The Writerly LIfe

I'm feeling like a writer today, a feeling I don't always have. Some days I think I'm pretending, and someone will catch me in my hoax. But yesterday, my editor, Ayla, sent the third Kelly manuscript back for one last read--which she wanted today or tomorrow morning at the latest. I panicked, said I had too much else to do, etc., but of course I did it. By the time I went to bed late last night, bleary-eyed, I had read sixteen chapters. Finished the last three at lunchtime today and sent it off. The whole point was for me to cut down descriptions of food--more about that in a minute--and find typos. In the best of circumstances, I can't find typos in my own work--and I'm not terrific at it in other people's writing. But in my own writing, I know what it's supposed to say and that's what I see
Ayla is constantly after me to cut down on the descriptions of food, but I maintain that what we eat says a lot about who we are and what kind of person. My good friend Jim Lee, folklorist par excellence, once wrote, "One of the lessons that we have learned--or are beginning to learn--from the study of folklore is the importance of food and eating customs in unravelling the history of a people. . . . The foods we eat, the way we eat them, and the imagination we bestow upon their preparation will tell [much about us] to historians, folklorists, and anthropologists of Buck Roger's twenty-fifth century." I sent that quote to Ayla today. Not sure of her response. Kelly O'Connell of my mysteries is a so-so cook, often so busy that she takes her girls out or orders pizza. But  she tries, and I include her disasters (creamed tuna on toast, a spur-of-the-moment hamburger casserole that sort of came out like soup) and her triumphs--a baked ham with potato salad, a perfectly roasted chicken. I think that--and her restaurant meals, from puttanesca to a reuben--tell us a lot about Kelly. Of course, Mike, the man in her life, is terrific at cooking on the grill--that doesn't help Kelly's cooking ego at all.
May is Mystery Month, and tonight I signed books, with four other mystery authors--Laurie Moore, Paula LaRocque, Carole Nelson Douglas, and Wendy Lyn Watson--at Barnes and Noble. The community relations manager had a list of questions, and the discussion was pretty interesting. We all had a good time and signed a few books. Plus we left stacks of signed books behind.
A nice evening, but I'm yawning. Have to be up at six tomorrow morning for a seven o'clock signing. Peter at the Old Neighborhood Grill says that's when his Saturday readers come for breakfast, and it worked well for Skeleton in a Dead Space, so I'll try it again tomorrow for No Neighborhood for Old Women. My sweet daughter Jordan will meet me at the restaurant at seven--that's above and beyond, even for a daughter, and I'm grateful. Going to do a raffle for a three free copies of the third Kelly O'Connell novel, due out in August--Trouble in a Big Box.

Where have all the birds gone?

All summer long I've filled the bird feeder every other day--but early last week they ate about a third of the bird seed, and it's remained at that level ever since. I don't see birds around the feeder, in the trees or bushes, and I don't hear them singing. It's kind of spooky, as though they know something about this heat wave we don't, like the zoo animals in D.C. who knew the earthquake was coming before mankind did in spite of all our sophisticated technology. And frankly, I miss them. Please send in the birds!
Sophie the pup and I have been doing battle royal over my bookcase--she wants to chew the bottom shelf on two sections--for some reason, she ignores the other two. I put duct tape down, and she industriously worked to chew it off. I sprayed that stuff that's supposed to repel dogs, and she licked it. Today, having totally lost patience with her when after lots of scolding about the chewing and a firm no about chasing the cat, she chased him anyway, I put her in her crate and took a friend's advice to spray Tabasco on the bookcase. Works like a charm. She took one sniff and hasn't been near the bookshelves again. I think I'll buy a huge bottle of the stuff. Thank you, Sally.
Speaking of mysteries, which we weren't but they're always on my mind, I went to a booksigning at the local Barnes and Noble for Laurie Moore's Couple Gunned Down--News At Ten. I'd read the first in this series, Woman Strangled--News at Ten, amd liked it. Besdes I felt it would be polite to go to a fellow mystery writer's signing since it was so close, and I was glad I did--she seemed genuinely glad to see me. It's the kind of thing that I too often put on my calendar and then just don't do, so chalk one up for me--on another hot day. Now I'm inside for the duration.
And a word on another mystery. I just read Blackbird Fly, by Lise McClendon. Since I read about it on a mystery listserv, I expected a mystery. Instead, it opens as a contemplative, introspective novel about a woman dealing with the sudden death of her husband and the way life can change so quickly. But when Merle Bennet and her teen-age son, Tristan, go to a rural French village to see her husband's family homestead, which she has inherited, intrigue and suspicion build until there is murder and violence. It's all set against the backdrop of a tranquil village that hides many secrets. In spite of that and the ostracism she faces, Merle makes friends and weaves herself into the life of the village until it is a major character in the book. Yes, it's a mystery, but much more it chronicles in a beautiful, haunting way one woman's journey toward emotional freedom, toward learning to fly like the blackbird. I give five stars to this one.
With my computer problems, I got behind on "Potluck with Judy" but I posted a guest blog today. Please go to http://potluckwithjudy.blogspot.com to see what Pat Deuson has to say about daube. I had no idea what it was--except maybe a daub of paint--until Pat wrote this blog. Her new mystery, Superior Longing, comes out mid-September. Watch for it.