pageant that dates back to the 1860s!
A Rotten Week
So finishing Book #3 will, I hope, ensure that this week is better than last. I mean, I did NOT have a good week. I...well, I can't even type all the crummy stuff that happened because it's just too depressing. You know how you'll have this one thing and then another and it's like a train wreck and YOU're IN IT!!!
This I will share: I lost the book I had put aside for last month's Marvelous Monday gift. ARGH. So, dear poster, you know who you are, we're going to have to decide whether I buy another copy of that particular book or you'll be happy with another book in my larder.
Groan. It's got to be around here somewhere! Or is it? Is it possible that when my son came home from college last week, he borrowed it? ARGH!
And mess? My office is a total swamp. It's so bad that tomorrow will be dedicated to cleaning up. After I write a report I need to get done that's past due. And call the doctor's office to get a new order from her for lab tests. (Nothing serious.) And, well, I'm so behind on my thank you notes I feel totally ashamed. And interview questions for Alex Kava that I need to work on.
But the Good News Is...
I had two great signings over the weekend. One at the Waldenbooks Store in West County Mall where we sold out of books and another at For Keeps Sake where we did the same. Last weekend I had great fun at Daisy Lane in Mattoon--we sold a ton of books there, too.
And one of you lucky posters today--someone who comments--will get some fun trinket from my giveaway cabinet. Which I did get cleaned yesterday, and which is full of fun stuff.
Now...to bed!
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Playing hooky
An oldie from Cryptoman:
"There's no pleasure in having nothing to do; the fun is in having lots to do and not doing it."
What's your favorite way to play hooky? (You can tell what mine is from the image!)
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Real Versus Imaginary
When I turned in the manuscript for Hooked on Murder my editor asked me if there was a bookstore in Tarzana that readers might think was the one in the book. I told her not to worry. There are two country clubs in Tarzana and it is where Brittany Spears came to shave her head, but there are no bookstores.
The other day a woman sent me an email and asked if I was going to post of photo of the charity afghan that appears in Hooked on Murder. I was sorry to disappoint her, but the afghan like the bookstore only exist in my imagination.
I began to think about Molly’s Tarzana versus the real deal. The street names are the same, but all the businesses are factitious. I took an adorable building I saw in Carmel and mentally moved it to Tarzana to become the Cottage Shoppe where lots of the action in Dead Men Don’t Crochet takes place. I do know exactly where it would be and am always a little disappointed when I see the lackluster building that is really in that spot.
I love the café and cupcake place I created and only wish they really existed. I’d be a good customer for sure.
The other day my son and I went for a walk in the nearby mountains. We always park at the end of a residential street and then walk into the Santa Monica Mountain Conservancy. Just before the street dead ends there is a driveway that hugs the curve of the mountain. In my Tarzana that driveway leads to the house where the murder in By Hook or Crook takes place. I have spent so much time imagining that house I expect to see it when I look down the long road. But there in no old two-story Spanish style house with a red tiled roof. The actual house is barely visible and not even on the same side of the driveway. And yet, in my mind I can see the dark wood floors and huge pots of mother-in-law tongue plants, the stairway to the second floor, and the bedroom with the victim sprawled in her bed.
I might change the house, but I would never touch the view we get from our walk. I couldn’t possibly better that in my imagination. Picture a valley ringed by mountains turning purple and gold as the sun slips behind them. Streets like red and white ribbons of light that cut through the areas of puff ball trees. All across the valley twinkling lights are coming on. Houses on the ridge below us, look like miniatures as does the car on the street in front of them.
I know the view well enough to know the tiny spot of blinding white lights belongs to the parking structure at Topanga Mall. And all the way across the valley and part way up the mountains on the other side, there is a line of orangish lights. They belong to the park in Porter Ranch where you get the same view I’m seeing but in reverse.
Behind us the dirt road and hillside melt into the low light and we hear the eerie cries of coyotes thinking about dinner. Time to go home.
The other day a woman sent me an email and asked if I was going to post of photo of the charity afghan that appears in Hooked on Murder. I was sorry to disappoint her, but the afghan like the bookstore only exist in my imagination.
I began to think about Molly’s Tarzana versus the real deal. The street names are the same, but all the businesses are factitious. I took an adorable building I saw in Carmel and mentally moved it to Tarzana to become the Cottage Shoppe where lots of the action in Dead Men Don’t Crochet takes place. I do know exactly where it would be and am always a little disappointed when I see the lackluster building that is really in that spot.
I love the café and cupcake place I created and only wish they really existed. I’d be a good customer for sure.
The other day my son and I went for a walk in the nearby mountains. We always park at the end of a residential street and then walk into the Santa Monica Mountain Conservancy. Just before the street dead ends there is a driveway that hugs the curve of the mountain. In my Tarzana that driveway leads to the house where the murder in By Hook or Crook takes place. I have spent so much time imagining that house I expect to see it when I look down the long road. But there in no old two-story Spanish style house with a red tiled roof. The actual house is barely visible and not even on the same side of the driveway. And yet, in my mind I can see the dark wood floors and huge pots of mother-in-law tongue plants, the stairway to the second floor, and the bedroom with the victim sprawled in her bed.
