I was fortunate enough to spend a few days in early July 1976 in Philadelphia, visiting my mother’s family, including her mother, who had gone from the horse-and-carriage days to men on the moon in her single lifetime. We visited Independence Hall and I touched the Liberty Bell.
On the third of July, Uncle Red held a cookout in his and Aunt Dolores’ back yard, then six of us decided we wanted to see a fireworks display down at the waterfront. It was kind of a last-minute decision, and when we got there, no parking place was to be found. A group of cars was fruitlessly circling around in a parking lot, when all the drivers simultaneously got the same idea: No one was going to want to leave until after the fireworks, so why not just leave the cars where they were?
The fireworks were to be set off out on a breakwater. This was in the days when individual fireworks were set off by hand instead of by computer, and someone dropped the flare, and I’m not sure how, but it set off what seemed like dozens of big skyrockets that weren’t in the holders that aim them at the sky. Instead they came hissing across the water right at us. Hundreds of people ran screaming amid sparks and explosions. Then, about the time the first of us reached the street, the bombardment stopped. Big black flakes of ash fell like unholy snow. We looked around. No one had been struck by a firework or set on fire by the sparks; they had all gone flying over our heads. Somebody started to laugh and then we all laughed and cheered, and went back to our places. The rest of the show, though it featured bigger and better fireworks than I had ever seen, seemed anti-climactic. That remains my favorite memory of fireworks.
This recipe for bean salad was taught to my mother, then a young bride, by my father’s oldest cousin, whom we all called aunt. I only make it on very special occasions.
AUNT VELVA’S BEAN SALAD
2 cans of dark red kidney beans, drained and rinsed
4 or 5 sweet pickles, the little kind called gherkins, sliced
3 hard-boiled eggs, sliced or chopped very coarsely
1 medium sweet onion, chopped
Mix the ingredients in a bowl, then make the sauce:
One-fourth cup of cider vinegar
One-half cup sugar
One cup sour cream
Blend the sauce thoroughly and pour over the bean mix. You might wish to reserve one of the eggs, slice it thinly and lay the slices on top of the salad.
Best made in advance -- even the night before -- and stored in the refrigerator.
Yum!
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Best Picnic Sites
My top 10 scenarios for an acceptable picnic:
1. Brunch in the Metropolitan Museum of Art Trustees' dining room, overlooking Central Park — you can see grass and trees from almost every table, but there are no bugs and the birds turn back when they brush the window (I wish them no harm).
2. Reclining on a pillowtop bed in a fine hotel eating a veggie sandwich, chips, and a brownie from room service.
3. One expensive candy bar, bought at intermission in a Broadway theater.
4. A good seat at a new movie theater, stadium seating, with a bag of popcorn, no cinemuck on the floor, and DeNiro, Streep, and Pacino on the screen.
5. Like #4, but in my home with Hugh Dillon or Simon Baker on the screen.
6. Sitting on a bench in the (indoor) court of the American wing at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, with a snack from one of their many cafes.
7. through 9. Like #6, but at the National Gallery in DC., the Isabella Stuart Gardner Museum in Boston, or the Art Institute in Chicago.
10. Lunch at Lord & Taylor, 5th Avenue, any weather.
I do have a great indoor recipe to share: toffee bars that are a picnic to make.
SALTINE TOFFEE BARS
1 stack of saltines, enough to line a cookie tray.
2 sticks of butter
1 cup sugar
12 oz. chocolate chips, or enough to cover your tray
Line the cookie tray with foil, then place saltines, touching, to cover the tray. Melt butter and sugar until blended, then pour over crackers. Bake at 375 for about 10 minutes. Remove from oven and immediately sprinkle chocolate chips over the crackers. Spread the chocolate as it melts.
Optional: add chopped nuts to the top.
Let cool (if you can wait) and cut into pieces and have a picnic!
Happy Fourth, everyone!
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Recipe for a Fabulous Fourth--Watermelon Salad
All week long, the Killer Hobbies Blog Sisters will be sharing their favorite picnic worthy recipes. Yum! I'm leading off with a juicy treat:
Watermelon Salad
3 cups of cubed seedless watermelon
2 T. raspberry vinaigrette salad dressing (Newman's Own)
2 T. unsalted sunflower seeds
2 T. blue cheese (crumbled)
Put watermelon in large bowl. Pour vinaigrette dressing over the cubes and toss. Mix in sunflower seeds and blue cheese. Salt to taste.
**
I grew up in a small town called Vincennes, Indiana, which was known as the "Watermelon Capital of the World." The first thing every resident had to learn was how to spell the town name. We did it with a rhyme: v-i-n/ c-e-n/ n-e-s.
Do you love watermelon? Growing up, I recall a watermelon festival in the summers. Oh, how I loved the sweet, ripe fruit, and the feel of the juices dripping down our arms on a hot summer day.
Today, you might have heard about Vincennes because they have another use for watermelons. Each New Year's Eve, they drop watermelons 100 feet to mark the New Year. Last year, they dropped ten melons. My best friend from Lincoln High School (in Vincennes) told me it was a hoot.
I'm feeling awfully partial to my old hometown these days because I just received a very special invitation. I've been invited to serve as the Grand Marshal for the Christmas parade. Next time you see me, be sure to ask me to show off my "wave" technique. (I've been practicing.) My dictionary says a parade marshal is someone who is an honoree and usually rides in front of the parade in a vehicle. Hmmm. Or maybe on Santa's lap?
Just when I was thinking life couldn't possibly get any better, my husband came home with the news that we're supplying the Steinway grand for the 4th of July celebration on the National Mall. Imagine fireworks with our national monuments as a backdrop. I can't wait!
**
WINNER OF FREE COPY OF PHOTO, SNAP, SHOT:
Sarah S. of Sandwich, Illinois
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Simple Gifts
All this week we've been writing about fathers. I’m sure my father, Jacob Z. Jacobson, would have listed his profession as writer even though he spent a lot of years as a high school English teacher who because of his age could never be certified and so was paid as a substitute teacher which amounted to half a regular teacher’s salary. He wrote a number of non fiction books and even tried to start a publishing company. I checked on Amazon and found that three of his books were available and even though they’re used, the selling price is more than the price they were new. My father died in 1970. I think it would make him happy to know he’s on the Internet. He wrote quite a bit about Chicago artists and some of his papers are somewhere in the Smithsonian.
I carry around all kinds of stories about my father, any one of which probably tells what kind of a person he was. He was 48 when I was born and we lived in a building that had been built as a hotel for the 1893 World’s Fair. Rundown was a nice way to describe it. Money or lack of it, was a constant issue in our lives. I never asked for anything because I knew that the answer would be no. However one summer evening my father was going to go out for a walk. I’m not sure how he phrased it, but somehow he asked if any of us needed anything. I blurted out I’d like an ice cream cone never expecting to get it. A little while later, my father rang the downstairs doorbell and called me down where the mailboxes were. He was holding a double decker ice cream cone and I thought I was seeing things. I can still taste the vanilla flavor and feel the crunch of the little pieces of ice imbedded in it. It was the most delicious ice cream I’ve ever had.
I carry around all kinds of stories about my father, any one of which probably tells what kind of a person he was. He was 48 when I was born and we lived in a building that had been built as a hotel for the 1893 World’s Fair. Rundown was a nice way to describe it. Money or lack of it, was a constant issue in our lives. I never asked for anything because I knew that the answer would be no. However one summer evening my father was going to go out for a walk. I’m not sure how he phrased it, but somehow he asked if any of us needed anything. I blurted out I’d like an ice cream cone never expecting to get it. A little while later, my father rang the downstairs doorbell and called me down where the mailboxes were. He was holding a double decker ice cream cone and I thought I was seeing things. I can still taste the vanilla flavor and feel the crunch of the little pieces of ice imbedded in it. It was the most delicious ice cream I’ve ever had.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Alexander Wright
My grandfather was a man of his era. Born in 1903, he was a farmer, a fire chief, a road crew supervisor. He was quiet, taciturn and gruff.
Except maybe to his oldest granddaughter. I am one of six kids and a weekend escape to my grandparents’ small house was always heaven. The cherry trees out front could shade me on the hottest day of the year. The crick was an endless source of amusement and my grandmother would feed me homemade goodies.
Early one hot summer Sunday morning, my grandfather found 8 year old me sitting on the front porch steps, head in my hands, distraught. He asked me what was wrong. I told him the problem. The neighbors were going to the beach and I was invited along, but I couldn’t go because I hadn’t been to church yet that morning.
I was being raised Catholic. My mother had converted when she married into my father’s Irish Catholic family and she’d converted hard. Parochial school, fish on Fridays, many, many Stations of the Cross. Missing Sunday Mass was not an option. Usually when at my grandparents, I went with the French Canandien neighbor girl but I’d overslept. Now they were going to the beach, but I had to miss the outing.
My grandfather considered my dilemma. “Go to the beach,” he said. “It’s a beautiful day. You should be out enjoying it.”
“I can’t,” I cried. Life just didn’t go on without first going to church on Sunday morning. Not life as I knew it, anyway.
My grandfather was quiet for a few minutes. When he spoke, I heard the urgency in his voice. I knew he was telling me something important. Something I’d remember for the rest of my life.
