Blogging and writing

I've been blogging for six years now, almost to the day. Sometimes I find it addictive, like having someone to talk with about the things I find important. But many days, I feel my blog lapses into trivia, sort of "what I did today." A flattering email from the director of a small academic press, suggesting a book of blogs, sent me to looking at some back blogs. I knew the one I did just this week on religion and politics had legs, even if controversial--some people think I should just shut up. But I found others with substance, and the idea began to take shape. I asked if he meant to include my food blog, Potluck with Judy, and he kind of left it up to me. So I'm thinking a two-section collection, with some from each blog. It would take me forever to put that together, and it won't be tomorrow because I've honestly started writing--again--on that fourth Kelly O'Connell mystery.
I have a friend who is writing a memoir. She did everything she could to avoid working on it--laundry, cleaning house, washing windows (well, I don't know about that). Someone suggested she write a letter, "Dear World, I'm sorry I didn't write that book. I was busy doing the laundry." So she set aside two- or three-hour blocks of time, maybe once or twice a week, during which she would write--period. One day she wrote for a while and ran dry, but she was determined to sit there. So sit there she did, staring into space. Oh, it's so easy to give others advice. "Write through it," I said. "Just write, don't worry about what. Just put words on paper. You can edit later."
We never take our own advice. I've distracted myself with editing someone else's manuscript, blogging, writing guest posts for other people's blogs, e-mailing, and reading. But this week I'm back to it, and I'm trying to set a goal--2,000 words a day. If they are meaningless trivia, so be it. I sort of know how this novel is going to work out, but at 20,000 words the end seems so far away that I'm afraid to introduce some of those final elements--or even the building-tension ones--so early. Then what will I do? On the other hand, if I'd go ahead and do that, perhaps my characters would lead me in other directions, and I'd find it all works out.
I know writers who spend four, five, six hours a day at their computers--without even the distraction of e-mail. Would I were such a one. When people ask when I write, I say, "Whenever I can fit it in." That would be easier if I were reclusive by nature, but I'm not. I usually spend Mondays at home all day, so by Tuesday I'm ready for social life. This week I've had lunch with friends two days, happy hour one night (on my porch), and supper out three--if you count tonight when I went to Jordan's potluck (which she had left Christian to host while she went to Jamaica on business). Pizza was the order of the day, so I took an appetizer, had a glass of wine and visited, and came home for my own supper of smoked salmon, cream cheese, tomato--and raspberries and chocolate for dessert. But tomorrow night a friend is coming for supper, and Sunday, Christian, Jacob, and I will eat together.
And then there's the domestic side: I love to cook. So sometime this weekend, I want to pickle some vegetables. That definitely did not intrigue Christian, who is not a vegetable person. But I bought broccoli, cauliflower, zucchini, summer squash, and green beans today--plus a cucumber to refresh my stock of marinaed cucumbers. For the others, I think I'll sprinkle in a bit of pimiento just for color (I'm not a fan, but I do like pimiento cheese, especially Palmetto) and instead of pickling spices, I'll use Italian herbs.
I won't even mention reading. But I think it was Stephen King who said if you don't have time to read, you don't have time or the ability to write--something to that effect.
I am reminded of Anne Lamott's book, Bird by Bird. Every writer should read it--to me the basic advice is to put one word after the other, though I also value her thought that we should worry about character not plot. Wonder if I could find that on my bookshelves to give to my memoir-writing friend.

Loverly Day

Today I feel like borrowing a word from Eliza Doolittle of  My Fair Lady--it was a loverly day! Not sure why that came into my mind, but it did. Started the morning at Central Market, which always pleases me because I love the fresh fruits and vegetables--and I bought lots. I've been keeping cucumbers in vinegar in the fridge, so had to stock up on those, and I'm making gazpacho this weekend--a big batch that will last a while--so I bought things for that. And potato salad. And corn on the cob--going to try roasting it in the oven in the husk. I've never been one to shun using the oven in summer--come on, it doesn't heat up the kitchen that much! I didn't quite shop till I dropped, but I had fun.
Then at noon, a signing at Z's Cafe--an eclectic place to say the least. How many small cafes have art on the wall and welcome authors for signings? It became a reunion of journalists as former employees of the Star-Telegram came to lunch and buy my book. I loved visiting with Cissy Stewart Lale, Doug Newsom (she didn't work at the paper--she was TCU faculty), Betty Bob Buckley, and Ann Miller-Tinsley. At another table, good friends Mary Rogers and Melinda Mason--gosh I hate to say how long Melinda and I have known each other, but I will say her mouth dropped open when I introduced Jordan to her. Jordan, sweet girl, came to support her mama--and visited with Mary and Melinda while eating Z's famous chicken salad. Others came--a former neighbor, the former principal of Jacob's school (who has a part in the books, much to her pleasure), a couple of women I didn't know but who knew Z's Cafe. It was all cheerful, upbeat, and delightful. And the food is so good. Special of the day was quiche, which those who had it said was wonderful--but they ran out before I got some. Next time. Meantime I had a terrific ham sandwich--not sure when I've had ham that good, and I eat a lot of ham. Sold 15 copies of No Neighborhood for Old Women and three of Skeleton in a Dead Space--not a bad lunch hour at all.
Home for a brief nap. Then I picked up Jacob and got us ready to go to his house for a Mexican pot luck supper. I had made an enchilada casserole--a cheater's casserole--but it had too many tortillas in it. Needed to be less bready. I am always so grateful that Jordan's friends welcome me so happily, and I was delighted when I told Jacob no, he could not have any more to eat because we were going to his house for supper, and he said, "Are you going too?" Of course, he wanted the top down, even though it was beastly hot.
As I always do, I came home early and then was grateful for the top down. Alex Beaton's Scottish ballads blasted out of my car (maybe I need a new Scottish tape for variety!). I even went the long way home so I could enjoy the drive and the music. Okay, I also admit a little voyeurism--there was a body found on a street where you wouldn't expect such to happen, and I went a bit out of the way to pinpoint the location. Man said he came home and found a dead woman, whom he didn't know, on his back doorstep. Absolutely fodder for a mystery. We recently also had a body found near the RR tracks in my neighborhood. My neighbor Susan says she's not sure but what my books are causing all this, as fiction becomes reality. Other way around, I'm going to work reality into fiction. My mind is whirling with thoughts.
Tomorrow, a lazy stay-at-home day fixing that gazpacho and potato salad--and maybe writing a piece about Etta Place.

