Peaceable kingdom

 Another day of recuperation. The sun streams into the studio until noon. Thought I would listen to some music and see how stitching would feel. 

Mighty Madam Salem beat me to the stitching chair. She normally gets up and goes when I ask. Not today.

Things quickly got worse.

Until finally...with gratitude to C. for hoisting Sweetie into the catbird seat and capturing an unprecedented moment. Did I mention they merely tolerate one another? No stitching today.

Thanksgiving 1956

 I can't imagine who was attached to the hand in the left forefront. My baby sister Patty was tied to the kitchen step stool. That hand was probably assigned to keep her on the seat. Pat had been recently bumper from the Little Darling spot by my baby brother Rob, the baby in my dad's arms, my mother right across from them. 

My aunt Vera next to Mom (was that a smile? Not likely.) Across from her, the portly Clark Gable, my Uncle Bob. The man beside me, Grampa, and across from me, my sister Kitty. We couldn't quite kick each other under the table but I'll bet we tried.

I remember these meals as occasions where we would have to choose the least noxious vegetable to make our plate look like a balanced meal. As this was likely my grandparent's house, we were in for trouble. Turnips, pearl onions, lima beans, cooked carrots! {shudder}

Of course, it was my Grandma Nelly, nabbing history with her beloved Brownie box camera. Again.

the slog

I really wanted to sit with cloth and thread today - any day this week - but there's been no time, and due to a very graceful, slo-mo fall I took last week, my right shoulder is complaining about lifting and holding anything, even a threaded needled,  for more than a few seconds at a time. Typing is doable. 

These days, a big chunk of a writer's time has to be given over to things that used to be handled by a publisher, if you were lucky enough to land one. On the front end, among many other things, editing ( I feel, yah, Dee). And on the back end, marketing. (I wonder just how many of those commas were in the right place?)

Before I forget, today is the last day you can get all three e-books of Prophets Tango for free. 

The 'Zon lets us run a sale like this once every 90 days and for those of you who don't know, writers still earn money based on the number of pages read. No king's ransom, but I'll take it. So we take this gamble if we think we've written a page-turner. I can't imagine reading a book that wasn't. 

Yes, I've rented my soul to the devil (Amazon) for a second ninety-day hitch. A commitment that keeps me from selling books elsewhere, but it's about the only way a self-published author can make any waves these days and there are a lot of friggin' fish in the sea. 

So this whole week, which I really only picked out of the blue, has been a study in timing. Between tending Charlie (who gifted me this lovely cold), prepping, and cooking for Thanksgiving, I've been haunting the

web, dropping links, sending emails, yadda yadda yadda. And lest we forget, the night job at the whine mine, no days off for the holiday. 

I am so ready to crawl into a hole on a beach and just wait for high tide. 

Christmas decorations? Shopping? Fuggedaboutit for now.

How do you like my solution for not being able to lift the bird in order to make gravy? 

Thanksgiving

The furnace murmurs on under the house. All three cats are on the bed, their ongoing war silenced. The house smells like Bell Seasoning and dark, greasy gravy with the promise of cold turkey sandwiches. 

My people near and far enjoying the blessings of comfort, 'enough', and safety.

Today a headache and sore throat keep me in bed with the cats. A fever reminds me that my body knows what to do.  What I used to tell the babies. "Close eyes. Sleep now." 

moving on

  

Still my favorite mood lifter-driving. I don't need to speed to get the mind groove correction., but this little stretch of parkway maybe a mile from home begs for it. Late at night, I can hear the rice racers winding up and letting it out with the occasional wail of sirens for flavor.

I'm starting to think about the ocean again. The Gulf of Mexico is only six hours away. 

Plans are good. 

Words are starting to flow again. It's all good. 

If the weather kept you from seeing the recent eclipse, here's Colin's capture from the airport. I wish I'd forced myself out in the cold to see it live. taken my Tarot cards out for a moon bath, but it was near freezing by the time he got this shot.

 

more than memory

 

I love the expression, "May his memory be a blessing".    I try to keep it that way, but Fb will reliably dish up the rough stuff. 

His face here, the day of Jake & Missy's wedding, two weeks before he died. I wouldn't see it before. Refused to see he was saying goodbye. 

Lately, everything has been a struggle so I'm just going to let grief have its minute. 

Then regroup.

Black & white

 

Words on a page. Catching ideas flying around like biker butterflies.

Beautiful, but averse to order. I have what you want. Settle and let me show you how it will be.

A week zips by

 

The face you make when you favorite readers turn up unscathed after being lost all summer.

We had a sleepover with a digital learning day attached. I do not know how one person herds 30 little through these hoops every day. By noon, recess and lunch were my favorite subjects. We took it to the park.

Marketing in the dark

      Once upon a time (after a one-night stand) Paranormal Romance had a baby with Thriller. Being a dog, Thriller ghosted her. Knowing she was unfit for parenthood, PNR gave the child to Magical Realism and her mack daddy, Literary Fiction. In no time, they threw up their hands and gave up trying to contain the wild child genre and still haven't named her. Suggestions welcome. 

~~~signed, an author in a very dark marketing place.

"Take the green pill. Run with your eyes closed. Flap until you fly." DL

  

      Wrote this before coffee and after pondering a marketing webinar presented in so much jargon that I have to re-enroll in the dummies level class to make sense of this one. I just want to sit on a bench and read it aloud to small groups. That being said, I've tentatively arranged a signing/reading at a local bookstore, Phoenix & Dragon. No time for the willies and it's a wonderful place just wallowing in good vibes. As to what I might be reading, that's going to take some study. 

the remains

 

That's the lot of them. Unless I start looking at them again.

Lots of cloth still.

Post offices runs are on Fridays.

Intention and line

 

Playing at creating lives and worlds in a story is heady business. Real life, the wins and losses, keeps my feet on the ground.

The line, or veil, between we in the now, and those who have gone before is a theme that I'm exploring in the next book. 

Structuring it is not a big problem as it's a continuation of the first (three). We think we know the players and their goals, but they will surprise us. 

Keeping the Story on the rails is a course in self discipline for me. I tend to wander. Characters and plot take over and want to have their say. 

This time, I'll acknowledge that growth and likely wind up writing two or three books at once. One of them (mostly completed) reaches back in time before the first. Who doesn't like some juicy back story?  

Intentional lines get us from one point to another.  The trick is to make the trip as entertaining as the destination.