“God knows you’re a good girl. He knows you’ve never missed a Sunday before now. He doesn’t require you to always be perfect. He loves you anyway.”
I jumped up. This was a revelation. “Really?”
He smiled slightly. “Go get your bathing suit on.”
I went to the beach and had a wonderful day. When I returned at five o’clock, my mother was waiting on the front porch. “Go change,” she said. “Your grandfather is taking you to Lewiston to six o’clock Mass.”
I learned two things that day. That I didn’t always have to be a perfect little girl. And that my mother had a lot more clout over my grandfather than I’d ever imagined.
My Dad
I’m visiting my father in Pittsburgh soon.
I was just there about a month ago. But a couple of days after I left, he fell and was in the hospital, then rehab. He was in good hands and there was nothing I could do, even if I’d visited then.
Now, he’s back home and doing well. There’s still not much I can do, but I want to give him some hugs.
He was one of the best contributing factors for my becoming a writer. I worked at his advertising and public relations agency while I was in high school, as a secretary and bookkeeper. After I graduated from Penn State in journalism with an advertising emphasis, I soon wound up working for him as a writer until I decided to become a lawyer.
Now, he sometimes takes credit for my having become a fiction writer but, hey, I don’t mind. He passed along some of his creative writing genes as well as his encouragement.
I celebrated him on Father’s Day last Sunday, and I celebrate him now.
By the way, on Father’s Day I was also celebrating our sons, and how much their wonderful father has influenced them. Our older son is especially handy--among other excellent traits. The handiness was handed along from his dad. Our younger son is a day trader--also among other excellent traits. His interest in the stock market was handed along by--you guessed it! His dad.
Do you see traits from your father in you? Traits in your kids from your spouse?
I was just there about a month ago. But a couple of days after I left, he fell and was in the hospital, then rehab. He was in good hands and there was nothing I could do, even if I’d visited then.
Now, he’s back home and doing well. There’s still not much I can do, but I want to give him some hugs.
He was one of the best contributing factors for my becoming a writer. I worked at his advertising and public relations agency while I was in high school, as a secretary and bookkeeper. After I graduated from Penn State in journalism with an advertising emphasis, I soon wound up working for him as a writer until I decided to become a lawyer.
Now, he sometimes takes credit for my having become a fiction writer but, hey, I don’t mind. He passed along some of his creative writing genes as well as his encouragement.
I celebrated him on Father’s Day last Sunday, and I celebrate him now.
By the way, on Father’s Day I was also celebrating our sons, and how much their wonderful father has influenced them. Our older son is especially handy--among other excellent traits. The handiness was handed along from his dad. Our younger son is a day trader--also among other excellent traits. His interest in the stock market was handed along by--you guessed it! His dad.
Do you see traits from your father in you? Traits in your kids from your spouse?
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
I Remember Dad
I thought when I got home I’d fall quickly back into my routine, but obviously that’s not the case -- I forgot to make an entry on Killer Hobbies. I’ve probably not done some other things, so I’d better take a survey today and see where else I’m missing out. I apologize for missing my deadline.
The rest of my Great Train Journey went as well as the earlier parts. The Rocky Mountain Chapter of Embroiderers Guild of America put on a terrific seminar in Salt Lake City and I was proud to be a part of it. I gave a speech at the first of two banquets which was very well received, and sold a whole lot of books I was pleased to sign. I took a class on Romanian Point Lace, which is a thick, heavy variety and came away with an appreciation for the art of lace making and now, I think, I know how to make some of it. I went to the Salt Lake City genealogy building and delved into my father’s family’s past going back to 1679 in Germany. We flew home and after the hassle of security at the airport, the cramped seats, and the crying babies, we both decided that trains are the only civilized way to travel.
My father was born in Upton County, Wyoming, in 1919, the last of four children. He was a gifted story teller and loved to travel. We moved a lot throughout my childhood, and at last he got a job that called for him to work for weeks at a time in other states, even other countries. He always came home with great souvenirs and wonderful stories. I think I inherited both his story telling ways and his itchy feet. (Naturally, I married a man who dislikes travel and who has sunk deep roots into the city we now live in. Fortunately, he’s willing for me to travel with a friend.)
Dad was a hunter and fisherman, but it was Mom who loved sports, especially baseball, football and basketball. Dad would turn on the television to a game, but would fall asleep during it. But if one of us tried to sneak over and change the channel, he would wake and insist he’d been watching it and make us turn the channel back to the game.
Dad was very good with animals. Before I was born (I’m the oldest) he acquired a border collie mix he named Bingo. He taught that dog all kinds of tricks beyond the usual. For example, Bingo would “say his prayers,” climbing up on a chair and putting his forepaws over the back, lowering his head and closing his eyes. You could call him, order him down, and he wouldn’t move -- until Dad said, “Amen.” Mom could send Bingo after any one of the children, and the dog would go looking until he found the one she wanted. I can remember playing with friends and Bingo coming up to take my wrist gently into his mouth and pulling me away towards home.
Dad died of bone cancer at age sixty-five, after a long and immensely brave struggle.
The rest of my Great Train Journey went as well as the earlier parts. The Rocky Mountain Chapter of Embroiderers Guild of America put on a terrific seminar in Salt Lake City and I was proud to be a part of it. I gave a speech at the first of two banquets which was very well received, and sold a whole lot of books I was pleased to sign. I took a class on Romanian Point Lace, which is a thick, heavy variety and came away with an appreciation for the art of lace making and now, I think, I know how to make some of it. I went to the Salt Lake City genealogy building and delved into my father’s family’s past going back to 1679 in Germany. We flew home and after the hassle of security at the airport, the cramped seats, and the crying babies, we both decided that trains are the only civilized way to travel.
My father was born in Upton County, Wyoming, in 1919, the last of four children. He was a gifted story teller and loved to travel. We moved a lot throughout my childhood, and at last he got a job that called for him to work for weeks at a time in other states, even other countries. He always came home with great souvenirs and wonderful stories. I think I inherited both his story telling ways and his itchy feet. (Naturally, I married a man who dislikes travel and who has sunk deep roots into the city we now live in. Fortunately, he’s willing for me to travel with a friend.)
Dad was a hunter and fisherman, but it was Mom who loved sports, especially baseball, football and basketball. Dad would turn on the television to a game, but would fall asleep during it. But if one of us tried to sneak over and change the channel, he would wake and insist he’d been watching it and make us turn the channel back to the game.
Dad was very good with animals. Before I was born (I’m the oldest) he acquired a border collie mix he named Bingo. He taught that dog all kinds of tricks beyond the usual. For example, Bingo would “say his prayers,” climbing up on a chair and putting his forepaws over the back, lowering his head and closing his eyes. You could call him, order him down, and he wouldn’t move -- until Dad said, “Amen.” Mom could send Bingo after any one of the children, and the dog would go looking until he found the one she wanted. I can remember playing with friends and Bingo coming up to take my wrist gently into his mouth and pulling me away towards home.
Dad died of bone cancer at age sixty-five, after a long and immensely brave struggle.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Daddy Was Buff!
Here's my Dad with a chubby little someone on Revere Beach many summers ago.
Check out Joe's biceps and pecs, straining against his shirt! My father started every day with two hours in a very exclusive gym.
NOT!
My father was a laborer and came by those muscles honestly—in construction and literally digging ditches. He had no formal schooling. Every morning he went out to the corner and stood with his buddies, all waiting for work. A truck would come by; the foreman would alight and ask, "Who can use a skill saw?"
My father would raise his hand and hope the guy next to him really did know how to use a skill saw so he could learn. The cash he brought home in a little brown envelope supported four of us. When it rained, he found "inside work" as he called it; in good weather, he was off to a building site.
I didn't know it then, but he modeled a work ethic that still means a lot to me: You do what you have to do to earn your own way in life.
Mostly I loved my father for his playfulness. As a kid, I would hide in the same spot, behind the couch, every night as he walked in the door. After he replaced his muddy clothes with clean ones, he'd stomp through the house "looking for me."
As Joe's daughter, I love this photo of the two of us.
As a writer, I wonder who are those people in the background? What are their stories?
Do you have the same thoughts about people whose photos are inadvertently included in your albums or picture frames? And how many living room galleries are we in??
Monday, June 21, 2010
He Is a Rock
This post begins our weeklong salute to fathers. We'd love to hear what you think about your dad or any other dad you know!
It also begins our first monthly book giveaway. To enter to win your copy of Photo, Snap, Shot, send us an email with your name and your postal address to killerhobbies@gmail.com The deadline is June 27, 2010.
**
I dedicated Photo, Snap, Shot to my husband for many reasons, one of them being that David Slan is a terrific father. This scrapbook page captures the love my husband has--and has always had--for our son, Michael. See how David is reading Madeline to our son? Michael must have been less than nine months old! But oh, how he would kick his feet in excitement as David read to him.
From the moment Michael was born, David was enchanted by him. David rocked Michael for hours. He changed diapers. He fed Michael bottles. He put Michael to sleep. He went to him during the night. It's not that I was sitting idle. Since Michael had colic, there was more than enough work for the two of us! But I was lucky that David was such a great dad.