Easily distracted--or life is good

My writing goes slowly, but I realized tonight it's because I'm easily distracted. I want to write, but I have no set schedule. I also want to  seize whatever opportunities for fun, happiness, sociability come my way. So I'm all too ready when someone suggests lunch or dinner. Plead that I have work to do? Not me, though sometimes it gnaws at my conscience.
Today Jordan called to say that she and a friend wanted to have happy hour and meet at my house. Did I say that I was in the middle of a chapter and besides I hadn't done my yoga yet? No, I said, "Great." She arrived with Jacob, and Lacey, carrying a bottle of wine, appeared a bit later (I take very little on these afternoon happy hours--I find wine in the late afternoon does me in). Jordan got out a silver tray, served three glasses of wine and one flute of sparkling cider--Jacob prefers his cider out of a flute, thank you very much. Then Jordan reminded (?) me that she and all those going to Jacob's Legoland birthday party would be meeting here at ten in the morning and I should be sure to look "cute." "Cute?" Are you kidding? I intended to be running errands. "I told you about this," she said. Honest, she didn't, but hey, it's okay. She said they would return about three, when I intended to be napping, and the children would probably have to come in to use the bathroom. It would be noisy. Now I could have bowed out of all this, but Jordan and Jacob bring a richness to my life that I don't want to miss, not for one minute. So probably, no yoga, no writing tomorrow, since there's also an evening party for Jacob. Jordan believes in drawing birthdays out.
And then coming up is the eighth birthday of one of my grandsons in Austin. Am I going to say, "No, I have to stay home and write?" Not me! I've worked hard all my life, and when family opportunities come up, I grab them. I'll be in Austin.
This morning I got distracted watching Justin Bieber on the TODAY Show--a throng of young girls had begun camping out on Rockefeller Plaza (they temporarily renamed it Bieber Plazs) two days ago, and as I watched those girls swooning and screaming and singing along, I could so easily see  my oldest granddaughter, Maddie among them. She has had a bad case of "Bieber Fever" for some time though I think it's gradually abating. To my eye, he's a nice enough looking young boy, although my haircut person said today she thinks he looks like Ellen DeGeneris--I didn't know where to go with that. But I'm not much impressed with his music--maybe a generational thing. I wondered at the frenzy of all those young girls, and then I remembered Frank Sinatra and the bobby-soxers. No, even I am not quite that old, but I read about the craze and saw pictures. Same thing, different generation.
Meantime, what looked like a nice long weekend is now looking crowded--and not by work on my new novel. Maybe it's percolating in the back of my mind. I do hope so.

My green world and other thoughts

In the spring my porch feels lik a tree house, surrounded by all the lovely light green of new leaves. I often take a book and a glass of wine out there but forget the book in enjoying the surroundings--except for the occasional noisy car that goes way too fast down our street. This weekend I'll make my annual purchase of fountain grass for a large pot in on corner of the porch and sweet potato vines to replace the pansies. I have one pot that doesn't get sun and have to figure out what to do with it, but the herbs are doing well. Oregano, left on its own, will take over. Today I transplanted the basil a friend brought me some time ago from the greenhouse window to a larger pot on the porch. And my chives, still growing from a plant purchased years ago, are flourishing. Wondering what other herbs I want.
Today was a productive day. I've been saying all along that the fourth Kelly O'Connell Mystery will be out in 2013 but is not written, barely imagined, and has no title. The managing editor at Turquoise Morning Press reminded me I had to submit a proposal--or at least a synopsis--so I could get a slot and a contract. Went back to my notes, and oh joy! Found two different plot lines using the device I knew the book would center around. One sounded much better to me, and I wrote a 750-word proposal and got it off to my editor.
Then Christian and I had a brief email exchange about marketing the books to realtors, since Kelly O'Connell is a realtor. He said hed been talking to an agent friend about that, and maybe a news release. so I wrote a release directed at realtors. May do some blatant promotion along that line on Facebook. Cleaned odds and ends off my desk and am ready to get back to the chili book. I feel like I'm always "getting back" to the chili book.
I got to thinking about pleasure reading. It used to be that if a mystery grabbed me, I could read it in two days. Now it takes me two weeks, beause so much else seems to distract me. Yes, writing--but Facebook, Pinterest, cooking magazines, dogs, children, friends. I am so fortunate.
Jacob and I did home work, as we do almost every afternoon. The line that rings in my ears: "Juju, you don't understand." Right, Jacob, I don't understand kindergarten home work--do you?