I might change the house, but I would never touch the view we get from our walk. I couldn’t possibly better that in my imagination. Picture a valley ringed by mountains turning purple and gold as the sun slips behind them. Streets like red and white ribbons of light that cut through the areas of puff ball trees. All across the valley twinkling lights are coming on. Houses on the ridge below us, look like miniatures as does the car on the street in front of them.
I know the view well enough to know the tiny spot of blinding white lights belongs to the parking structure at Topanga Mall. And all the way across the valley and part way up the mountains on the other side, there is a line of orangish lights. They belong to the park in Porter Ranch where you get the same view I’m seeing but in reverse.
Behind us the dirt road and hillside melt into the low light and we hear the eerie cries of coyotes thinking about dinner. Time to go home.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Animal Heroes and Human Decisions
I often let my eyes wander along news headlines when I’m on the Internet checking e-mail. One especially caught my attention yesterday: “Talking Parrot Saves Toddler’s Life.”
Apparently, a youngster was in the care of a babysitter, who’d taken a bathroom break. The little one stuck a piece of food in her mouth and began choking on it. Willie the parrot, owned by the sitter, was in the same room and started flapping and making a lot of noise. He also started shouting “mama baby” over and over until the sitter emerged from the bathroom, saw what was going on--including the tot’s starting to turn blue--and performed the Heimlich maneuver, saving the child’s life.
Amazing!
I also save news articles now and then about other hero animals. And if you just Google something like “dog saves child,” you get all sorts of articles, from pets saving babies from freezing, from snakes and from falling off roofs.
And then there are the articles that chill me instead. I saw a headline today that the U.S. Supreme Court sided with the military and is allowing the Navy to continue to conduct its sonar exercises off the California coast, no matter how much harm is caused to marine life, even intelligent mammals like dolphins and whales--and without any protective restrictions.
Of course I believe in national security. But at the expense of innocent marine life? Not if there’s an alternative. Environmentalists provided potential restrictions that would still allow the training exercises but in less harmful ways, and the court chose to ignore them, with only a couple of dissenters.
I’m appalled!
On the one hand, creatures of supposedly less intelligence than us step in and save people’s lives. On the other, our government allows beings who can’t stick up for themselves to be killed in the name of national security--even while there are alternatives.
I see a lot of irony in that. Don’t you?
--Linda
Apparently, a youngster was in the care of a babysitter, who’d taken a bathroom break. The little one stuck a piece of food in her mouth and began choking on it. Willie the parrot, owned by the sitter, was in the same room and started flapping and making a lot of noise. He also started shouting “mama baby” over and over until the sitter emerged from the bathroom, saw what was going on--including the tot’s starting to turn blue--and performed the Heimlich maneuver, saving the child’s life.
Amazing!
I also save news articles now and then about other hero animals. And if you just Google something like “dog saves child,” you get all sorts of articles, from pets saving babies from freezing, from snakes and from falling off roofs.
And then there are the articles that chill me instead. I saw a headline today that the U.S. Supreme Court sided with the military and is allowing the Navy to continue to conduct its sonar exercises off the California coast, no matter how much harm is caused to marine life, even intelligent mammals like dolphins and whales--and without any protective restrictions.
Of course I believe in national security. But at the expense of innocent marine life? Not if there’s an alternative. Environmentalists provided potential restrictions that would still allow the training exercises but in less harmful ways, and the court chose to ignore them, with only a couple of dissenters.
I’m appalled!
On the one hand, creatures of supposedly less intelligence than us step in and save people’s lives. On the other, our government allows beings who can’t stick up for themselves to be killed in the name of national security--even while there are alternatives.
I see a lot of irony in that. Don’t you?
--Linda
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
BLACKWORK
I signed up for a private lesson in blackwork and took it last week Thursday. Blackwork is the name of the Betsy Devonshire novel that will follow Thai Die (Dec. 2 release), and it is nearly finished in first draft manuscript form. Blackwork has two meanings. The first is a form of counted embroidery, the second is an alternate term for black magic. This makes it perfect as a book title in a needlework series, especially when the book is about a Wiccan woman accused of murder.
I’m glad I took the class, which will result in an eight-sided pincushion.
But doing blackwork isn’t as easy as I’d hoped. Oh, the theory is easy enough – just as Hardanger is easy, in theory. Blackwork has been made easier for me since the lesson. Between a good teacher who managed to talk down to my level, and a relatively simple pattern, I have both a little more ability in the craft and a little more confidence that, if I really worked at it, I could get a whole lot better. I’m having a follow-up lesson tomorrow evening. By then I’m supposed to have completed two copies of the pattern. Since I’ve not quite finished one, perhaps I shouldn’t be writing this blog entry but . . .