One memorable day when Michael was still an infant, David decided to give Michael a bath. I heard my husband "negotiating" with our son as he undressed him. These words drifted down to me as I walked down the stairs: "Look, Mike, these are the rules: No pooping, no peeing, and no crying. You got it, buddy?"
Mike was not feeling cooperative.
I made it to the landing when I heard, "Jo-ANN-A!" I ran back up to the bathroom. Michael was lying on the bathroom counter. David was holding both of the baby's heels high in the air and staring at a huge mess. All I could do was laugh--and help mop up.
If there's one thing that Michael could say about his dad, it would be, "He's always there for me." Everything stops for Michael. I'm not sure he fully realizes that, but it's true. My husband would gladly lay down his life for his son. David would do anything for Michael. Anything.
Now that Michael is almost 21, the two are closer than ever. They discuss sports. They watch movies together. They play golf and poker. David is teaching Michael to buy used pianos. They laugh together. They quarrel. They play music. Loud music. David does the keyboards and Michael plays guitar.
They love each other.
David is Michael's rock.
I think Michael is one lucky dude.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
A Night on the Town
My number one priority right now is finishing going over the copy edited version of You Better Knot Die since my editor needs it back by Tuesday. I’d finished the portion I planned to do today and my husband and I made an outing out of going to Walmart.
I guess it doesn’t make us sound like we have a lot going on if going to Walmart can be considered any outing, but I think things are what you make of them. The one we go to is in an area called Porter Ranch that is all the way across the Valley and up on plateau against the the Santa Susanna Mountains. To me, it feels like a trip somewhere. I can look across the Valley and see the twinkling lights of Tarzana.
It was more about going somewhere than about shopping. I wanted to get some flowers to take the place of the petunias that have already died. I don’t know why, but I have poor luck growing petunias, which is too bad because I love their color and fragrance. Even with my not so good luck, I wanted to try again with some more plants. Maybe if I give them some special dirt they’ll thrive. My vegetable garden is beginning to take off. I already got the first tomato and put it in last night’s salad. It was an heirloom variety and had a different texture than a regular tomato. It was also a much brighter red, maybe blood red. There’s another one ready for picking.
We made a real evening of it and stopped at our favorite deli for supper first. I had a nice surprise there. I ran into somebody I know who I hadn’t seen in awhile and she told me she was reading her third book of mine.
Walmart is never quiet and on Friday night when people just got paid, it’s extra busy. Lots of kids trying out bicycles and people buying the latest DVD release to make an at home movie night. It was late when we got there and the plant area was always empty except for a friendly guy watching people as they exited that way to make sure they paid for their merchandise.
We did our shopping and got in line to checkout. I got the petunias, and some marigolds, too. I love the way they smell. And some white flower with pink center vincas because they are tough as nails and seem to thrive no matter what. The checkers are always pleasant, particularly if you consider that they face an endless line of people buying beach balls, cases of soda, electric drills and countless other things. This time after I’d given my credit card and done all the button pushing and signing, I noticed the woman’s badge said her name was Dolores. I usually just say thank you at the end, but this time I said thank you, Dolores. The woman’s head snapped up and her eyes came into focus. First, no doubt wondering if she knew me. Once she realized she didn’t, she kept the trace of a smile. It was clear that she felt noticed. And for me – she wasn’t just somebody with a blue tunic watching endless boxes of cereal and cans of paint go by. She was a person with a whole life story that had nothing to do with being a checker. All because I called her by name.
So, then I wondered why don’t I do this all of the time. The best I could come up with was that it’s breaking some kind of wall of privacy. It’s moving out of my own little anonymous bubble and making contact. But it made me feel good and it seemed to make her feel good. I’m definitely going to try to keep personalizing the thank yous when I go places even if it means stepping outside my comfort zone.
When you’re at the grocery store or at a restaurant, do you insert the person who helps you’s name when you thank them? Do you think it makes a difference?
I guess it doesn’t make us sound like we have a lot going on if going to Walmart can be considered any outing, but I think things are what you make of them. The one we go to is in an area called Porter Ranch that is all the way across the Valley and up on plateau against the the Santa Susanna Mountains. To me, it feels like a trip somewhere. I can look across the Valley and see the twinkling lights of Tarzana.
It was more about going somewhere than about shopping. I wanted to get some flowers to take the place of the petunias that have already died. I don’t know why, but I have poor luck growing petunias, which is too bad because I love their color and fragrance. Even with my not so good luck, I wanted to try again with some more plants. Maybe if I give them some special dirt they’ll thrive. My vegetable garden is beginning to take off. I already got the first tomato and put it in last night’s salad. It was an heirloom variety and had a different texture than a regular tomato. It was also a much brighter red, maybe blood red. There’s another one ready for picking.
We made a real evening of it and stopped at our favorite deli for supper first. I had a nice surprise there. I ran into somebody I know who I hadn’t seen in awhile and she told me she was reading her third book of mine.
Walmart is never quiet and on Friday night when people just got paid, it’s extra busy. Lots of kids trying out bicycles and people buying the latest DVD release to make an at home movie night. It was late when we got there and the plant area was always empty except for a friendly guy watching people as they exited that way to make sure they paid for their merchandise.
We did our shopping and got in line to checkout. I got the petunias, and some marigolds, too. I love the way they smell. And some white flower with pink center vincas because they are tough as nails and seem to thrive no matter what. The checkers are always pleasant, particularly if you consider that they face an endless line of people buying beach balls, cases of soda, electric drills and countless other things. This time after I’d given my credit card and done all the button pushing and signing, I noticed the woman’s badge said her name was Dolores. I usually just say thank you at the end, but this time I said thank you, Dolores. The woman’s head snapped up and her eyes came into focus. First, no doubt wondering if she knew me. Once she realized she didn’t, she kept the trace of a smile. It was clear that she felt noticed. And for me – she wasn’t just somebody with a blue tunic watching endless boxes of cereal and cans of paint go by. She was a person with a whole life story that had nothing to do with being a checker. All because I called her by name.
So, then I wondered why don’t I do this all of the time. The best I could come up with was that it’s breaking some kind of wall of privacy. It’s moving out of my own little anonymous bubble and making contact. But it made me feel good and it seemed to make her feel good. I’m definitely going to try to keep personalizing the thank yous when I go places even if it means stepping outside my comfort zone.
When you’re at the grocery store or at a restaurant, do you insert the person who helps you’s name when you thank them? Do you think it makes a difference?
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Real Food has Curves
I've been reading this book, REAL FOOD HAS CURVES. Catchy title, no? The authors are a writer and a chef, so you're right if you think reading this is a pleasure.
The premise of this book is that processed food makes u fat and sluggish and keeps us there. I've done a lot of reading on this (Michael Pollan's books in particular) and subscribe to Nutrition Action, so I know most of the facts in here. But fear not, facts are the only reason to get this book.
These authors use their own life to help illuminate their points and invite you envision how your life might change. They break down the boring nutriton stuff into tiny, palatable bites. Small steps that you can take to improve your diet. Easy ways to add more flavor and less chemicals to your life. They even quote Julia Sugarbaker, the truthtelling Designing Woman.
Not that they promise it will be easy. The truth is eating well involves more cooking at home and less eating out. Portions in restaurants are so far out of whack that it is difficult to maintain good health if we frequent them. Cooking at home means preparation and shopping and planning ahead. (Not to mention, dishes.) For many of us, that means change.
The authors urge us to take what they call a Yes, And attitude. Rather than just going along as we've always have, try something new. Commit to eating a vegetable you've never eaten before, throw in a spice you've avoided. The 100 recipes in this book will help. They're varied with a wide range of ingredients and tastes.
I'm going to try a new recipe tomorrow. Not sure if it'll be the Mape Dofu or the Thyme and Garlic Roasted Shrimp. Not even sure if I'll like it. But I might.
And Julia Sugarbaker would be proud.
What about you? Tried any new recipes lately?
Characters
It’s fun to invent characters.
I’ve been doing so for a while, and I never get tired of it. Sometimes, they’re people with characteristics I admire. Kendra Ballantyne, protagonist in my pet-sitter mystery series, is an alter ego of mine, a lawyer who also loves animals.
I’m working now with Lauren Vancouver, my new Pet Rescue mystery protagonist, who runs HotRescues, an ultimate no-kill animal shelter. She’s very disciplined and likes to be in charge, but she has a huge, pet-loving heart. I like her a lot, and she’s already starting to grow.
Some of the minor characters are also fun. I decided to use this as my blog topic this week as I wrote about a guy who’s a dog trainer. He’s really good at it... unlike me. I admire him, even though I invented him. Of course, I patterned him to some extent on trainers I’ve seen in person, as well as TV’s Dog Whisperer.
Of course, if I want him to foul up and get bitten, I can do that with my character. I invented him.
Same goes for my shapeshifters in my Harlequin Nocturnes. There, I really create people... er, animals... well, they’re both, actually. I make up the rules about when they can shift or not, and how they react, and how others--people and animals--react to them.
How about you? Do you like to read about characters who are clearly fiction--yet have real characteristics as well? Do you enjoy creating your own?
Isn’t it a great escape???
I’ve been doing so for a while, and I never get tired of it. Sometimes, they’re people with characteristics I admire. Kendra Ballantyne, protagonist in my pet-sitter mystery series, is an alter ego of mine, a lawyer who also loves animals.