How Did I Get Here, Part 2

My talented, beautiful and intelligent daughter-n-law, Melanie (I have two daughters-in-law who fit that description, so I have to specify) wrote that she gave up two things she loved to do--writing and ballet--because she couldn't make a living at either.http://raggedymadness.com/2012/02/24/lean-in/  Young, I had no such practical ideas. In college, I majored in English because I liked to read. A career? Pouf! I was a daughter of the fifties. Some man was going to marry me and take care of me, presumably while I read Silver Screen and ate bonbons. Soon I found myself with a Ph.D. in English and no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up. Oh, there was a man to take care of me, but that went awry after nearly twenty years.
I had always written, starting with short stories as a ten-year-old and progressing to stories of teen-age angst that Seventeen, that bible of young girls, rejected without hesitation. I found myself doing pr and editing a medical journal and an alumni newspaper--paste-up and all in the old days, though I'd had no journalism training. Once I had that Ph.D. and children and was a stay-at-home wife and mom, with a nanny thank-you-very-much, I settled down to write. There were literally days when I thought I'd write if I only knew what to write. Unlike some senior citizens who become successful authors almost by accident (See Radine Nehring's excellent post on the subject at http://madisonjohns11.wordpress.com/2012/03/01/im-a-late-bloomer-radine-trees-nehring/), I was always dead set on a career. I had banished that girl who wanted to read and eat bonbons.
Flash forward forty years. No blatant self promotion, but I have over sixty published books--fiction for adults, fiction for young adults, a lot of nonfiction for young readers, some miscellaneous titles such as a literary biography and a cookbook, and now mysteries. I also have some rather nice awards, including a Lifetime Achievement Award from Western Writers of America. I'm neither rich nor famous, but it's a respectable record for a writer. Still it was never enough. I wanted more. Once a woman who was my sister in spirit suggested I'd had as much success as I could expect and I ought to quit worrying about it--she was always forthright. But that wasn't my way.
I had as many rejections as acceptances--or more--over the years, and I have every author's stack of rejected manuscripts that will never go anywhere except to my archive at the Southwest Writers Collection at Texas State University-San Marcos. Bantam/Doubleday stayed with me for much of 1990s. amd several childrens' publishers and book packagers were steady clients in the late '90s and early in 2000 until the market changed, so they said. I never had a secure long-term publishing home with enough faith in me to work out a career plan.. 
Today my mystery career is off to a great start--the first Kelly O'Connell Mystery published, another due in April, another in August, the start of a second series in January, and a fourth as-yet unwritten and unscheduled Kelly O'Connell Mystery due in 2013. There's a lingering question in my mind about why I had to be in my seventies for this sudden roll I'm on, just as I wonder why I wasn't at thirty the woman I am now. My brother says he sees it as me re-inventing myself once again, which he believes I've done a few times before. He wanted credit for that statement, and I am glad to give it because I take it as a compliment. I think the capacity to re-invent yourself, if that's what I've done, comes with age and perhaps as a close friend suggested grace.
My new blooming career is thanks to Turquoise Morning Press. I'm a big believer in the small press movement that, along with self-publishing digitally, is changing the publishing world forever. But I doubt I would have been swept up in this movement thirty years ago. I wasn't ready, and neither was my writing. Almost certainly, retirement had something to do with this, freeing me to focus on my writing and also freeing me of a lot of stress. I'm also a fan of retirement, although all those years I would have told you I had the ideal job as director of a small academic press. And what I learned all those years on the "other side" of publishing stands me in good stead. Yet I'm a poster child for retirement, and a fan, if somewhat reluctantly, of aging. Just joined a Facebook page called Spunky Seniors--you gotta love it.