Excuse me.
I’m glad I took the class, which will result in an eight-sided pincushion.
But doing blackwork isn’t as easy as I’d hoped. Oh, the theory is easy enough – just as Hardanger is easy, in theory. Blackwork has been made easier for me since the lesson. Between a good teacher who managed to talk down to my level, and a relatively simple pattern, I have both a little more ability in the craft and a little more confidence that, if I really worked at it, I could get a whole lot better. I’m having a follow-up lesson tomorrow evening. By then I’m supposed to have completed two copies of the pattern. Since I’ve not quite finished one, perhaps I shouldn’t be writing this blog entry but . . .
Excuse me.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
As luck would have it
"If you choose to rely on a rabbit's foot for luck, be aware that it didn't work for the rabbit."
I'm often guilty of playing the Luck Card, attributing success to being in the right place at the right time. I wonder about people who just happen to bump into the King of The Publishing World in line at the post office, or meet the beloved daughter of the Queen of Making Bestsellers in the produce aisle.
If it's hard work and not luck, that's too bad, because that means you'd have to cover every produce aisle and every post office 24/7 to be sure to bump into someone who'll be helpful to your career.
Unless you have a few things going for you—objects or rituals that are lucky for you.
I've been known to toss an article of clothing that failed me—not that it didn't look good, but that I wore it three times and something went wrong each time. Maybe I missed the bus the first time, got overcharged by a cabbie the second time, and ran out of gas the third time. Out, blue jacket!
I have certain rituals and superstitions that get me through tricky times; some are OCD-related, like lining things up; others are too embarrassing to share on the open 'net.
What do you think? What's luck got to do with it?
Monday, November 10, 2008
Quaking in my Boots
I've been listening to motivational tapes as I drive. And since I've spent so much time in my car, I've heard plenty of them. One word has stuck in my head..."courage."
You see, most of us think of courage as something we call on when in dangerous situations. But motivational masters remind us that courage is an emotion we rely on every day of our lives.
For example, this weekend I was on a panel at the Jewish Book Festival. Up on that stage I felt tiny and totally inadequate. To my right were Jody Feldman who wrote The Gollywhopper Games, which won a Midwest Booksellers Association award, and Bruce Jay Friedman, who was representing his new book of short stories, Three Balconies. Mr. Friedman's other works have been translated into movies and stage. You might be familiar with them--Splash! with Tom Hanks, and The Heartbreak Kid.
Ever feel like a poseur? Someone who doesn't belong? I sure did. I sat there, working hard at looking calm and wondering how I could disappear. I mean, what right did I have to be there?
Well, the right I had was that the Jewish Book Festival chose me. And once I accepted their kind offer, I was in for the long haul. I had to do my best. And I did.
Afterwards I signed books and spoke to the crowd. One lady praised my poise and asked me if I'd come speak to her group.
Poise? Ma'am, I was shaking like the metaphorical bowl full of jelly. I was totally freaked out.
Good thing I'd listened to a lot of motivational tapes. Courage: It isn't just for special occasions. Lately I feel like I've had to dip into my bag of courage a lot and pull up the sheerest scarves of it--praying I can cover myself enough to keep on keeping on. At times like this, I try to remind myself, "I'm in this for the long haul. I have to do my best. I'm just what I am. I'm only who I am. And I pray that's enough."
You see, most of us think of courage as something we call on when in dangerous situations. But motivational masters remind us that courage is an emotion we rely on every day of our lives.
For example, this weekend I was on a panel at the Jewish Book Festival. Up on that stage I felt tiny and totally inadequate. To my right were Jody Feldman who wrote The Gollywhopper Games, which won a Midwest Booksellers Association award, and Bruce Jay Friedman, who was representing his new book of short stories, Three Balconies. Mr. Friedman's other works have been translated into movies and stage. You might be familiar with them--Splash! with Tom Hanks, and The Heartbreak Kid.
Ever feel like a poseur? Someone who doesn't belong? I sure did. I sat there, working hard at looking calm and wondering how I could disappear. I mean, what right did I have to be there?
Well, the right I had was that the Jewish Book Festival chose me. And once I accepted their kind offer, I was in for the long haul. I had to do my best. And I did.
Afterwards I signed books and spoke to the crowd. One lady praised my poise and asked me if I'd come speak to her group.
Poise? Ma'am, I was shaking like the metaphorical bowl full of jelly. I was totally freaked out.
Good thing I'd listened to a lot of motivational tapes. Courage: It isn't just for special occasions. Lately I feel like I've had to dip into my bag of courage a lot and pull up the sheerest scarves of it--praying I can cover myself enough to keep on keeping on. At times like this, I try to remind myself, "I'm in this for the long haul. I have to do my best. I'm just what I am. I'm only who I am. And I pray that's enough."