I’m working now with Lauren Vancouver, my new Pet Rescue mystery protagonist, who runs HotRescues, an ultimate no-kill animal shelter. She’s very disciplined and likes to be in charge, but she has a huge, pet-loving heart. I like her a lot, and she’s already starting to grow.
Some of the minor characters are also fun. I decided to use this as my blog topic this week as I wrote about a guy who’s a dog trainer. He’s really good at it... unlike me. I admire him, even though I invented him. Of course, I patterned him to some extent on trainers I’ve seen in person, as well as TV’s Dog Whisperer.
Of course, if I want him to foul up and get bitten, I can do that with my character. I invented him.
Same goes for my shapeshifters in my Harlequin Nocturnes. There, I really create people... er, animals... well, they’re both, actually. I make up the rules about when they can shift or not, and how they react, and how others--people and animals--react to them.
How about you? Do you like to read about characters who are clearly fiction--yet have real characteristics as well? Do you enjoy creating your own?
Isn’t it a great escape???
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
A Well-Trained Journey
It’s Tuesday yet again, and we’re in Salt Lake City to attend an Embroiderers Guild of America regional convention. I’m to be keynote speaker at the banquet, and will take a class on lace making. And will probably made a dent in the stock of any vendors in sight.
We’ve been to Portland, Oregon, where I did an appearance at The Playful Needle, a needlepoint shop downtown that turned into a Monday Bunch-type meeting. Women stitchers sat around a table eating shop-provided snacks (high-end cookies, cheeses, and fruit) while gossiping about local events and exchanging how-to hints on different kinds of stitchery. I got a lovely close-up look at a piece of shadow stitching, which one of the employees, Shirley Albeck, teaches. Needlepoint is done on hand-painted canvas; shadow stitching is doing fancy patterns with thin floss over the picture so it shows through. Regular needlepoint is stitching over the picture with heavier floss or wool yarn so it is completely covered -- which is why most needlepoint paintings are far less complex than counted cross stitch patterns, which can be maddeningly complex.
After Portland we went to Sacramento, where I did three appearances at three public libraries. Two were the usual kind, where I gave a talk to an audience; but the third was an ice cream social to celebrate the refurbishing of Belle Coolidge Public Library. That was held outdoors in a park across the parking lot from the library. They had a DJ, a magician, a face painter who also made animals and flowers out of balloons, an exhibit of model trains, and two tables of big tubs of different flavors of ice cream. I was assigned to the chocolate and was glad of the denim apron they put on me because I discovered I’m a messy ice cream server. My right arm was chocolate to the elbow before I was finished. It was fun.
We got a roomette on the train to Salt Lake City. These are incredibly efficient spaces smaller than a walk-in closet, consisting of two seats that face one another and two narrow carpeted shelves that prove to be a stairway of sorts to the upper bunk, which spends the day flat up against the ceiling and the conductor pulls down when night falls. He also turns the two facing seats into a lower bunk. There is space for a person to stand facing the bunks, but that person has to lie down if a second person needs to stand there. The top bunk is narrow, they put up a kind of net made of sturdy webbing to keep sleepers from rolling out. The train rocks you to sleep, very pleasant. But the story of me trying to change out of my pajamas at three in the morning up in that bunk -- the train arrived in Salt Lake City around 3:30, and I was also not totally awake -- will make hilarious telling in a novel one of these days. That top bunk is not quite far down enough from the ceiling to sit up in. And I don’t bend like I used to. But I still recommend train travel, it is great fun.
We’ve been to Portland, Oregon, where I did an appearance at The Playful Needle, a needlepoint shop downtown that turned into a Monday Bunch-type meeting. Women stitchers sat around a table eating shop-provided snacks (high-end cookies, cheeses, and fruit) while gossiping about local events and exchanging how-to hints on different kinds of stitchery. I got a lovely close-up look at a piece of shadow stitching, which one of the employees, Shirley Albeck, teaches. Needlepoint is done on hand-painted canvas; shadow stitching is doing fancy patterns with thin floss over the picture so it shows through. Regular needlepoint is stitching over the picture with heavier floss or wool yarn so it is completely covered -- which is why most needlepoint paintings are far less complex than counted cross stitch patterns, which can be maddeningly complex.
After Portland we went to Sacramento, where I did three appearances at three public libraries. Two were the usual kind, where I gave a talk to an audience; but the third was an ice cream social to celebrate the refurbishing of Belle Coolidge Public Library. That was held outdoors in a park across the parking lot from the library. They had a DJ, a magician, a face painter who also made animals and flowers out of balloons, an exhibit of model trains, and two tables of big tubs of different flavors of ice cream. I was assigned to the chocolate and was glad of the denim apron they put on me because I discovered I’m a messy ice cream server. My right arm was chocolate to the elbow before I was finished. It was fun.
We got a roomette on the train to Salt Lake City. These are incredibly efficient spaces smaller than a walk-in closet, consisting of two seats that face one another and two narrow carpeted shelves that prove to be a stairway of sorts to the upper bunk, which spends the day flat up against the ceiling and the conductor pulls down when night falls. He also turns the two facing seats into a lower bunk. There is space for a person to stand facing the bunks, but that person has to lie down if a second person needs to stand there. The top bunk is narrow, they put up a kind of net made of sturdy webbing to keep sleepers from rolling out. The train rocks you to sleep, very pleasant. But the story of me trying to change out of my pajamas at three in the morning up in that bunk -- the train arrived in Salt Lake City around 3:30, and I was also not totally awake -- will make hilarious telling in a novel one of these days. That top bunk is not quite far down enough from the ceiling to sit up in. And I don’t bend like I used to. But I still recommend train travel, it is great fun.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Amateur detective
My husband and I watch many TV crime dramas together. We both enjoy "Lie To Me," "In Plain Sight," and "The Good Wife," for example, but we take an entirely different approach to the episodes.
From the start, I try to figure out who did it, and I have to "get" every single nuance of plot, every allusion.
My husband sits back and enjoys the interaction of the ensemble. If he misses a reference or can't keep straight exactly who "Mr. Borden" is with respect to "Mary," he lets it go.
I set the TiVo into replay until I have the relationships and names clearly in my head. "Oh, Mr. Borden is Mary's father-in-law, the lawyer," I report.
He shrugs.
On an old "Law & Order" (sorry to see it go!), in an early scene, a woman, the viewpoint character, is pushing a baby carriage, but the camera doesn't show you the baby. Then 5 minutes later, in another scene, the baby's aunt tells someone, "I haven't seen my little niece in months."
Too easy. "There was no baby in that carriage," I blurt out. "The baby died, or else the woman miscarried and is delusional."
Sure enough, the baby had died, and in a manner that was the crux of the story.
"How did you know that?" my husband asks, making it clear that he doesn't want such powers.
I'm not smarter; I just work harder at detecting.
Whether it's a TV show, a movie, or a book, I'm in there trying to figure out the conflict, the arc, the ending.
I can't remember if I was this way before I started writing mysteries. Maybe it's an occupational hazard. To some extent, it spoils my ability to sit back and enjoy someone else's story.
But if I enjoy the detecting process, maybe it doesn't matter.
What kind of reader or viewer are you? Do you sit back and enjoy, or get involved in detecting?
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Attacked by a Pit Bull
On Thursday, my dogs and I were attacked by a pit bull. I was walking Victoria and Rafferty, and wham!, out of nowhere came this snarling, brindle, fur-covered, teeth-bared Ninja.
The pit bull knocked over Victoria first. This was a huge shock to her. She rolled over on her back, showed him her belly and said (in dog), "Oh, please, kind sir! Let me go!"
Then Rafferty, who is our three-legged rescue pup, decided, "You're not picking on my little sister!" And he came to Victoria's rescue by jumping onto the pit bull's back and biting at him.
Okay, all dog owners know the rules for an attack. You grab a garden hose or a bucket of water and throw it on the dogs. You never reach between them. You never put yourself in a position where the dogs can bite you, because when dogs are defending themselves they will bite at anything...including you!
But I didn't have access to water. All I had was my fury. So I did something I'd never, ever do under normal circumstances--I kicked the pit bull. I managed to send him flying a couple of feet away.
Then the pit bull got up, circled around, and attacked Rafferty again. Rafferty was at a distinct disadvantage because he and Victoria were both on leashes. (And I was at the other end of the tangle.) The pit bull was free to attack at will. Next thing I knew, the pit bull had Rafferty on the ground and was going for his neck.
I screamed, "No! No! Bad dog!" This caused the pit bull to hesitate. When he did, I kicked him again. He grabbed my pants leg and held on, shaking his head in a kill hold.
Then his owner called to him from across the street, and the dog responded by running away.
(Victoria is telling Rafferty, "Don't look now!" That's Victoria in the pink harness, and Rafferty in the masculine blue tones.)
I have no animosity against any breed of dog, but honest to pete, people should be smart consumers. Each breed has certain characteristics, because each type of dog used to have a job to do. A sheltie was bred to herd animals. A beagle was bred to follow that scent. A terrier was bred to find that rat and kill it. A pit bull was bred to fight. So people who own pit bulls or pit bull mixes need to realize that the dog's nature includes a certain amount of aggression. (In fact, I think most of them DO know that, and many take a perverse pride in it.)