How to Write a Novel--or Not

I've been reading a lot of raves lately for Scrivener Publishing Software--apparently it allows you to write a document in chunks, lay them out in any order, integrate in various ways, and get an overview whenever you want. You can keep track of chapters, scenes, page numbers, etc.Other writers have been using Excel for those same features for a long time. I'm bumfuzzled. By the time I figured all that out (I don't master new software easily), plotted out the scenes, etc., I suspect I could have written the novel twice. I am also puzzled by story boards, white boards, etc. where people keep track of each scene and character. Too much trouble.
It's probably the reason I'm a minor novelist at best, but I just sit down and write. Granted, I have a very rough outline--maybe a page of handwritten disconnected notes--before I begin. But then it's important to me to get a first sentence that gives me some momentum and propels me into the story. I may go back and rewrite that opening ten times, but it gets me going.
And then as new ideas occur to me--they appear all the time as I write--I think, "Hmmm, if this happens, I have to go back and change that." The find function in Word does that for me. When I get all through I read for plot inconsistencies--and find many--among other things. And off it goes to a beta reader, who will find more inconsistencies and problems.
I'm trying to be a storyteller, not to write belles lettres, let alone the Great American Novel. But I will always remember the examples of two Western storytellers I was privileged to know. One was Dorothy Johnson--if you're old enough, you may remember A Man Called Horse, The Hanging Tree, or "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance." Dorothy had a long career in New York and was there during WWII. After she returned to her native Montana, she worked on a novel, never published, called "The Unbombed," about New York's preparations for the enemy bombs that never hit the city. Once she wrote me that she'd just had a terrible shock: she'd just found out that the man she thought was going to be the hero of the novel was going to be killed in the war. Would that have happened with Scrivener or Excel? Somehow I think not.
And Elmer Kelton always preached to listen to your characters and they'll tell you what's going to happen. He started out to write a novel about a buffalo soldier--it became The Wolf and the Buffalo--and he incorporated a Comanche chief as a minor character. But the more he wrote, the more that Comanche demanded equal time, until the novel paralleled the disappearing lifestyle of the Comanche and the rising circumstances of the buffalo soldier, once a slave. In another instance, he sat at the bedside of his dying father and began to write about his father's young cowboying days, and, to paraphrase, as he wrote the characters took hold of the story like a horse takes the bit in its teeth and ran away with it. The words--and the tears--flowed. That became The Good Old Boys, adapted for TV by Tommy Lee Jones. Both are among the classic works of Kelton's large canon.
To me, that lesson about listening to your characters is about spontaneity in storytelling. It just doesn't happen if yoiu have all those moveable scenes and chapters and characters. A story flows--or it doesn't.
In a way I envy my fellow storytellers who can use these programs to plot--it must make the first draft a lot less painful. But they don't have the fun that I recently did of getting almost to the end of a novel still wondering how it was going to turn out, who is the villain, who the victim? And then--Eureka.
I think I'm old-fashioned.

Writing as discovery

I've talked about pantsers vs. plotters before, but essentially pantsers write by the seat of their pants. They don't plot--they just plunge in and see where it goes. I'm a pantser and, as I wrote recently, that habit often leaves me adrift in the broken middle of a manuscript. But the other day I confidently told Fred, my beta reader, that I had been writing the "climactic" scene of my work-in-progress. Of course when I got back to it, I found that just summarizing the remainder of the events was not going to do at all. I hadn't really finished writing the book. I had at least a chapter and an epilogue to go.So yesterday, I wrote over 2500 words--I didn't really keep count--and I burned myself out on it. This morning, as I lay in bed contemplating getting up and starting the day (I do that a lot) I realized that I had to milk that final action scene--there were a lot of details I hadn't accounted for and some things that could heighten the suspense and also add to the emotion, even the humor. But I'm not ready to go back to that work yet. I think that's a good sign--it's percolating on the back burner in my brain.
Meantime, I started reading a novel I'd written after Skeleton in a Dead Space. I wasn't getting much encouragement with Skeleton, and I felt the need to be writing something. When Turquoise Morning Press enthusiastically accepted Skeleton, I put the new work aside, polished the one they contracted for, and went back to the sequel I'd also started. The new work languished, and in my mind it became more amateurish, the protagonist more of a Pollyanna. The more I was distanced from it, the less enthusiastic I became.
Well, last night I started re-reading that work, and you know what? I kind of like it? I see a lot of work to be done on it, mostly cutting which is a problem because it's already on the short side. But I'm making notes and correcting small things as I go along. But Kate isn't a Pollyanna--she's a singlel woman in her thirties with a background. I can't judge about amateurish--who can judge their own work? But I'm kind of hooked on reading it. I intended it to be a culinary mystery, but I'll sure have to beef up that aspect and, yes, I think I'll add recipes. That thought makes me miss my dear friend Reva, for she could tell me how to cook turnip greens and poke sallet and chicken-fried steak and the other delicacies that they servce in a small-town East Texas cafe. After all, I'm not sure Paula Deen could make  decent chicken-fried steak!
Of course, there's that old question: is it better to continue a series or take off in a new direction? I'll worry about that tomorrow!

A normal day?

I managed to write 3,000 words today--2,000 in the morning and another 1,000 in the evening. I have no idea how many words other authors accumulate in a day's time, but I was pretty darn proud of this. Whereas a week or so ago I was in the broken middle, I seem to have found a plot line to carry the story forward. I am actually full of ideas for tomorrow's writing, but  I think I'll quit for tonight. Running out of gas for one thing, and I want to start a cozy that I'm going to review in hopes of winning a contest--grand prize is some sort of digital fancy kitchen equipment that I probably don't undertand but it sounds wonderful. The book is Liz Lipperman's Liver Let Die about a non-cook who ends up being food critic for a small paper.She also ends up in the middle of a murder--my kind of book.
Not that I've cooked in the past two days. Yesterday I had lunch and dinner out but managed to eat modestly. Okay, I ate chopped liver for lunch--but only a small scoop and I didn't have it in a sandwich. Last night I had a salad. Today I ate all three meals out and once again really tried to be modest--one scrambled egg and a half piece of toast for breakfast, one brat, potato salad and kraut for lunch (doesn't sound like diet food, does it?) and half a serving of meatloaf, black-eyed peas and green beans for supper (the other half of the meatloaf is in the fridge calling my name for lunch soon). If my social life doesn't slow down, I will be a) late with my manuscript, and b) fat as a pig.
Tomorrow, I speak at a monthly book luncheon at TCU for staff and then will fix a chopped steak dish for the Burtons. But Thursday, aah, I get to eat the meatloaf for lunch and Linda will come for supper before the memoir class. I think she'll get creamed tuna, but shhh! don't tell her.
Right now the weather in North Texas is beautiful. Great top down days, and I love the freedom of driving with the wind blowing my hair in my eyes so I can't see--a visor cap helps with that. By 12:30, the sun was almost too hot to have the top down but I soldiered on. By the time I got Jacob, it was too hot for the shirt I'd started the day in. He managed to create a mud puddle in the back yard--the puppy, thinking she's a pig, wallowed in it. I have laid down the law about turning on the water. Hope it works.
Life is good.

