Taking a new road

I debated about blogging about this, because I try not to blog a lot about my writing career. But a timeline I recently saw said on the road to self-publication the first thing to do is tell family and friends. So here I am to say I'm going off in two new directions next fall: I will self-publish my historical novel, "The Gilded Cage." Yes, I know there are other novels by that name, but it's so apt. I've had some success with similar novels before, about extraordinary women of the American West, but this is different. It's a fictional biography of Bertha Honore (Cissy) Palmer and her husband, Potter Palmer of the Palmer House Hotel in Chicago.
I'm fascinated for two reasons: I grew up on Chicago's South side, Hyde Park/Kenwood to be specific, close to the grounds of the 1893 Columbian Exposition--rumor has it that the 1892 house in which I was raised was built for the exposition. As I delved into that story, I became more fascinated than ever at the amazing amount of talent showcased there, everything from scholars like Frederick Jackson Turner and Henry Adams to sculpture by St. Gaudens and art by Mary Cassett--to the Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show, the original Ferris Wheel, and the scandalous "Little Egypt" where there was--gasp!--belly dancing.
And Cissy Palmer herself was an unusual and strong woman. Born and married into wealth, she was among the first to see the connection between wealth and philanthropy. Yes, her husband gave generously to various causes, but Cissy was the one who attended women's meetings, supported women's causes, traveled among the shanties of West Chicago to distribute help, worked at Hull House, Jane Addams' famous community shelter for immigrant women. The crowning glory of Cissy's career came whens she was elected President of the Lady Managers of the Exposition, responsible for the design, decoration, maintenance, and operation of the Women's Building.
I've turned the entire story into fiction, invented scenes and dialog and characters while sticking with the people who were really there. Most notably, I've injected a note of decorous romantic attraction, which I'm sure never existed. It all comes to a head the last night of the exposition.
The manuscript is with an editor and the idea with a cover designer. All plans can go awry of course,, but I hope to publish in October--so make your list of Christmas gifts. It will be in e-book and trade paper simultaneously.
And I'm equally excited about the book that Texas Tech Press is publishing in November: Texas is

Chili Country. I absolutely love the cover they've designed for it. The book is a light-hearted but documented look at the history of chili and the popularity of chili cook-offs today, with the granddaddy of them all at Terlingua each November. There are photos and recipes galore, along with chapters on beans and beer. Yes, I know--purists will not stand for beans in their chili, but they're often a side dish. And who can have chili without beer? I was lucky to have the cooperation of several good people in the compilation of this book, and I really look forward to some chili cook-off signing parties.
For those of you who like Kelly O'Connell and her Fairmount neighborhood or Kate and the Blue Plate Café, don't despair. There will be a third Blue Plate mystery in March or April 2016. Kelly will be back sometime, and so will Susan Hogan of The Perfect Coed.
As I said, plans can go awry, but there are my goals. Over the summer, I'll be blogging about Chicago history and chili recipes. Nothing like diversity in your writing.

Technology almost defeats me

What a twenty-four hours! Yesterday afternoon, my printer wouldn't work because it told me the yellow cartridge was damaged. Bought a new one and installed it, and still the same message. After much frustration on a site I thought was Hewlett Packard and was really JustAnswer--and $26.00--I was told to clean the cartridge bottom and the carrier. Worked like a charm. And  you know what? That was a lot easier than hauling the printer down to Staples.
My cell phone wouldn't access my bank so I could digitally deposit some checks--bank's advice was not helpful. Christian asked me this morning how I fixed it, and I told him I turned the phone off and then back on. But I had two checks to deposit--one a nice refund from the IRS--and it still wouldn't take it, so Christian went off to deposit it.
My final trauma was that my publisher sent me a zip file of all the various forms of my new novel, Desperate for Death. I couldn't do a thing with it--have found that problem before--and Christian told me you need a special program to open zip files. So I sent it to Melinda at TCU Press and she decompressed them and sent me individual files, most of which I couldn't open--mobi for Kindle, and others for various digital platforms. All I really got was the cover and the pdf.
Still, Christian was my tecchie hero for the day. And I wish I could find the funny picture of him in a fringed Mexican hat clowning around--he swears it was taken at 10:30 in the morning yesterday.
So this morning I was riding high--thought I had all my tecchie problems solved--but the printer told me it was out of paper when it clearly wasn't. I hadn't got the back tray or whatever on properly. Fought with it for a long while...and managed to set off my emergency alarm, on a bracelet, so the alarm service kept demanding to know if I was all right, making me repeat after them that I was all right, making me repeat my address, etc.
Tonight I think I'm all over those problems. And other than that, it was a good day. Got a caricature of me that I'd ordered and will work into the blog sometime soon; got the cover to my chili book, Texas is Chili Country, which is due in November--the cover is really great. Good lunch with one friend and good dinner with another. My cup runneth over...and I am sleepy.