Rafferty, Victoria and I are all right. I hope I didn't hurt the pit bull. But if it happened again, I'd kick the dog again, especially if it meant saving my own two pups.
And yeah, I'm definitely using this in a book! Kiki Lowenstein would have done exactly what I did! I just know it!
**
You could win a FREE copy of Photo, Snap, Shot, the latest book in the Kiki Lowenstein Mystery series. Just send an email with your name and postal address to KillerHobbies@gmail.com On June 28, we'll choose one lucky winner at random from everyone who entered.
The pit bull knocked over Victoria first. This was a huge shock to her. She rolled over on her back, showed him her belly and said (in dog), "Oh, please, kind sir! Let me go!"
Then Rafferty, who is our three-legged rescue pup, decided, "You're not picking on my little sister!" And he came to Victoria's rescue by jumping onto the pit bull's back and biting at him.
Okay, all dog owners know the rules for an attack. You grab a garden hose or a bucket of water and throw it on the dogs. You never reach between them. You never put yourself in a position where the dogs can bite you, because when dogs are defending themselves they will bite at anything...including you!
But I didn't have access to water. All I had was my fury. So I did something I'd never, ever do under normal circumstances--I kicked the pit bull. I managed to send him flying a couple of feet away.
Then the pit bull got up, circled around, and attacked Rafferty again. Rafferty was at a distinct disadvantage because he and Victoria were both on leashes. (And I was at the other end of the tangle.) The pit bull was free to attack at will. Next thing I knew, the pit bull had Rafferty on the ground and was going for his neck.
I screamed, "No! No! Bad dog!" This caused the pit bull to hesitate. When he did, I kicked him again. He grabbed my pants leg and held on, shaking his head in a kill hold.
Then his owner called to him from across the street, and the dog responded by running away.
(Victoria is telling Rafferty, "Don't look now!" That's Victoria in the pink harness, and Rafferty in the masculine blue tones.)
I have no animosity against any breed of dog, but honest to pete, people should be smart consumers. Each breed has certain characteristics, because each type of dog used to have a job to do. A sheltie was bred to herd animals. A beagle was bred to follow that scent. A terrier was bred to find that rat and kill it. A pit bull was bred to fight. So people who own pit bulls or pit bull mixes need to realize that the dog's nature includes a certain amount of aggression. (In fact, I think most of them DO know that, and many take a perverse pride in it.)
Rafferty, Victoria and I are all right. I hope I didn't hurt the pit bull. But if it happened again, I'd kick the dog again, especially if it meant saving my own two pups.
And yeah, I'm definitely using this in a book! Kiki Lowenstein would have done exactly what I did! I just know it!
**
You could win a FREE copy of Photo, Snap, Shot, the latest book in the Kiki Lowenstein Mystery series. Just send an email with your name and postal address to KillerHobbies@gmail.com On June 28, we'll choose one lucky winner at random from everyone who entered.
Free Book! Plus Our News and Appearances
We're starting a new tradition. Join us every month for a chance to win a free book! This month we're offering a signed copy of Photo, Snap, Shot by Joanna Campbell Slan.Here's what reviewers are saying about Photo, Snap, Shot:
The plot is intricate and fascinating...plenty of tension to keep the pages turning. --Amy Alessio for BookReporter.com
Sparkling minor roles and Kiki's own independent nature lift this book above the ordinary. --The St. Louis Post-Dispatch
A wonderful traditional feeling mystery with characters you will love...great classic style. --Crimespree Magazine
A cut above the usual craft-themed cozy. --Publisher's Weekly.
HOW TO ENTER TO WIN:
Just send your name and your postal address to killerhobbies@gmail.com anytime between now and June 27, 2010.
Be sure to put "Photo, Snap, Shot" in the subject line. You MUST include your mailing address to be considered!
(Sorry, but this offer is restricted to residents of the US and Canada.)
On June 28,we will select one person at random to win an autographed copy of Photo, Snap, Shot. Please be advised that by entering, one or all of the Blog Sisters might also send you mail or emails once in a while about their upcoming releases.
NEWS and APPEARANCES
Monday's author, Joanna Campbell Slan, is celebrating the release of Photo, Snap, Shot, the third book in the Kiki Lowenstein Mystery Series. Joanna will be teaching a journaling class on Wed., June 23, at ScrapbooksPlus! in Chantilly, VA. She'll be signing books at teaching at the Great American Scrapbook Convention in Chantilly on June 25 (Friday) and June 26 (Saturday). Then she'll sign books at the ALA meeting on June 27 (Sunday). Details are at Book Tour. Just go to the site and put in "Joanna Campbell Slan" or "Joanna Slan."
Tuesday's author, Camille Minichino (Margaret Grace), is celebrating the release of Monster in Miniature, the fifth Miniature Mystery, just last month. It's the story of a Halloween decoration gone bad.
NEWS FLASH! Camille has just signed the contract for the sixth Miniature Mystery, Mix-Up in Miniature!
Wednesday's author, Monica Ferris, is traveling.
Thursday's author, Linda O. Johnston, is busy being ordered around by her dogs. She is working on her first Lauren Vancouver, Pet Rescuer mystery.
Friday's author, Terri Thayer, recently put the finishing edits on her latest book, False Impressions.
Saturday's author, Betty Hechtman, is editing You Better Knot Die. Check her out at BettyHechtman.com.
Visit us every Sunday--
For news and updates. Be sure to check out our websites for more information about our books. You can go to http://www.blogger.com/www.booktour.com for scheduling information on many of your favorite authors!
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Truly a Yarn
I’ve noticed that each item I crochet or knit has a story around it. And the shawl I’m making now certainly has a different one. If I ever finish it, I think I’ll just hang it up on display.
It started with a trip to a Chicago yarn store last fall. I was checking out and I noticed this lovely shawl in the window. It looked like it was crocheted and below it was a basket of skeins of the yarn it was made with. The sign said you only needed one skein. I threw it in with my other things without a second thought and took one of the half sheets with the pattern without looking at it.
It was only when I got home and looked at the bill that I saw that the one skein cost $50 and the pattern wasn’t crochet, it was knit.
It’s beautiful yarn in what I call a Monet blue because it reminds me of the colors in his water lily paintings. It made out of something called silk rumple or crumple. The rumple or crumple refers to all the little bumps on it. Pretty to look at, difficult to work with. I have discovered that the more you pay, the harder the yarn is to work with. Red Heart sells for a couple of bucks and you can see those stitches whether crochet or knit, clear as day.
I wanted to be sure what I was doing before I started working with the bumpy silk stuff, but I didn’t want to wait so long that it to get lost and forgotten in my ever growing stash of yarn. So I thought about it and occasionally took it out of the bag and looked at it. Finally last week I was ready to start.
Stories often have false starts, obstacles and black moments. This shawl has had them all and I’ve barley done a few inches - this time. I have started and restarted five times. I tried crochet, took it out, tried the knit pattern it came with and took it apart, tried crochet again and took it out. I tried knitting again, this time my own plan. Somehow after a few rows, I had ten extra stitches. I took it apart again, at least thinking this time I knew what I was doing wrong.
If it had been cheap yarn, I would have ended the story and thrown it across the room. But not with $50 bucks worth of blue silk.
I amazed even myself, by having the patience to start all over once again. I’m just doing a straight knit stitch and I’m counting stitches every few rows and taking care of any extras that show up with a decrease here and there. For all the anguish, it is lacy, light as air, and beautiful. If I do manage to finish it and hang it up, I think I’ll add a title and call it Determination.
I’m signing books at the Printers Row Fair, Saturday from 10 a.m. to noon at the Mystery Writers of America booth and I’m going to be on a panel at 2:30 - Mysteries with a Cozy Twist with Wendy Lyn Watson, Clare O’Donohue, Heather Webber and Kate Collins. Just one problem. The yarn store is right down the street from the fair and there’s the empty time between signing and the panel. How can I resist checking out the store? But this time, I’ll be sure to check the price tag.
It started with a trip to a Chicago yarn store last fall. I was checking out and I noticed this lovely shawl in the window. It looked like it was crocheted and below it was a basket of skeins of the yarn it was made with. The sign said you only needed one skein. I threw it in with my other things without a second thought and took one of the half sheets with the pattern without looking at it.
It was only when I got home and looked at the bill that I saw that the one skein cost $50 and the pattern wasn’t crochet, it was knit.
It’s beautiful yarn in what I call a Monet blue because it reminds me of the colors in his water lily paintings. It made out of something called silk rumple or crumple. The rumple or crumple refers to all the little bumps on it. Pretty to look at, difficult to work with. I have discovered that the more you pay, the harder the yarn is to work with. Red Heart sells for a couple of bucks and you can see those stitches whether crochet or knit, clear as day.
I wanted to be sure what I was doing before I started working with the bumpy silk stuff, but I didn’t want to wait so long that it to get lost and forgotten in my ever growing stash of yarn. So I thought about it and occasionally took it out of the bag and looked at it. Finally last week I was ready to start.