How the other half lives--sort of

Every once in a while it's fun to mingle with those who enjoy more luxuries snd privilege in life than most of us. Today, Betty and I took a longtime friend to lunch in Dallas. We chose Rise, an upscale restaurant specializing in souffles--savory souffles for entrees, wonderful dessert entrees. Rumor is that you never know who might be sitting at the table next to you, and I know of one person who confirmed a sighting of George and Laura Bush but then, they show up at Mexican hole-in -the-wall dives too. But I did not recognize anyone famous today--I did see a lot of carefully casual young women with manes of blonde hair, and I saw one woman order something to drink that came out of a large bottle that carbonated it as she refilled her glass--no idea what it was but it looked quite sophisticated.
I'm partial to souffles. My mom used to make them for Sunday supper, and I loved her spinach souffle--in fact, I finally found a recipe that I think approximates it and hope to make it soon. The classic story in the family is that my brother hated it as much as I loved it and remembers to this day having to sit at the dining table and stare at his souffle until he took three bites. Years later, Mom said to me, "Wasn't that an awful thing to do to a child?" I didn't order a souffle for an entree today, figuring it was more food than I needed.
The decor at Rise is French cluttered, with shelves filled with cookbooks (presumably Rise's and for sale) and crockery and small gift items, tables with colorful cloths and napkins, painted rattan chairs, and a marvelous chandelier of wine bottles. We elected to sit inside--too hot for the patio.
We each had the large Rise salad which, thank goodness, came in a small size--Betty and Mary Lu had it with a delicately smoked, still warm, sliced chicken; I never turn down smoked salmon and had that version though this was not the thinly sliced smoked salmon you think of as an appetizer--it was meaty, a filet, with a light smokey taste. The salads were brightened with chopped pecans, a bit of cheese (blue? if so very mild) and julienned Granny Smith apples, the latter a wonderful touch. For dessert we split a pumpkin souffle--as Betty said, tasted like the best pumpkin pie you ever ate but much lighter.
We arrived early and wandered into a frame shop that had art supplies for children--and a sale. I managed to get two Christmas presents, which made mef feel so accomplished you'd think I'd done all my Christmas shopping.
I was relieved of babysitting duties today, so back home I took care of odds and ends at my desk, had a good nap, and am now headed back to the Grill for a meatloaf dinner with neighbors. But then when I get home I intend to write my daily minimum of a thousand words. To get myself started, I pulled up the manuscript and wrote a few lines, so I could plunge in after dinner.
My days seemed filled with everything but writing this week, but I am managing to get a bit in every day. Someone asked me last night what my writing schedule is, and I nearly laughed aloud. Life, I explained, keeps getting in the way.

Friends at Last

My dogs are friends at last, which really means that Scooby, the Aussie above, has decided to accept Sophie. He's twelve years old and has regarded her puppy enthusiasm--and yes, intrusion into his well ordered life--as an annoyance at the least. He'll now play and romp with her for about ten minutes before he gets fed up and goes inside. I leave the door open for his escape. She runs at him, jumps and attacks from all sides. He'll start to chase her, and she's off like the wind. Of course, he can't catch her--neither can I, which is why I leave a leash on her all the time. She gets so excited she tears from one end of the yard to the other and back, running in great wide, sweeping circles, while Scooby barks at her. I don't leave them alone yet--in fact, I don't leave her outside alone. Just not quite ready for that, and I'm afraid Scooby might lose patience. I do sometimes admonish him to be gentle.
Sophie has grown long and leggy, like a teenager, and I've decided that may be where she is in her development. She's rebellious, and one form its taking is to regress in her housebreaking. The vet says not to make a big deal of it, but I'm a little worried about when if ever she'll be trained. Apparrently regression is not unsual. But having had one accident free day, I'm dismayed by four accidents today.  Sometimes I think she's got some stubborn terrier in her, though I don't know much about the poodle half of her. Are poodles stubborn? All I know is they're smart, and she surely is that. One thing she is very good about is crate training--she resists going into the crate but goes when I force the issue gently, and she never utters a sound once she's in there. Tonight she spent the evening in her crate because my class met here.
The class remains a delight. They can tell the most amazing stories--some of which make me feel naive or sheltered or at the least not adventuresome. One woman who says she can't come back in the next session hinted at some things she'd seen and done when young, and we all clamored for her to come back. We want to hear those stories!
I've gotten back to my work-in-progress and it feels good. In fact, I'm a bit resentful of the time other things take. Maybe this weekend I can spend more time at it and really make some progress. No title but I do have a general idea of where the story is going. Fred, my mentor, read the first chapter and said, as he always does, "Slow down!"
The print copy of Skeleton in a Dead Space is still not up on Amazon but should be in a day or two. The publisher has gotten copies and has sent my comp copies to me. Can't wait.
I'm feeling like an author today, a feeling I don't always enjoy.