Storms--again

Jacob in his parents' closet
He is generally afraid of storms but there
must be something about being home

The world around me has that lovely, almost preternatural dark quiet about it that comes after a ferocious storm. The trees are leafy, very green, and very still. The schoolyard across the street boasts small lakes. As the sun sets, there's a pink glow to the sky. Lovely time of lovely day--though it is a bit chilly. We had planned a leisurely dinner of BBQ on the deck--didn't quite work out that way. Jordan was a) tired, and b) anxious to get home before the storm. So we gobbled our BBQ at 5:30 (virtually kicking Jay out the door), and by 6:10 she had cleaned the kitchen and they were gone. They barely made it home before it hit--they were more in the direct path than I was--and reported time spent in the closet.
Here, the sky got that ominous color (no, not the green or a tornado--kind of a dark gray-blue), and then came the wind and rain. I think I heard winds of 70 mph--I stood in the front door and watched wind blowing the rain until it danced down the street, fierce gusts propelling little rivulets. I love the power of a good storm--fascinates me. As I may have mentioned, my brother tells me our mother taught us to love storms--so glad she did that instead of frightening us with them. Again, I was lucky--no power outage, no tree damage, just the pure excitement of watching the storm roll through. It was the first time I thought Sophie was a little nervous, for she stayed at my heels. I soothed her with sweet talk, and she went to sleep by my desk.
Just before the storm I had sent all four children and their spouses copies of the proposed cover of my chili book, due out this fall. I loved it and sat back waiting for them to respond. Instead I got a bunch of emails that essentially said, "Why aren't you in a closet?" Big disappointment. When the editor says it's okay, I'll share the cover here.
Meantime, it's a wet, wonderful world, and I am grateful. The contractor who keeps my house together was here this morning and is not so grateful. Asked how he was, he said, "Fine, except for the rain." I launched into the usual, "Oh, but we need the rain. We're grateful for it." "Not when you have the roof off a house," he replied.
Funny, we each see the world from our own perspective.
 

Food, dreams, and elections--not necessarily a good mix

Food is always on my mind but I’ve had some interesting dinners lately. My dining adventure pal, Betty, and I ate at Campisi’s the other night and shared the combination platter—more than enough for both of us. We each had a meatball, spaghetti with marinara, lasagna and a ravioli. With wine, dinner cost us a big $11 each—such a deal. The next night I browned an herb-marinated chicken breast from Central Market and then put it covered in the oven with white wine. So moist and good, but it didn’t make really good chicken salad the next day. Saturday I went to an event where the food was “heavy hors d’oevres” and I expected to starve—food was wonderful, plentiful and very imaginative. Still have figured out the filling that was piped into mushroom caps.

Last night neighbors joined me for lamb chili—part of my continuing quest for chili pictures. It was good, as was the apricot/blueberry pie Mary brought. Both were better a day later when they’d mellowed and blended flavors.

I had a bad dream last night—I was working in an office, I think for the executive secretary I worked for in high school—and I was going to school. But I was afflicted with laziness, no desire to do anything but piddle away time on things that didn’t really need doing. I woke in a three a.m. sweat, realizing that’s what I’d been doing all weekend. And in that panicky middle-of-the-night state I envisioned myself not working and growing rapidly older by the day. Needless to say I got up this morning and hit it running. I have this firm conviction that as long as you exercise your mind—as in writing—you won’t slip into senility. And for the physical end of things, I did my yoga routine again.

I will be so glad when it’s Wednesday—so tired of election calls and begging and predictions and wildly varying polls. I voted some time ago by mail, which I think is the best thing since sliced bread. I know how I want the elections to come out, and I care—a lot!—so this is like a time of suspense. And I’m trying to ignore it. I keep remembering though the Truman/Dewey election upset from my childhood.

Back to work. Had a new idea for a novel and want to make notes on it tonight. Tomorrow, ho hum--another run through the chili pictures to see where I stand. I think though I’ve been using the chili book as an excuse to procrastinate. Can’t do much more until the pictures come in.