Stories often have false starts, obstacles and black moments. This shawl has had them all and I’ve barley done a few inches - this time. I have started and restarted five times. I tried crochet, took it out, tried the knit pattern it came with and took it apart, tried crochet again and took it out. I tried knitting again, this time my own plan. Somehow after a few rows, I had ten extra stitches. I took it apart again, at least thinking this time I knew what I was doing wrong.
If it had been cheap yarn, I would have ended the story and thrown it across the room. But not with $50 bucks worth of blue silk.
I amazed even myself, by having the patience to start all over once again. I’m just doing a straight knit stitch and I’m counting stitches every few rows and taking care of any extras that show up with a decrease here and there. For all the anguish, it is lacy, light as air, and beautiful. If I do manage to finish it and hang it up, I think I’ll add a title and call it Determination.
I’m signing books at the Printers Row Fair, Saturday from 10 a.m. to noon at the Mystery Writers of America booth and I’m going to be on a panel at 2:30 - Mysteries with a Cozy Twist with Wendy Lyn Watson, Clare O’Donohue, Heather Webber and Kate Collins. Just one problem. The yarn store is right down the street from the fair and there’s the empty time between signing and the panel. How can I resist checking out the store? But this time, I’ll be sure to check the price tag.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Let me take you on a sea cruise
I've been singing about sea cruises for a while now, but only in the shower. I have had to stay mum until the plans were finalized. Now I can announce my big news. Shout it from the rooftop, even. I'm going to be a guest speaker on a 2012 cruise to the Mexican Riviera. Quilt Camp at Sea runs first class quilting cruises, and they like having an author along for the ride. Lucky me, they picked me for the March 2012 cruise. They're calling it the Girls Just Want to Have Fun cruise.
We'll be sailing March 10 (2012, remember) out of San Diego and visiting Puerto Vallarta, Mazatlan, and Cabo San Lucas. While on the ship, quilting teachers like Lori Hein, Patti Carey, Mary Covey, Anita Mahoney, Lisa Moore, and Jacke Wolff will be teaching. You don't even need to bring your sewing machine, Berninas are provided. Special guest Judy Houghton, designer of this fabulous fabric, will also be along.
This will be a first for me. I've never been on a cruise. I've been looking at the Holland America website at the ship and am a little stunned. It is far more elegant than I'd expected and way more interesting. It looks like I'll be able to swim, hot tub, work out. I knew I'd be able to eat my way through the waters, but I can also disco dance and watch live shows. Cooking lessons are offered. I can enjoy the art, including an amazing Waterford crystal globe.
Who knew? I bet some of you did. Tell me your favorite cruising experiences so I can be prepared.
If you want to sign up go to the Quilt Camp at Sea website or email me. http://www.quiltcampatsea.com/2012%20Mexican%20Riviera%20cruise.htm
New Computer
A follow-up to my post about loving the Internet: My old computer had some issues that were making it more and more difficult to use. For one thing, the hard drive was sectored (I had no idea what that was before) and I had run out of room on the C-drive for downloading not only new programs, but also updates to existing ones--a necessity. I therefore bit the bullet and bought a new computer.
Now, I’m having the fun(?) of learning to use the new one. First, the keyboard is different enough that I’m making a lot more typoz, at least for now. (See?!) Second, I have a really wide screen, and that has both plusses and minuses. I can modify the size of a document but haven’t yet figured out how to center everything, so if I reduce it I have to read it on the left of the screen. Sometimes I leave the document full-size, as if I were reading a large-print book. Just something else to get used to! I’m hoping, though, that I’ll be able to figure out how to do a split screen the next time I have to do copy edits on-line.
I was also old-fashioned enough before to back up all of my writing on both floppy disks and a thumb drive. Now, I don’t have the ability to use floppies without buying a new-old disk drive, so I’m relying on my thumb drives.
Also, I’m learning where documents, photos and other items are stored on the new computer. Mostly, I’m able to locate things when I need them.
My ability to use the new computer to its best advantage is still a work in progress, but I’m sure that, someday (with luck, many years in the future) I’ll be lauding it as having been so easy to use while I’m attempting to figure out the next new computer in my life.
When was the last time you got a new computer? Are you savvy enough to have figured it out right away?
Now, I’m having the fun(?) of learning to use the new one. First, the keyboard is different enough that I’m making a lot more typoz, at least for now. (See?!) Second, I have a really wide screen, and that has both plusses and minuses. I can modify the size of a document but haven’t yet figured out how to center everything, so if I reduce it I have to read it on the left of the screen. Sometimes I leave the document full-size, as if I were reading a large-print book. Just something else to get used to! I’m hoping, though, that I’ll be able to figure out how to do a split screen the next time I have to do copy edits on-line.
I was also old-fashioned enough before to back up all of my writing on both floppy disks and a thumb drive. Now, I don’t have the ability to use floppies without buying a new-old disk drive, so I’m relying on my thumb drives.
Also, I’m learning where documents, photos and other items are stored on the new computer. Mostly, I’m able to locate things when I need them.
My ability to use the new computer to its best advantage is still a work in progress, but I’m sure that, someday (with luck, many years in the future) I’ll be lauding it as having been so easy to use while I’m attempting to figure out the next new computer in my life.
When was the last time you got a new computer? Are you savvy enough to have figured it out right away?
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Mountains! Signings!
Well, it’s Tuesday again, and I’m riding on the Empire Builder just coming out of the Cascade Mountains on our way to Seattle. It’s been a fantastic week. I’ve been keeping a daily diary and sending it to a select list of friends who I think might be interested. We’ve been to Needle Nest in Fargo, where there was a great turnout for a signing. I toured a homeless shelter run by the YWCA and got some very useful information. The only problem with Fargo is that the train arrives at a little after three in the morning. Don’t let anyone tell you that midnight is the dead of night. At midnight the bars are still open and there are people around. Three a.m. is too late to be late at night and too early to be early in the morning. Nothing is moving; the whole world is deep asleep. Well, Amtrak doesn’t sleep, they turned up right on time and we climbed aboard and by daylight we were well out across the endless flat plains of North Dakota and Montana on our way to Wolf Point. We had a meager but enthusiastic turnout at their Roosevelt County Public Library, and another in Cut Bank at the Glacier County Library. A woman at Cut Bank, Anne Stevens, very kindly volunteered to give us a private tour of East Glacier National Park the next day. We got close up and personal with the leading edge of the Rocky Mountains that day! It seemed around every curve we were presented with another postcard-perfect view. We saw lots of wild life, including big horn mountain sheep, elk, an impertinent prairie dog who kept coming up to bark at us, and even a grizzly bear who had the audacity to go loping across the big and beautiful, flower-bed-ornamented front lawn of a historic old lodge where, half an hour earlier I had gone strolling.
We had better luck with turnout in Spokane last night, with well over fifty in the audience. Auntie’s Bookstore, a Spokane legend, came to sell books and I signed quite a few. My talk was well received, which is always gratifying. The staff did a super job of promoting and running the event. Special thanks to Pat!
As I am writing this, we have come out of the magnificent Cascade Mountains to Everett, Washington, which is on Puget Sound. A bald eagle was perched on a rock barely bigger than he is along the shore, looking for fish to catch. The tide is out, exposing an acre or two of seaweed with lots of seagulls poking around in it. In the background of the immense sound are snowy mountains. What a great time we are having!
As I am writing this later, we are in Seattle, and it is evening. I did a signing a the famous Seattle Mystery Bookshop and did a little shopping for books. Then we explored historic downtown Seattle, ate seafood at Ivar’s down on the sound -- their clam chowder was very delicious, but I saved the little oyster crackers to feed to the greedy, noisy seagulls standing on a railing alongside the restaurant. These are the seagoing seagulls, the big variety.
Having a lovely time, I cannot highly enough recommend train travel.
We had better luck with turnout in Spokane last night, with well over fifty in the audience. Auntie’s Bookstore, a Spokane legend, came to sell books and I signed quite a few. My talk was well received, which is always gratifying. The staff did a super job of promoting and running the event. Special thanks to Pat!
As I am writing this, we have come out of the magnificent Cascade Mountains to Everett, Washington, which is on Puget Sound. A bald eagle was perched on a rock barely bigger than he is along the shore, looking for fish to catch. The tide is out, exposing an acre or two of seaweed with lots of seagulls poking around in it. In the background of the immense sound are snowy mountains. What a great time we are having!
As I am writing this later, we are in Seattle, and it is evening. I did a signing a the famous Seattle Mystery Bookshop and did a little shopping for books. Then we explored historic downtown Seattle, ate seafood at Ivar’s down on the sound -- their clam chowder was very delicious, but I saved the little oyster crackers to feed to the greedy, noisy seagulls standing on a railing alongside the restaurant. These are the seagoing seagulls, the big variety.
Having a lovely time, I cannot highly enough recommend train travel.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
I'm the greatest
Raise your hand if you like to sell. I mean, sell anything—cookies, your book, a product you've created, or yourself.
My hands are by my side. Not a good posture in today's world of 24/7 marketing and promotion.
For authors, it's essential to keep our names out there, they tell us. A recent article in a popular writers' magazine suggests that authors doing signings at bookstores start by "easing a copy" of their book into the hands of anyone who seems curious, and tell them what a "terrific book" it is and how "people are talking about it."
Here's how I started my sales career.