Falling into a routine

After two-and-a-half weeks with the new pup, my days have fallen into a routine--not a good routine, mind you, just a routine. In the morning I feed the cat, take the pup out until she pees, then lock her in the bathroom while I take Scooby out and feed him, Then back to the bathroom to brush my teeth, gather my towel, hairbrush and comb and the pup and proceed to the kitchen, where I feed her, wash dishes left from the night before--usually a wine glass and a water glass-and wash my hair. Towel my wet hair and comb it back to dry. The trick here is to get the pup back outside to poop without disturbing the older dog--some days it works, some days it doesn't.
Then on to the office, where Sophie, full of energy, runs amuck, chewing on everything but her numerous toys, and I spend a lot of time refocusing her attention. Aftr an hour or so, she runs out of steam and naps. My clue to hop up, make the bed, water the plants, etc. When she wakes, it's time to take her out again, and then depending on my day return to the office or put her in her crate so I can run errands.
Lunch and dinner provide similar juggling acts--take care of cat, older dog, and pup without letting them cross paths because they don't do well together. I'm hoping that will change when Sophie is older and not quite so full of energy--but, omigosh, does she have energy. I bless the days that Jacob and Jordan come and let her run wild in the backyard.
Am I writing? Well, not much. But I have finally, with lots of help from a friend, ordered bookmarks, and by myself I designed a flyer for the signings that will also do as an "If you're oiut of town, here's how to order" flyer. I'm keeping up with emails, writing blogs, including a few guest blogs, and generally trying to be professional about life. I've 2,000 words on a new novel, and every morning I think I'll get back to it, but it's like the weather forecasts: they keep telling us that in three or four days the temperature will go down into the upper 90s, but when the time comes, it never does. And now Hurricane Don is not only going to miss us, it's not much of a hurricane anymore.
I know my days will change and grow easier as Sophie grows older but right now I just keep reminding myself what it was like to have a new baby in the house. Except new babies didn't chew everything in sight (including my hands and feet) with sharp little teeth. Tonight, she destroyed the handle of a wicker basket, which I quickly took away because those little slivers could get in her lungs.
Sophie is truly an amazing, loving little creature--but she's not a placid dog. I said I wanted a dog with spirit, and oh boy, did I get her!

On Learning to Write

This isn't BSP (blatant self promotion)--it's relative to the point I want to make, which is I apprently don't know how to write yet. I have been a published author for over 30 years, with 60 or more books to my credit if you count all those children's nonfiction books I did on assigment. But I've published fiction and nonfiction for adults and young readers, even a cookbook.
Now I'm writing mysteries (I have mentioned the forthcoming Skeleton in a Dead Space, havene't I? yes, I think so:-) I am doing the final edits on my second mystery manuscript, and the publisher's instructions are to search for those pesky adverbs by looking for words ending in "ly." I did and it was a humbling experience. I found I overuse the word "really" to an unbelievable extent, and "only" isn't far behind. Reconstructing sentences without those words was a challenge but fun. Then I moved on to the next search--for the word "had" to find passive voice. I could not believe the number of times "had been" appeared in the manuscript. I still have "was" and "ing" words to go. So far it's a humbling experience, which leaves me wondering if all my previous books are filled with those grammatical errors. I'm afraid to look.
I do have to say that looking searcing for these things is a long and boring process, so much so that sometimes my mind goes blank. But I'm persevering. When I finish, I still have to read the manuscript yet one more time to make sure I haven't introduced new errors in the process of correcting old ones. By the time I'm through, I'll be able to recite the darn thing from memory.
But the whole exercise is one of the best I've ever heard of for checking your manuscript. Thanks to Kim at Turquoise Morning Press for coming up with it.
The manuscript hasn't actually been accepted yet, but I have a proposal in and am quite hopeful. Keep your fingers crossed for me. The title of this one is for now No Neighborhood for Old Women. Yes, that's a spoof on Cormac McCarthy. When I began writing the manuscript, he had just turned down my good friend Marcia Daudistel on her request for an excerpt of his writing to include in an Literary El Paso, an anthology of the work of El Paso authors. I came up with the title off the top of my head, and she hooted with delight. More than that about the book, it's too soon to say. If it's accepted, I may have to change the title.
A food note: I know, I have a food blog but I can't resist sharing my menu tonight: a ground lamb patty with feta and chopped mint in it from Central Market (actually I ate about a third of the huge pattie) and fresh corn, cut off the cob after I boiled it, and mixed with salt and a bit of chiffonade of basil--no butter. So good!