Sunday, November 9, 2008
A Sunday chuckle
Today's cryptoquote from my husband:
Once you can accept the universe as Matter expanding into Nothing that is Something, wearing stripes with plaids comes easy.
Too nerdy? Now you have a glimpse into the marriage between a physicist and an engineer.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Serendipity
Friday afternoon I took the copy edit of By Hook or Crook to FedEx and let out a sigh of relief. The manuscript would get to my editor right on time. Afterwards I was trying to decide which Trader Joe’s to go to. Should I pick the closest, but possibly get stuck in after school traffic, or go to the further one which has lots and lots of parking and no school buses involved?
The far away one won.
While I was wandering the store, I saw a familiar face. A woman who used to take indoor cycling with me and who I hadn’t seen for a long time. We said hello and shared a few gym comments and then went on shopping.
We were in the produce department and my only excuse is that as a vegetarian I get very excited about heirloom tomatoes and bags with three different colored potatoes. It was only when I passed her again that my vegetable induced brain fog cleared and I remembered. Pam is a celebrant. In case you don’t know what that means – she presides over funerals. Maybe presides is the wrong word. Maybe handles funerals is a better word. The point is she makes the service very personal. No template where you just fill in the names and dates. She had told me about it during our shared cycling classes. I liked the title celebrant and it stuck with me. When I wrote a funeral scene in Hooked on Murder I mentioned the family had gotten the A list celebrant, while actually picturing Pam. But by then Pam wasn’t coming to the gym anymore, so I never got a chance to tell her. Until today.
When I passed her in front of the dairy case, I told her about a celebrant being in the book and gave her a bookmark from the supply I conveniently always have in my purse. She was surprised and happy with the news. I realized she didn’t even know I was a writer. That’s the thing about the gym – we’re all in tee shirts and stretching pants and barely know each others names let alone what anybody does outside of the gym. She gave me her card and said she’d like to write something about my book for a newsletter she writes for. We’re going to keep in touch.
If I’d gone to the other Trader Joe’s none of that would have happened.
The far away one won.
While I was wandering the store, I saw a familiar face. A woman who used to take indoor cycling with me and who I hadn’t seen for a long time. We said hello and shared a few gym comments and then went on shopping.
We were in the produce department and my only excuse is that as a vegetarian I get very excited about heirloom tomatoes and bags with three different colored potatoes. It was only when I passed her again that my vegetable induced brain fog cleared and I remembered. Pam is a celebrant. In case you don’t know what that means – she presides over funerals. Maybe presides is the wrong word. Maybe handles funerals is a better word. The point is she makes the service very personal. No template where you just fill in the names and dates. She had told me about it during our shared cycling classes. I liked the title celebrant and it stuck with me. When I wrote a funeral scene in Hooked on Murder I mentioned the family had gotten the A list celebrant, while actually picturing Pam. But by then Pam wasn’t coming to the gym anymore, so I never got a chance to tell her. Until today.
When I passed her in front of the dairy case, I told her about a celebrant being in the book and gave her a bookmark from the supply I conveniently always have in my purse. She was surprised and happy with the news. I realized she didn’t even know I was a writer. That’s the thing about the gym – we’re all in tee shirts and stretching pants and barely know each others names let alone what anybody does outside of the gym. She gave me her card and said she’d like to write something about my book for a newsletter she writes for. We’re going to keep in touch.
If I’d gone to the other Trader Joe’s none of that would have happened.
Friday, November 7, 2008
ch-ch-changes
I got my weekly writing lesson from an unlikely source this week. The election. Candidate Obama has been talking about change. A lot. For months. So much so that the word seemed to have no meaning. Another politician's meaningless rhetoric. I think Americans had begun to believe that change was impossible.
Until President-elect Obama gave his acceptance speech, that is. Maybe because I was listening in a new way, with an open mind and heart, I found the speech inspiring. Whatever the reason, I got it. Change was, is, possible. Change is the greatest opportunity our freedoms allow us. No other country in the world encourages--and facilitates--change as much as the good old US of A.
Every time we open a book, we're looking for, expecting the characters to change. We read to experience the visceral life-changing experiences. We want to feel the raw emotion, the fear and the joy. The scariness of the back alley, the elation of discovering the Lost Ark, the blind happiness of holding your newborn.
As authors, we must put our characters through the conflicts that change them. We must produce new people by the end of our stories. We must have tempered them with heat that will morph them into new shapes. Our characters must change.
All hail America. Long may she change.
Until President-elect Obama gave his acceptance speech, that is. Maybe because I was listening in a new way, with an open mind and heart, I found the speech inspiring. Whatever the reason, I got it. Change was, is, possible. Change is the greatest opportunity our freedoms allow us. No other country in the world encourages--and facilitates--change as much as the good old US of A.
Every time we open a book, we're looking for, expecting the characters to change. We read to experience the visceral life-changing experiences. We want to feel the raw emotion, the fear and the joy. The scariness of the back alley, the elation of discovering the Lost Ark, the blind happiness of holding your newborn.