In the early 80s, I formed a company around products I made. The idea was to put images and quotes from scientists and engineers on common items such as potholders, mugs, note cards … anything that had a design. I wanted to replace the mushrooms and butterflies that dominated kitchen towels with an educational theme.
One of my first products was a calendar of dates in science and engineering. Pre-internet, it took nearly a year of evenings and weekends to come up with at least one entry for every day. For June 8, for example, I typed in Francis Crick, b. 1918; patent for the vacuum cleaner, 1869.
I thought a good market might be the many bookstores around the UC campus where I lived. I made a list and ventured out. (Pre-internet, remember.)
I walked into the first bookstore, stepped to counter and said (and this is pretty much verbatim), "Excuse me, I hate to bother you. I have something here and you're probably not interested. It's a calendar and I know you already have a lot of them and maybe don't want another one."
The response was something like, "Yup. No, thanks."
I was shocked when the business failed.
I've gotten a little better in promoting my books, but the phrase still has a slightly grating sound to me. I don't like people who promote (anything) aggressively; I don't want to be like them.
P. T. Barnum, a pioneer in the art of promotion said, "Without promotion, something terrible happens … nothing!"
I do love to talk about my books, my writing process, and my publishing adventures. I love especially to talk to readers, but I'm not sure I'll ever be able to call anything I do "the best" or "the greatest" or even "good" without blushing. Should I pack up and leave the field?
Sunday, June 6, 2010
What Makes a Musical Work? Or Not Work?
Often we authors and readers wonder what makes a book "work," or not "work." This weekend my husband and I were in New York City. We saw two musicals on Broadway, The Addams Family and Memphis. That generated a lot of discussion between David and me as we wondered why one “worked” and one didn’t.
Sad to say, The Addams Family stunk. The opening with the fabulous Addams Family theme--"They're creepy and they're kookie/Mysterious and spooky"--was actually the highpoint of the play as the we all sang along and snapped our fingers. Nathan Lane is a superb actor, an incredibly talented man with wonderful comic timing.
Why did The Addams Family stink? Here's what David and I came up with:
1. There was no internal logic to the show. In one scene Morticia and Gomez wanted their daughter to be happy. But the Addams find “happiness” in misery. So which was it? Would they be happy if Wednesday was miserable? So, the "universe" that we were viewing was confusing!
2. The characters were inconsistent from their iconic selves. On the TV show, Morticia and Gomez loved each other so much that the world could fall apart around them and they wouldn't notice, which made for all sorts of complications. Not so in the play. When you are dealing with icons, it's best to stick to the originals or have a darn good reason for making changes!
3. There was nothing at stake and nothing significant changed. As a result, there was no real conflict. Here’s the plot: Wednesday Addams has fallen in love and wants to bring her boyfriend home to meet her parents. She wants Morticia and Gomez’s blessing…except that early on, she’s willing to run away without their blessing.
It gets worse. The boyfriend’s father connects with his inner macho-man through an encounter with a giant squid.
You read that right.
Not with Thing. Or Cousin Fester. Or Itt. But a Squid.
I can only imagine the desperation it must have taken to conjure up a giant squid to save a faltering plot. On second thought, I'd rather NOT think of the desperation it took.
By contrast, Memphis is the story of a white guy (Huey Calhoun) who falls in love with a young black singer, Felicia, who is singing at a bar owned by her brother. Huey wants to make Felicia a star, so he takes up the challenge of introducing black music (rock and roll) to the (white) world. But Felicia is convinced that Memphis will never accept him or be a big enough venue for her dreams.
Can you see all the inherent conflict? And the huge stakes? Trust me, it's a fabulous musical, one I'd love to see again! Of course, the music in Memphis was also just flat-out incredible.
I'm curious...if you have seen The Addams Family, what did you think of it? If you haven't, would might you expect? Did you enjoy the TV program? Have any of you seen Memphis? Doesn't the plot sound delicious?
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Last Minute Details
No matter how much I think that this time it will be different, it never is. There’s always a mad dash to get everything together when I’m going away. It didn’t help that I have been going back and forth with my agent on something. No more drop it in a mailbox and forget it for awhile.
I sent her some chapters Thursday morning. Thursday afternoon they were back with some valid comments. No matter that I had things to do, I sat down and fixed the chapters right way and sent them back across cyberspace.
Friday morning the download was waiting in my mailbox. Everything was fine, just some clean up and getting rid of all the notes. I did my work and sent the file back. Linda wrote about the wonders of the Internet. It is pretty amazing how all this stuff flew back and forth from coast to coast.
Then it was back to get ready to go to Chicago for among other things, the Printers Row Book Fair. It was very exciting when a link to it showed up in my google alert because my name is in the list of authors. I’ve gone to the fair for the past two years and signed books in the Mystery Writers of America booth, but that doesn’t get your name in the program. You have to be on a panel for that.
On Saturday, June 12 at 2:30 in Digitally Lit Room 1, I will be joining Wendy Lyn Watson, Clare O’Donohue, Heather Webber and Kate Collins to discuss Mysteries with a Cozy Twist. I’d love to see anyone in the Chicago area. I’ll also be signing books in the Mystery Writers of America booth from 10 a.m. to noon on Saturday.
I was going to get my stuff ready days ago. Ha! Even though I have some clothes there, I always carry a fresh supply of black tee shirts and I still have to remember my phone cord and my flash drive, then there’s my computer and all the notes for my sixth crochet mystery which I’m going to work on while I’m there, and I have to decide what crochet project I’m going to take for the plane, and figure out snacks for the plane that aren’t too big and don’t crumble too easily, and on and on.. As usual, I’m doing it all at the last minute.
What about you? Are you ready days in advance when you go on a trip? Or are you chronically last minute like me?
I sent her some chapters Thursday morning. Thursday afternoon they were back with some valid comments. No matter that I had things to do, I sat down and fixed the chapters right way and sent them back across cyberspace.
Friday morning the download was waiting in my mailbox. Everything was fine, just some clean up and getting rid of all the notes. I did my work and sent the file back. Linda wrote about the wonders of the Internet. It is pretty amazing how all this stuff flew back and forth from coast to coast.
Then it was back to get ready to go to Chicago for among other things, the Printers Row Book Fair. It was very exciting when a link to it showed up in my google alert because my name is in the list of authors. I’ve gone to the fair for the past two years and signed books in the Mystery Writers of America booth, but that doesn’t get your name in the program. You have to be on a panel for that.
On Saturday, June 12 at 2:30 in Digitally Lit Room 1, I will be joining Wendy Lyn Watson, Clare O’Donohue, Heather Webber and Kate Collins to discuss Mysteries with a Cozy Twist. I’d love to see anyone in the Chicago area. I’ll also be signing books in the Mystery Writers of America booth from 10 a.m. to noon on Saturday.
I was going to get my stuff ready days ago. Ha! Even though I have some clothes there, I always carry a fresh supply of black tee shirts and I still have to remember my phone cord and my flash drive, then there’s my computer and all the notes for my sixth crochet mystery which I’m going to work on while I’m there, and I have to decide what crochet project I’m going to take for the plane, and figure out snacks for the plane that aren’t too big and don’t crumble too easily, and on and on.. As usual, I’m doing it all at the last minute.
What about you? Are you ready days in advance when you go on a trip? Or are you chronically last minute like me?
Friday, June 4, 2010
Speaking
I gave my first talk to a guild last night, the Monterey Peninsula Quilt Guild. It was so much fun, I don't know why I haven't done it sooner.
I've been a member of a quilt guild since 1990. It's a wonderful way to connect with other quilters, see great work in the form of show and tell, and hear experts on the latest techniques. I've used to be program chair for my guild, the Santa Clara Valley Quilt Guild. Program chair is the best job. You're responsible for the speaker. Beforehand, that means contracts, and phone calls and decisions about who would be a good match for your group. The day of, that often means airport runs, trips to local quilt shops and dinner with the talent. It's a privilege to hang out with these people. Some of my favorites were Margaret Miller, Jan Krentz, Joe Cunningham, Beth Ferrier.
We are blessed in the Bay Area with many quilting professionals but when a speaker fails to connect with the audience, all eyes are on the program chair. That can be a very long sixty minutes. I've had a speaker call in sick, and then there was the time when the freeway was closed because of a toxic spill, with the quilting teacher in her car forty miles away with no way to get her to San Jose. That was the meeting with no speaker at all. Maybe the only meeting in the history of the guild, but I don't want to dwell on that.
As a speaker, I tried to make my audience feel and laugh and think a little. What do you look for in a speaker? Do you have any great horror stories about programs?
I've been a member of a quilt guild since 1990. It's a wonderful way to connect with other quilters, see great work in the form of show and tell, and hear experts on the latest techniques. I've used to be program chair for my guild, the Santa Clara Valley Quilt Guild. Program chair is the best job. You're responsible for the speaker. Beforehand, that means contracts, and phone calls and decisions about who would be a good match for your group. The day of, that often means airport runs, trips to local quilt shops and dinner with the talent. It's a privilege to hang out with these people. Some of my favorites were Margaret Miller, Jan Krentz, Joe Cunningham, Beth Ferrier.