2011 is off to a good start

Is New Year's Day an omen of how the year will go? In so many ways I hope so. The highlight of the day was TCU's close but decisive win of the Rose Bowl. Who thought a school of 8700 could field a team against a school of 42,000 students and win? Jordan and Christian and Susan and Jay and I watched, while Jacob boycotted us and watched the Disney channel in my office. I'm curious to see what changes this big, national win will have on campus--it can either focus attention completely on athletics at the cost of academics or it can help boost all facets of the university. I'm hoping for the latter--and for a strong university press as part of the deal.
The day was also off to a good cooking start--sort of a no-brainer but I heated a spiral-sliced ham, made mashed potatoes, heated canned black-eyed peas (I never can cook them from scratch so they're any good, but, Barbara, if you're reading this I can still do purple hulls as you showed me years ago). I made a Reuben spread for an appetizer, and Jay brought an amazing array of cookies and sweets that he'd baked over the holidays. Jacob helped me cook--he's suddenly crazy about cooking (if he's in the right mood and has his apron). He helped make salad dressing, dumped the peas into a saucepan, watched me unwrap the ham carefully, and at the table took credit for much of the meal. We all praised him. I wanted him to keep his apron on so we could have our pictures taken but a blow-up over whether the TCU game or Rudolph should be on the TV put him in a bad mood--and he was moody off and off all evening. I know, I know, I believe in discipline but it just breaks my heart when he sobs. The typical soft-hearted grandmother.
And the day was a good omen for writing (I hope)--I submitted my mystery, Skeleton in a Dead Space, to a small press. The fact that I'm going to try a few small presses and then go to self-publishing is indicative of the changes we've seen in publishing just over the past year. Self-publishing has lost it's tinge of disgrace (though some bad books still see their way to at least electronic print that way), small presses are doing gangbuster things, and some people predict the decline of the chain bookstores and a resurgence of the indie stores. All laudable trends since publishing in New York has been sort of a closed circle that it was hard-to-impossible for a beginner to enter. I don't think this is sour grapes because an agent submitted my mystery to the major big publishers without success--I think it's more a recognition of the changing face of publishing. I'm not going to justify the fact that a major publisher wasn't swept away by my book--I know how many mystery writers there are out there. But with my small press background, I'm cheering the new approach to books and publishing.
Technology is changing so fast too--Jay brought over tonight the book Susan made him for Christmas, a chronological record of the dishes he has cooked for them over the last two or three years. She took the pictures with her iPhone, designed it on her computer, and sent it off to some service of Apple to be bound. Result is a quality book, hard-bound, dust jacket and all--and to my eye good color. (OK, Melinda, your eye would be more discerning). I was much impressed, and Jay was sentimental about it. He is, by the by, a great experimental cook and creates some wonderful dishes!
I would happily accept my day as an omen for the new year except for nagging distress over Jacob's meltdowns--I guess that's all part of being four. I hope each of you found as much pleasure in your day and look forward to a great year.

Writing out of the box

This is the new cover for the Kindle version of my 1988 novel, Mattie, which won a Spur Award from Western Writers of America. I've had the text scanned and just need to proof but I hope to get it up in a week or so. The novel is roughly based on the story of pioneer physician Georgia Arbuckle Fix who rode the western Nebraska prairie to see patients and learned to "read" the prairie as though it had roads. When Doubleday published the novel, they put her soddie in a lush green setting, ripe with trees and other foliage. It looked a bit like England but certainly not western Nebraska. I had emphasized that her soddie on the river was at the only tree crossing for miles--she had three trees. I think the cover above captures the barrenness much better, and I love the sense of space that sky gives. Kudos to Vicki Whistler, who designed it.
When my novel, Libbie, about Elizabeth Bacon Custer, was published, the cover was truly a misrepresentation--some New York artist's concept of the West. As one friend said, Libbie looked like Madonna in 19th century dress. She stood in a prairie, with tall grass all around, by a barbed wire fence--oops! Barbed wire was introduced, I think at the Menger Hotel in San Antonio, in 1874 and Custer was killed in 1876. No way the prairie was fenced in those two years. In the background is a fort, sitting on barren tan ground, the soil of Arizona in contrast to the Kansas prairie she stands in. The fort is built of sturdy logs, with a stockade around it. I had made the point in the book that Army posts in the West did not have fences of any kind--their very openness bothered Libbie, but there were no trees to build stockades. So much for artistic accuracy. At the time I was so glad a NY publisher was putting out my work that I didn't complain until too late. Lesson learned.
I read somewhere the other day that in order to attract an agent or a publisher, the author of a mystery had to think outside the box. The author cited as an example was Charlaine Harris who writes paranormal-vampire books and has indeed been wildly successful. I'm not going there. I have no interest in the paranormal/vampire material that is so popular today (my granddaughter loves it). But I got to thinking about the three mysteries I've written--I'm pretty happy about the first but intend to revise; not so sure about the second; pretty happy about the third, though it is in draft stage. But they are nowhere outside the box. They're perfectly typical cozies--the kind I like to read. Single heroines who are amateur sleuths but also beset by romance problems, clever with-it girls who manage to rescue themselves and solve murders but at the same time ordinary people like you and me. Okay, I admit it, sort of Nancy Drew all grown up and sophisticated--and in more dangerous situations.Hmm. I decided I should begin to think outside the box--but how? Then I thought of Kaye George, a friend and fellow writer who has created a mystery set in the Neanderthal era. Think she can sell it? She's come close a lot but no banana. There have of course been successes with such novels, notably Jean Auel's work and that of  Michael and Kathleen Gear. But I wonder if maybe outside the box is part of the problem--that and publishing trends. Right now, while vampires are big, thinking outside the box in that direction is fine; take it in another direction and you might be in trouble. All this circular thinking leads me to suspect that thinking outside the box is not the answer: witing the very best novel you can is! And watch for Kaye's novel--from all I've read about it, it's darn good and her reserch into that period of history is spot on.