As authors, we must put our characters through the conflicts that change them. We must produce new people by the end of our stories. We must have tempered them with heat that will morph them into new shapes. Our characters must change.
All hail America. Long may she change.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Our President-Elect’s Promises
Our country is set to have lots of changes in the White House. We have a new president-elect, who’ll move in there in January with his wife and two young daughters.
And a puppy.
I’d heard during President-Elect Barack Obama’s campaign that his daughters had requested, and he had promised, a new puppy once the campaign was over. Obama has won the presidency. And it’s great to learn that he does, indeed, keep his promises. Or at least he mentioned this one in his acceptance speech. I’ve seen that part of his speech reported quite a few times in the news, too.
So what kind of a puppy will the Obama family adopt? Ah, that is an interesting question. A controversial one.
News has reported that his 10-year-old daughter Malia, who has allergies, has requested a "goldendoodle," a hypoallergenic hybrid of a golden retriever and a standard poodle. In a poll taken by the AKC, the public has voted on a purebred poodle instead. But will the Obamas alienate a lot of other members of the American public by adopting a purebred or designer dog instead of rescuing a mixed breed? Undoubtedly.
But at least they have a logical reason behind it: Malia’s allergies. Without being certain of a mixed breed’s heritage, they couldn’t be certain it was as hypoallergenic as some known purebreds.
My opinion? They should do what they want. I love all dogs, hate the idea of so many being housed, or euthanized, in shelters. On the other hand, I fell in love with Cavalier King Charles Spaniels many years ago. Each one who’s adopted me has had a different personality, including my current loves, my dearly adored Lexie, whose counterpart is the star of my Kendra Ballantyne, Pet-Sitter Mysteries, and her nutty puppy friend Mystie. Their basic characteristics and, in general, their kinds of health concerns, are a known quantity. That’s one advantage of purebreds, at least as long as they are acquired from reputable breeders and not pet stores that get their pups from puppy mills.
Sounds to me as if the Obamas have excellent reason to choose a purebred, or a designer dog of known heritage like a goldendoodle. I’m sure, if that’s their choice, there will be plenty of people who object to it. But if that’s the worst controversy that occurs during Barack Obama’s administration, we’ll all be better off!
Dare I ask your opinion on what kind of puppy should be the White House’s newest canine occupant?
--Linda
And a puppy.
I’d heard during President-Elect Barack Obama’s campaign that his daughters had requested, and he had promised, a new puppy once the campaign was over. Obama has won the presidency. And it’s great to learn that he does, indeed, keep his promises. Or at least he mentioned this one in his acceptance speech. I’ve seen that part of his speech reported quite a few times in the news, too.
So what kind of a puppy will the Obama family adopt? Ah, that is an interesting question. A controversial one.
News has reported that his 10-year-old daughter Malia, who has allergies, has requested a "goldendoodle," a hypoallergenic hybrid of a golden retriever and a standard poodle. In a poll taken by the AKC, the public has voted on a purebred poodle instead. But will the Obamas alienate a lot of other members of the American public by adopting a purebred or designer dog instead of rescuing a mixed breed? Undoubtedly.
But at least they have a logical reason behind it: Malia’s allergies. Without being certain of a mixed breed’s heritage, they couldn’t be certain it was as hypoallergenic as some known purebreds.
My opinion? They should do what they want. I love all dogs, hate the idea of so many being housed, or euthanized, in shelters. On the other hand, I fell in love with Cavalier King Charles Spaniels many years ago. Each one who’s adopted me has had a different personality, including my current loves, my dearly adored Lexie, whose counterpart is the star of my Kendra Ballantyne, Pet-Sitter Mysteries, and her nutty puppy friend Mystie. Their basic characteristics and, in general, their kinds of health concerns, are a known quantity. That’s one advantage of purebreds, at least as long as they are acquired from reputable breeders and not pet stores that get their pups from puppy mills.
Sounds to me as if the Obamas have excellent reason to choose a purebred, or a designer dog of known heritage like a goldendoodle. I’m sure, if that’s their choice, there will be plenty of people who object to it. But if that’s the worst controversy that occurs during Barack Obama’s administration, we’ll all be better off!
Dare I ask your opinion on what kind of puppy should be the White House’s newest canine occupant?
--Linda
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Me, the Election Official!
I was an election "judge" in Minneapolis on Tuesday. That means I got to sit at different stations in the big room in Ward Seven, Eleventh Precinct while people came in to vote. I checked people in, helped people register, watched the machine where people inserted their ballots, and handed out "I Voted" stickers. Turnout at first was very heavy. It’s a mixed precinct, everyone from welfare moms to businessmen, students to senior citizens. I was surprised at how many had to re-register until the Precinct Captain told me that it’s a part of town where many people are "just passing through," and others are still finding themselves, and so they all move a lot. One young woman came in with her small dog, but animals are not allowed in the voting area. We weren’t busy at the time so I volunteered to sit out in an outer room and hold the little animal for her. She was a mixed breed dog, quite small, the kind with long, unkempt-looking gray-black fur. She sat very quietly, barely acknowledging my words or strokes. Then her mistress appeared, and she became a wild thing revealing, I think, how anxious and unhappy she was over the separation – but too gently-bred to growl and sulk over her absence. A good little dog.
