Showing posts with label #cooking class. Show all posts
Showing posts with label #cooking class. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 27, 2024

Some small “writerly” triumphs

 


Flowerpot cake by Mary Dulle
Photo courtesy Mary Dulle

The Guppy (Going to be published) chapter of Sisters in Crime weekly opens the listserv to NPV (non-publishing victories) brags from members. I usually don’t respond because I don’t have a lot to brag about these days—published or not, I’ve been in a long dry spell, partly because I spent a lot of time on the Helen Corbitt book that never became a book. But today I do have some small victories.

One that I simply forgot to publicize because I put it aside to later make a “big” marketing effort, as if I knew how to do that, is that my one collection of short stories, Sue Ellen Learns to Dance and Other Stories, is now available on Amazon in audio version. It’s my second foray into audio publishing, but the first was not very successful, probably due to a lack of marketing. I vow to do better with this book. Short stories are hard for me—the idea has to hit me hard, and then I have to sit down and put it into words right away. I am in awe of people who write, “I am working on a short story.” I wonder how long it takes to write and polish 3,000 words. Yes, I go back and edit, but I almost never write a bit, put it aside, and go back and finish it.

Two of these stories, “Sue Ellen Learns to Dance” and “Fool Girl,” won Wrangler awards from the National Cowboy Museum and Hall of Fame, and one, “The Art of Dipping Candles,” brings me to tears every time I read it—a boastful things to say about one’s own writing, but it’s true. Try it.

Since my audio of Saving Irene was not the blockbuster I hoped, I had put aside the idea of audio, decided it wasn’t for me. But then Amazon made me an offer I couldn’t resist: a free audio version using AI. Now every author I know resists AI, fearful it will take over our creativity—and maybe our already published works. Plus it’s competition. AI can write a book much faster than the human brain can write, proof, edit, design, etc. Still, it was free. I tried it. Overall I thought the AI voice was acceptable—not great, but okay. In several instances, the inflection of a phrase or a word is not what I would have done, but I think the human ear may be less critical than the eye. The thing that most bothered me was the mispronunciation of Texas terms and place names. My AI “person” was clearly not a Texan. The town of Hereford became Her-e-ford, and the word cousie (for chuckwagon cook) was similarly butchered.

Since I’m blatantly marketing the book, here’s a link to the Amazon audio: Amazon.com: Sue Ellen Learns to Dance and Other Stories (Audible Audio Edition): Judy Alter, Alter Ego Publishing, Virtual Voice: Books It’s also available in Kindle and paperback editions, but the paperback has a different cover, a Dorothea Lange Depression photo that is a classic. I like it better than the updated cover, but I’m told it’s not as marketable. Really dislike that aspect of the writing business.

Oops. I’ve gone on so long I’ll have to be brief about my second small triumph: today was the second of Mary Dulle’s two-part class on the cooking of Helen Corbitt. Mary did a masterful job with such recipes as turkey mornay and flowerpot cakes (Ladybird’s favorite), and I got to talk about the seismic changes in American food culture during the fifties and a bit how that affects us today, the Greenhouse Spa (if you don’t remember it, google it—ultimate luxury in the sixties and seventies), and Corbitt’s books. She wrote five cookbooks, all of them still available today. The class was responsive, had people who really took part, and it was fun. I am still intrigued by the Corbitt story and hope to find other things to do with it in the future.

Meantime, tonight, back to editing Irene in a Ghost Kitchen.

Sunday, March 17, 2024

Peace and quiet

 

Sophie at the veterinaray clinic. Note the IV tube.
Ready to come home tomorrow.

I think it was Maya Angelou who said we all need to take an occasional day out. The world, she reminded us, won’t fall apart without you. That’s what I did today—a day out. The Burtons were out all day, celebrating Jordan’s birthday at the Roadhouse, which is supposed to have great burgers. They were up, bright and bushy-tailed early this morning, Jordan is a bright green top with shamrocks dangling from her ears. My bow to St. Patrick tonight is a pale green T-shirt (with a VW bus on the front) and bright green footlets. By rights I should wear orange because my ancestry is Protestant Irish. I’m fairly sure my forebearers, three generations back or more, left Scotland for Northern Ireland. They were Protestant Irish, but I like the myth and legend of the larger Irish culture, the green of St. Patrick if you will. Perhaps W. B. Yeats best summer up Irish culture: Being Irish, he had an abiding sense of tragedy, which sustained him through temporary periods of joy.

Since I would be cooking only for myself, there’s no Irish menu in the cottage tonight. But tomorrow my family will get corned beef, champ (a mashed potato dish with lots of butter and green onions), and Brussel sprouts. Coming up with a green vegetable that’s Irish and my family will eat is hard because everything is cabbage, and they won’t touch it. When Christian asked why the Irish eat so much cabbage, I suggested it is plentiful, cheap, and nutritious. I refrained from adding something to the effect that you can make some wonderful dishes with it. Colcannon is also out—no cooked spinach. I also didn’t tell him that Brussel sprouts, which he likes, could be considered tiny cabbages. Tonight I have made myself a huge batch of pea salad and will eat with it, I think, the sardines in preserved lemon that I would have served to Jean the other night.

I was sad that my happy hour guests cancelled tonight—particularly sad because friend Jaimie burned her hand badly. But that cancellation added to my day of peace and quiet. I had planned to make a couple of appetizers to entertain Greg and Jaimie, but I’ll save them for a reschedule when Jaimie is in a better place.

So this was my day out: I slept really late, with no Sophie to wake me and demand food. I barely had time to read emails before church, which I attended via Zoom in my pajamas. A bit of cottage cheese for brunch, and I applied myself to the last words of Irene in a Ghost Kitchen. I finished it—at least the first draft—and I breathed a huge sigh. Seems like I’ve been writing this mystery forever. It came out at close to 58K words, so if I can pick up another two thousand on editing, it will be a respectable length for a cozy. Tonight I’ll start some notes for a show about Helen Corbitt that Mary and I are to collaborate on. Mary regularly teaches cooking classes for the Silver Frogs, the senior noncredit program at TCU. So she roped me in to provide commentary and background on Corbitt’s life while she demonstrates the recipes. Should be fun, though I am a bit confused on which one of us will say what. I’m sure it will work out, and it’s one of those things I vow not to overthink. Oh yes, I did have a nap in the late afternoon but only dozed—think I satisfied my need for sleep this morning.

The Sophie report is good again. She’s eating, albeit with appetite-stimulating medicine. Today the clinic will take her off her IVs and see how she does on her own, with the goal of bringing her home tomorrow. I have a list of questions for our vet when we see him.

After a week fraught with tension and worry and distractions, I’ve enjoyed my peace and quiet. Talking with a friend recently, I said one reason I didn’t want to move into a retirement community was that I like my privacy. From friends who live in Trinity Terrace I get the sense that even though you can get privacy in your own apartment, it’s easy to be drawn into the constant round of activities. No such temptation in my cottage, and I was completely happy today. But I wouldn’t want to spend every day this way.