The Amish Life

I just reviewed a book called The Amish Cook's Anniversary Book by Lovina Eichel with Kevin Williams for Story Circle Network Book Reviews (http://www.storycirclebookreviews.org/reviews/amishcook.shtml). The book is a collection of newspaper columns first written by Elizabeth Coblentz in 1991 and taken over by her daughter, Lovina Eichel, after Elizabeth's sudden death in 2002. I found this oversize book with full color photographs not only beautiful but interesting far beyond the relatively few recipes scattered throughout. I think we're all curious about Amish life. This is what I found out: the Amish still ride in a horse-drawn buggy, but they can drive, particularly long distances, in a car driven by a non-Amish person, and they can stay in modern hotels that have all those conveniences they lack at home, like electricity. Some Amish farmers have bought mechanized tractors--the old ways may be fading a bit. Rules vary from region to region but in some places they may have small appliances--alarm clocks, radios, flashlights. And in Michigan they may have gasoline-powered freezers but not in Indiana. Since they butcher their own meat, freezers must be a huge help.
The Amish life is one of hard work, and women get together to feed several hundred people abundant meals at weddings and other celebrations. They generally rise at four or five in the morning and work until evening--sewing, canning, quilting, cleaning, washing, cooking. Their life is guided by their absolute belief in God's ways. At one point, Elizabeth writes, "God makes no mistakes." I am always envious of people with such absolute faith. My faith is strong but not quite that strong.
There are recipes scattered throughout the book, several that I think I'll try, but here's one that called out to me:
Amish Classic Ham Salad
3 c. diced ham                                                                  2 hard-boiled eggs, chopped
1/2 c. sweet pickle relish                                                   1 Tbsp. lemon juice
2 tsp. minced onions                                                         1/4 tsp. salt
2 tsp. prepared mustard                                                    1/4 tsp. pepper
1/2 c. mayonnaise                                                             2 c. crushed potato chips
1 c. diced celery
Preheat oven to 425
Combine all ingredients except potato chips. Stir until well combined. Pour into 2-quart casserole and sprinkle with crushed potato chips. Cover and bake 20 minutes or until top is bubbling and golden.
I'm a big fan of ham salad, so I'm anxious to try a baked version. This serves eight.
Otherwise, a ho-hum day. I started by emptying the dishwasher only to realize I hadn't run it and the dishes were still dirty; this evening I did a rag and rug wash, belatedly realizing that the dishtowels I washed last night were still in the washer. So I had to fish out the rags and rugs, dry them, and wash the dishtowels again. Went to the audiologist at 9:30 this morning, thinking I'd be in plenty of time to volunteer at Bill White's campaign headquarters at ten. Wrong--the audiologist was overbooked for one thing, and for another he replaced the tubing on my hearing aids and adjusted the volume--it was, he said, too low for the amount of my hearing loss, something we did because I was so uncomfortable with the aids at first. I'm pretty used to them now. Then an hour at the campaign headquarters, most of which I spent calling people who weren't home. Frustrating. Proofreading this afternoon and doing a few odds and ends.Not an exciting day. Oh, and my agent forwarded, with regret, a rejection of my first mystery from a publisher--I think this is the fourth publisher that's turned him down. I try to be philosophical, but this criticism hit home--there wasn't a sense of urgency about the action. If there isn't in that novel, it's surely lacking in the next one and the one I supposedly have in progress. Well, I'll think abut that tomorrow. Meanwhile back to proofreading for a bit and then that mystery I'm reading that is really fun.

A sharp right turn in the middle of writing a novel

Not many people remember Dorothy Johnson these days, but she was the master of the short story, most often about the American West, and the author of such stories as "A Man Called Horse" and "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance." Years ago I was privileged to call her my friend and to correspond with her. In her later years (she hated the term octogenarian, which she said sounded like a scaly reptile with a skin disease), she was writing about New York City during WWII and the constant alert for fear of the bombing attack that never came. She titled it "The Unbombed," and I suspect she never finished it before she died. But one day she wrote me that she'd just had a terrible shock. She'd found out that the man she thought was going to be the hero of her book was going to be killed in the war. Who told her? Her muse. Dorothy was a firm believer in listening to your muse as you write.
Something similar happened to me today. When I woke up this morning I lay in bed a long time, plotting in my head the end of the novel I'm about halfway through. But I never was really comfortable about the murderer--he's a nice guy, and I hated to turn him into a villain. I finally made it to my computer to write down all the stuff in my head and happened to read an old file called rough ideas or something like that. In that, the villain was a totally different person and had a much more believable motive. So now I'm doing an abrupt right turn. I hadn't gotten far enough into the end that this is a serious problem, but it does call for minor revision. But I feel a lot better about the whole thing now. There are a lot of possible suspects, but now I know who really did it. Most writers will tell you to listen to your characters and they'll tell you what's going to happen, and I've had that experience more than once. I remember a writer who taught a seminar at TCU and said, "What is this nonsense about listening to your characters? I'm the author. I tell them what to do." I didn't much like his books.
My mystery of the day: how can you put four pillow cases in the laundry and only get three back? There's a poltergeist in my house!