Entries in my find a boyfriend for Betsy have dropped off sharply, and I’m tempted to call off the contest early. I’m at a part of the book where he needs to appear and it’s hard writing around him. But I said November 15, so I guess I should stick to that date. It’s going to be hard to choose, there are some really great entries. Once in awhile I will get an entry that is obviously part of a story the writer has thought about, and those people I encourage to go ahead and write the story – even the novel, if it appears complex enough. There are web sites on which a writer can try out a story using some published author’s vision – Star Trek fans are legendary for stories set in that world. But it’s possible to write a story set in Betsy Devonshire’s Excelsior, too. I’d love to read a story told from Godwin’s point of view. Also such exercises can be a step for a budding author to get his or her very own original story published.
Entries in my find a boyfriend for Betsy have dropped off sharply, and I’m tempted to call off the contest early. I’m at a part of the book where he needs to appear and it’s hard writing around him. But I said November 15, so I guess I should stick to that date. It’s going to be hard to choose, there are some really great entries. Once in awhile I will get an entry that is obviously part of a story the writer has thought about, and those people I encourage to go ahead and write the story – even the novel, if it appears complex enough. There are web sites on which a writer can try out a story using some published author’s vision – Star Trek fans are legendary for stories set in that world. But it’s possible to write a story set in Betsy Devonshire’s Excelsior, too. I’d love to read a story told from Godwin’s point of view. Also such exercises can be a step for a budding author to get his or her very own original story published.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Thank a librarian
This is an official apology to librarians everywhere. I could blame Gerry Porter, my Miniature Mysteries protagonist since she's the one who spoke the offending words.
Or I could blame Margaret Grace, my aka who wrote the words.
But instead I'll step up and blame myself for not being more clear about what real librarians do.
Here's my mistake: Gerry Porter, amateur sleuth and retired English teacher, volunteers in her library's literacy program, helping older people attain their GEDs. I've done that myself and think it's a worthy activity. In the book, Gerry explains that her student has been promised a job in the library once she gets her GED, a job helping at the reference desk.
Uh-oh – it certainly looks like SOMEONE thinks all you need to be a reference librarian is a GED. Gerry knows better. Margaret Grace knows better. I know better but it certainly didn't come across that way.
What I had in mind was the job I had as a high school student. The public library was right next door to the high school in my day, and I had a job there after school. I shelved books, glued ivory colored pockets to the backs of books, and ran errands for the librarian. The summer after I got my diploma, I was promoted to working at the desk answering questions. They weren't the kinds of questions real librarians answer now. More like: where are the books Mrs. Andrews assigned for summer reading? What does antidisestablishmentarianism mean? It was a different era and a poor town, and I'm not even sure there was a real reference librarian in those days.
I'm well aware that librarians today are highly educated and intensively trained in library and information sciences. Their curriculum includes classes in research methods and statistics, information and records organization and management; policies that influence the creation of information and access to it; issues of legality, privacy, equity, and ethics in this information age. And that's just the beginning. There are concentrations in digital libraries, school libraries, youth services, and specialized libraries such as those in corporate, medical, museum, or other organizational settings.
I set one of my periodic table mysteries, The Boric Acid Murder, in the Revere Public Library of today. I had the full cooperation and encouragement of the current Director, so I know at least that turned out okay.
My library job at sixteen was the first "clean" job I had. I went home smelling of delicious paper and rubber stamps instead of hot dogs and pepper steaks, from my job at a food concession on the beach.
I loved working in the stacks, surrounded by books and wanted to give my character that experience. That's what I had in mind for Gerry Porter's students.
I never meant to make it seem that anyone could staff a reference desk; I meant it as something wonderful to aspire to.
Please join me in hugging – or at least thanking -- a librarian today, to help make up for my awkward, sludgy prose.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Why I'm Going Out Canvassing Today
I can always tell when I've been on the road too long--or I'm overly hungry, tired or lonely. I get cranky and weepy.
Today is one of those days, as I've been running full tilt and nearly on empty to promote Paper, Scissors, Death. I've spent most of six weeks alone in a car on highways with frequent breaks at yucky gas stations, highlighted only by meeting old pals, new readers and new author-friends.
Yesterday, I talked about my exhaustion with my friend, Vaughn Kohler, a youth paster at Grace Baptist Church in Manhattan, Kansas, and Vaughn stroked his chin-hairs before answering solemnly, "There's a reason God says to keep holy the seventh day." The delightful teen who worked in my office has grown into a thoughtful, wise young man, whom I call friend.
