Seriously

 

October Rain

 

I slept all of four hours last night. That dinner time coffee was a mistake. 

After my shift was over at 1:30am,  I let myself fall into this book. Nothing like reading magic to really put a struggling writer's dick in the dirt, so to speak. But what glory! Charles Frazier is in my top ten.

"Being on the wrong side of history carries consequences. If you've done terrible things, lived a terrible way, profited from pain in the face of history's power to judge, then guilt and loss accrue."

                                                        ~O~

The scarves are waiting to be named and posted.

100% Viscose. Made in India. A generous 31x72, more shawl than a mere scarf. 

There are only ten and that may drop to nine after I spend time getting decent pictures. There's one that keeps getting my attention. Thanks, Dee, for being a fine crash test dummy.

I've been wearing mine whenever there's a chill. Worn it to bed. The cats have nested in it. Slammed it in the car door. Washed it in the sink by hand with my favorite smelly soap, then left it over the shower rod to dry. The label says 'dry clean'. I say, 'feh'. I have no idea what might become of the colors if you do dry clean it.

The rain was good for everything, except drying time when all was said and done.

But what bossy, vibrant colors settled into the thread!  Most of these will be posted to go in sets of six over the next few days.

I'll sleep tonight, no matter what.

All told

 

There's nothing left untouched. These are outside drying. I wish I'd discovered them sooner, but who wants a warm wrap in June? There are ten. 

A storm is coming. I'll get these inside but the threads will just rinse in the rain.

The last round of threads - fifty or sixty?- I lost count. All the dye is used up. 

What next?

ps. I went out and grabbed up a few from the work table fearing they were going to a muddy blur. Not this time. ❤

Summer lingers

 Words later.

A sea change

 the River basket and tools will be in the closet for a while. My left thumb is acting the fool and I'm right-handed. Keyboarding is slow, pens are no problem

I've been having trouble getting the next book out of the gate. It would be easy to blame it on circumstances, but that's bullshit. There's been quite enough of that around, so, no, I know the truth of it. 

It feels like I've been herding rabbits with rabies. Every time I turn around, there are more of them, all sweaty and wild-eyed. The real problem--I didn't know where I was leading them. 

The first book, a romance, never gave me this kind of trouble because every good romance must have a Happily Ever After. Readers demand it. Prophets Tango delivers.

This time, the story is not primarily a romance and I haven't been able to see from here to the imaginary there. The story didn't know what it was living for. Until yesterday. 

After spending hours with acres of notes, I stared at the spiral of scenes, then into the void. Who owns that little voice inside my head? I didn't recognize it. 

Came the voice, "How does it end?"

The question immediately reminded me of some lines from my favorite movie, "Shakespeare in Love". (Yes, Will could have had me for a scrap of paper with his ink on it.) 

Lord Wessex: "How is this to end?"

Queen Elizabeth: "As stories must when love's denied. With tears and a journey."

There will be tears and a journey, but I have no intention of denying love anything it wants.