We are blessed in the Bay Area with many quilting professionals but when a speaker fails to connect with the audience, all eyes are on the program chair. That can be a very long sixty minutes. I've had a speaker call in sick, and then there was the time when the freeway was closed because of a toxic spill, with the quilting teacher in her car forty miles away with no way to get her to San Jose. That was the meeting with no speaker at all. Maybe the only meeting in the history of the guild, but I don't want to dwell on that.
As a speaker, I tried to make my audience feel and laugh and think a little. What do you look for in a speaker? Do you have any great horror stories about programs?
Thursday, June 3, 2010
What Did We Ever Do Without the Internet?
I admit it. I grew up without the Internet. Now, though, I can’t imagine living without it. I may not understand much about social networking, but I’m an Internet addict of sorts. I have to check e-mail, and Killer Hobbies, and other sites every day.
Even more, I’m addicted to being able to research anything in an instant.
Example: My husband and I own a refrigerator that’s about two years old. It has a really nice ice maker and water dispenser. Earlier this week, the ice maker stopped dispensing ice right in the middle of my preparing the drink of water I always take to bed with me.
My husband, bless him, is a very handy guy. He disassembled the ice maker the next morning and believed that the motor had just stopped working. He considered buying a new one online, but first did some Internet research to try to ensure that the motor was, indeed, the problem--and found a whole discussion by people who owned the same model refrigerator who’d had the exact same issue when the refrigerator was about the same age. Some even used the term I’d suggested before he came across it there: planned obsolescence. That gave him the confirmation he needed to order a new motor. It hasn’t arrived yet, of course, and there’s no guarantee that it’ll solve the problem--but it sure sounds as if it will.
What about the old days before the Internet? How could we have found other people with the same refrigerator model who’d had the same problem so we could compare notes? Maybe via a repair shop, but they’re unlikely to give out that kind of information. Maybe their technicians would tell us of similar problems they’d repaired... or not.
Then there’s my younger Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, Mystie. She’s had a tummy problem all her young life, and she had a more severe recurrence of the symptoms last week. We took her to the specialist vet who’d diagnosed and treated her problem before. When I got home, I looked at the problem on the Internet. Unsurprisingly, the vet had prescribed the same kind of treatment as is standard for the problem. I found the confirmation reassuring. Without it, and the Internet? I’d certainly have taken this vet’s word for it. But the extra corroboration still felt good.
And of course I always research aspects of whatever I’m writing on the Internet. Even look up words, and word origins, if I wonder if there’s a better way to say whatever I’m thinking than the first way that comes to mind.
How about you--do you love the Internet? What’s your favorite aspect of research?
Even more, I’m addicted to being able to research anything in an instant.
Example: My husband and I own a refrigerator that’s about two years old. It has a really nice ice maker and water dispenser. Earlier this week, the ice maker stopped dispensing ice right in the middle of my preparing the drink of water I always take to bed with me.
My husband, bless him, is a very handy guy. He disassembled the ice maker the next morning and believed that the motor had just stopped working. He considered buying a new one online, but first did some Internet research to try to ensure that the motor was, indeed, the problem--and found a whole discussion by people who owned the same model refrigerator who’d had the exact same issue when the refrigerator was about the same age. Some even used the term I’d suggested before he came across it there: planned obsolescence. That gave him the confirmation he needed to order a new motor. It hasn’t arrived yet, of course, and there’s no guarantee that it’ll solve the problem--but it sure sounds as if it will.
What about the old days before the Internet? How could we have found other people with the same refrigerator model who’d had the same problem so we could compare notes? Maybe via a repair shop, but they’re unlikely to give out that kind of information. Maybe their technicians would tell us of similar problems they’d repaired... or not.
Then there’s my younger Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, Mystie. She’s had a tummy problem all her young life, and she had a more severe recurrence of the symptoms last week. We took her to the specialist vet who’d diagnosed and treated her problem before. When I got home, I looked at the problem on the Internet. Unsurprisingly, the vet had prescribed the same kind of treatment as is standard for the problem. I found the confirmation reassuring. Without it, and the Internet? I’d certainly have taken this vet’s word for it. But the extra corroboration still felt good.
And of course I always research aspects of whatever I’m writing on the Internet. Even look up words, and word origins, if I wonder if there’s a better way to say whatever I’m thinking than the first way that comes to mind.
How about you--do you love the Internet? What’s your favorite aspect of research?
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
On the Road
It’s Tuesday and I'm posting early. I have my traveling clothes on, because late this evening I am boarding The Empire Builder heading west. I have filled my biggest suitcase -- the one too large to go into an overhead bin on an airplane -- turned all my signing and speaking info into a four-page document, and packed only the clothing I think I really, really need. To show how far down I have culled things, I am taking only one hat. Unfortunately, it is too big to fit into any of my hat boxes and so has to come along in a cardboard box tied shut with cord.
I am going to post this early because the train arrives in Fargo at 3:30 tomorrow morning, and I will go to my hotel and right into bed to sleep until around ten, when Tanya and I will rise and breakfast and be picked up by someone from Nordic Needle around eleven to begin a tour of the city. I am sending my sleuth Betsy to Fargo in the book I am currently writing and so need to have a look around. Then in the evening I will do a signing and talk at the needlework shop, then start the long and tedious wait for the 3:30 Empire Building to come through again and take us to the next stop, in Montana. I will do my best to post something every Wednesday during the next three weeks, and hope I will have something adventurous, or amusing, to say about this grand tour.
Yesterday four of us went to the Mall of America to be pampered in a nail shop -- manicure and pedicure. Because my signing/talking outfit is black and yellow, I opted for yellow fingernail polish. For the first several hours after, I kept thinking I’d somehow dipped my fingertips into mustard. But there’s nothing like bold and fancy treatment to make you feel ready for anything. Today I am puttering and dithering around the apartment, making adjustments to the packing, going through the lists of things I want to bring and that I have to do before leaving, checking the schedule, and worrying. I am a great worrier. Fortunately, I don’t worry about travel until it’s too late to change my mind about going in the first place. Otherwise, I’d never go anywhere and would miss out on some great times.
The cats know something is up. I think they’ve come to understand that when a suitcase is being packed, they are going to be left behind for a while. Between naps they are being whiny and clingy. This is going to be, for them, the longest while I have ever disappeared. But my husband isn’t coming along, so it’s not a total disaster. Actually, a total disaster would be trying to bring them along on a trip. As John D. MacDonald wrote in his book about his two cats, The House Guests, “I would rather burn bamboo splinters under my fingernails than drive three thousand miles with . . . cats.” Me, too
I am going to post this early because the train arrives in Fargo at 3:30 tomorrow morning, and I will go to my hotel and right into bed to sleep until around ten, when Tanya and I will rise and breakfast and be picked up by someone from Nordic Needle around eleven to begin a tour of the city. I am sending my sleuth Betsy to Fargo in the book I am currently writing and so need to have a look around. Then in the evening I will do a signing and talk at the needlework shop, then start the long and tedious wait for the 3:30 Empire Building to come through again and take us to the next stop, in Montana. I will do my best to post something every Wednesday during the next three weeks, and hope I will have something adventurous, or amusing, to say about this grand tour.
Yesterday four of us went to the Mall of America to be pampered in a nail shop -- manicure and pedicure. Because my signing/talking outfit is black and yellow, I opted for yellow fingernail polish. For the first several hours after, I kept thinking I’d somehow dipped my fingertips into mustard. But there’s nothing like bold and fancy treatment to make you feel ready for anything. Today I am puttering and dithering around the apartment, making adjustments to the packing, going through the lists of things I want to bring and that I have to do before leaving, checking the schedule, and worrying. I am a great worrier. Fortunately, I don’t worry about travel until it’s too late to change my mind about going in the first place. Otherwise, I’d never go anywhere and would miss out on some great times.
The cats know something is up. I think they’ve come to understand that when a suitcase is being packed, they are going to be left behind for a while. Between naps they are being whiny and clingy. This is going to be, for them, the longest while I have ever disappeared. But my husband isn’t coming along, so it’s not a total disaster. Actually, a total disaster would be trying to bring them along on a trip. As John D. MacDonald wrote in his book about his two cats, The House Guests, “I would rather burn bamboo splinters under my fingernails than drive three thousand miles with . . . cats.” Me, too
Blood stained hobby
One of the laws of science is that the smaller the hobby, the more space it takes up. It follows then, that my hobby of making miniatures and dollhouses would require the largest amount of space.
Trying to contain the hobby, I bought a new set of organizers. [I always feel that's half the work.]
You wouldn't be surprised to find plastic drawers with labels like FOOD, where I keep all my wonderful Fimo dough bread and cakes and tiny racks of lamb, or CARPETS, where there are miniature area and throw rugs, or—the first drawer—BOOKS.
My favorite drawer is the one labeled WEAPONS. Of course I have miniature guns and rifles, but mystery readers and writers have more imagination than that. In the weapons draw you'll also see an iron, a toaster, and a curling iron (for those bathtub crimes!), and assorted tools and blunt objects. Both with mysteries and with miniature crime scenes, it's important to choose the right weapon.
I also keep a container of blood-red paint always handy on my crafts table.
Does anyone else have a dark side to your hobby?
I know I'm not the only one. I love Terri's crime scene fabric, for example (hoping she'll throw a small scrap my way!)
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