But I cannot rest today. Over the weekend, I've heard increasing reports of attacks on my family for our choice of presidential candidates. First, my husband was at a neighborhood bonfire, and after good-natured disagreements with our close neighbors, a woman from several blocks away attacked him for his presidential decision. When he tried to defend his position, she sloshed her martini in his face and screamed at him. When he tried again, she screamed louder and shook a finger in his face. Finally, he gathered our dogs and started for him.
She came after him.
So...David spent all day Sunday canvassing for our chosen candidate. It was his way of responding.
Yesterday, I talked to my Aunt Shirley and learned she, too, had been harrassed by fear mongers. They were sending her threatening emails. Shirley is in her 70s. Certainly, this is upsetting. In fact, I'd go further--it's downright disgusting.
A free nation is free because we are free to disagree. Sometimes passionately, but always respectfully. In disagreeing, we sharpen our arguments, we are forced to dig deep and re-think, and smart people often walk away determined to further educate themselves.
We have no room in this country for uncivil disagreement. Indeed, the stakes are so high, that uncivil discord will only plunge our country further into thise huge morass of doubt, indecision, and bad choices. If we are to regain the high road--to again be the shining beacon on the hill--we must learn to listen to each other, to disagree without being disagreeable, and to emerge thoughtful, not angry. We must build accord rather than discord.
Because as Abraham Lincoln said, "A house divided cannot stand."
And now, I'm going out to canvass votes for my candidate. I will NOT let hate-mongerers decide for me. I will NOT be frightened into staying home. I will NOT sit idly by while some scream in my face, my husband's or my aunts. That is NOT the America I choose to live in, and so it is incumbent on me to help rebuild my country, one household at a time by respectfully urging occupants to vote--and if they are undecided to offer them what information I can.
Today is one of those days, as I've been running full tilt and nearly on empty to promote Paper, Scissors, Death. I've spent most of six weeks alone in a car on highways with frequent breaks at yucky gas stations, highlighted only by meeting old pals, new readers and new author-friends.
Yesterday, I talked about my exhaustion with my friend, Vaughn Kohler, a youth paster at Grace Baptist Church in Manhattan, Kansas, and Vaughn stroked his chin-hairs before answering solemnly, "There's a reason God says to keep holy the seventh day." The delightful teen who worked in my office has grown into a thoughtful, wise young man, whom I call friend.
But I cannot rest today. Over the weekend, I've heard increasing reports of attacks on my family for our choice of presidential candidates. First, my husband was at a neighborhood bonfire, and after good-natured disagreements with our close neighbors, a woman from several blocks away attacked him for his presidential decision. When he tried to defend his position, she sloshed her martini in his face and screamed at him. When he tried again, she screamed louder and shook a finger in his face. Finally, he gathered our dogs and started for him.
She came after him.
So...David spent all day Sunday canvassing for our chosen candidate. It was his way of responding.
Yesterday, I talked to my Aunt Shirley and learned she, too, had been harrassed by fear mongers. They were sending her threatening emails. Shirley is in her 70s. Certainly, this is upsetting. In fact, I'd go further--it's downright disgusting.
A free nation is free because we are free to disagree. Sometimes passionately, but always respectfully. In disagreeing, we sharpen our arguments, we are forced to dig deep and re-think, and smart people often walk away determined to further educate themselves.
We have no room in this country for uncivil disagreement. Indeed, the stakes are so high, that uncivil discord will only plunge our country further into thise huge morass of doubt, indecision, and bad choices. If we are to regain the high road--to again be the shining beacon on the hill--we must learn to listen to each other, to disagree without being disagreeable, and to emerge thoughtful, not angry. We must build accord rather than discord.
Because as Abraham Lincoln said, "A house divided cannot stand."
And now, I'm going out to canvass votes for my candidate. I will NOT let hate-mongerers decide for me. I will NOT be frightened into staying home. I will NOT sit idly by while some scream in my face, my husband's or my aunts. That is NOT the America I choose to live in, and so it is incumbent on me to help rebuild my country, one household at a time by respectfully urging occupants to vote--and if they are undecided to offer them what information I can.
By the way, I encourage you to journal about your candidate. In fact, here's a journaling box to get you started. Email me at savetales@aol.com if you want it in a file form. I think future generations will be curious about YOUR decision. And let's face it: No one can truly test a candidate except time in office.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Catch of the day
My husband didn't get his usual paper delivery on Friday. He called to report it and received this message an hour later: "Thank you for reporting your missing paper. If you don't receive your paper by six o'clock this evening, let us know. Please use the number listed in the paper."
Anything like that ever happen to you??
Happy Halloween
The last of the Tinkerbells, ladybugs and Spidermen have rung the bell and gone home. There is barely anything left of the four giant bags of assorted chocolate bars or the 200 sour twizzlers. We had 383 trick or treaters. My husband likes to keep track. For awhile there were so many kids going by, I couldn’t see across the street. This on a street where there are no sidewalks and usually barely any foot traffic.
When things quieted down, I took my dog for her nightly walk. I was surprised at how many of the houses on the street were totally dark, meaning they weren’t giving out candy. Then there were the houses with elaborate Halloween decorations.
We always give out candy, and it’s always two candies per kid. Because I remember what a big deal Halloween was for me when I was young. Candy, along with pop (the Chicago term for carbonated beverages), and snack items like chips and such were non existent at my house. It wasn’t that my parents were some kind of food fanatics. It was all dollars and cents, or lack of.
Halloween was my once a year source of candy. I remember coming home and dumping my bag of goodies into a shoe box. I always took out the loose candy corn. It was long before anybody thought of putting razor blades in apples or poison in candy, but the orange and yellow pieces always seemed to be covered with some kind of bag lint that even for candy starved me didn’t seem appealing. The selection of candy was much smaller in those days. The candy companies hadn’t figured out what a good idea it was to make all this miniature versions of their bigger bars. As I recall mostly I got Kraft caramels, little Tootsie Rolls, silvery wrapped Hershey Kisses, pieces of Double Bubble, some lolly pops and if I was lucky a few regular size candy bars. I would always make the candy last – sometimes almost until Christmas.
The other part of trick or treating I liked was seeing the inside of houses, or as much as you could see from the front door being open. We lived in a building that had been built as a hotel for the World’s Fair which I think was in 1993. This was in the fifties and to describe the building as run down was the kind way to put it. Rent was cheap and it attracted a lot of writers, artists and just interesting people. I think the term was bohemian. Later they were called beatniks and later than that hippies. A lot of the houses and apartments around us were much nicer than ours and I was curious to see what they were like inside.
Mrs. Gardener lived in a brick row house down the block. Often she would let some of the kids in to see her antique doll collection, which was a big treat. She’s gone now, but her dolls are part of a permanent exhibit at the Museum of Science and Industry. Whenever I see the exhibit, it reminds me of Halloween and coming into her house.
I don’t know if any of the kids who came by tonight cared about looking inside my house, though I do have lots and lots of dolls lining the top of the bookcase in the entrance hall and on the other side standing on top of the old treadle machine and balancing on shelves. They aren’t antiques like Mrs. Gardeners, but they are a funny combination of everything from PeeWee Herman to Barbie as a veterinarian to a handmade Popeye the Sailor. I do know that the kids seemed just as excited to get the treats as I was when I was their age. It’s nice that some things stay the same.
When things quieted down, I took my dog for her nightly walk. I was surprised at how many of the houses on the street were totally dark, meaning they weren’t giving out candy. Then there were the houses with elaborate Halloween decorations.
We always give out candy, and it’s always two candies per kid. Because I remember what a big deal Halloween was for me when I was young. Candy, along with pop (the Chicago term for carbonated beverages), and snack items like chips and such were non existent at my house. It wasn’t that my parents were some kind of food fanatics. It was all dollars and cents, or lack of.
Halloween was my once a year source of candy. I remember coming home and dumping my bag of goodies into a shoe box. I always took out the loose candy corn. It was long before anybody thought of putting razor blades in apples or poison in candy, but the orange and yellow pieces always seemed to be covered with some kind of bag lint that even for candy starved me didn’t seem appealing. The selection of candy was much smaller in those days. The candy companies hadn’t figured out what a good idea it was to make all this miniature versions of their bigger bars. As I recall mostly I got Kraft caramels, little Tootsie Rolls, silvery wrapped Hershey Kisses, pieces of Double Bubble, some lolly pops and if I was lucky a few regular size candy bars. I would always make the candy last – sometimes almost until Christmas.
The other part of trick or treating I liked was seeing the inside of houses, or as much as you could see from the front door being open. We lived in a building that had been built as a hotel for the World’s Fair which I think was in 1993. This was in the fifties and to describe the building as run down was the kind way to put it. Rent was cheap and it attracted a lot of writers, artists and just interesting people. I think the term was bohemian. Later they were called beatniks and later than that hippies. A lot of the houses and apartments around us were much nicer than ours and I was curious to see what they were like inside.
Mrs. Gardener lived in a brick row house down the block. Often she would let some of the kids in to see her antique doll collection, which was a big treat. She’s gone now, but her dolls are part of a permanent exhibit at the Museum of Science and Industry. Whenever I see the exhibit, it reminds me of Halloween and coming into her house.
I don’t know if any of the kids who came by tonight cared about looking inside my house, though I do have lots and lots of dolls lining the top of the bookcase in the entrance hall and on the other side standing on top of the old treadle machine and balancing on shelves. They aren’t antiques like Mrs. Gardeners, but they are a funny combination of everything from PeeWee Herman to Barbie as a veterinarian to a handmade Popeye the Sailor. I do know that the kids seemed just as excited to get the treats as I was when I was their age. It’s nice that some things stay the same.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
