A blah day

I started today full of fire and energy, my mind on a lot of small problems at the office that I hadn't dealt with. But by noon, I had lost that burst of energy and sort of floated around the house, doing a bit of this and a dab of that. I think I can tell that it's going to rain and the barometer is falling, because that's how I feel--blah! I did finally read a book that had been staring at me and write the author in response, and I went to dinner with Betty--but the spaghetti didn't sit well and I was sorry I'd eaten it. I'm going to have to work hard on my attitude!
I wrote one paragraph tonight--get that, one paragraph. But I'm at a crossroads in the novel and can't think my way out of the tangle I've gotten into. I think I'll have to ask mentor Fred to have lunch next week and hash out the plot problems with him. I am reminded that Jamie once said the reason I write historical fiction is that I'm so poor at plotting. I think he may be right.
Tomorrow I am to get the first copies of my cookbook/memoir, and that should perk me right up out of the doldrums. Also going to get a haircut, which is always good for the mood. I asked Jeannie seriously if my longer hair ages me, and she said no, she and Jean had talked about how much they like it this way. So there goes the idea of going shorter again. Melinda laughed at me when I asked if long hair aged me: "First of all," she said, "you don't have long hair."
Then tomorrow Charles and I have a date to eat the veggie plate at the Black-Eyed Pea. I'm going to see if I can drag him to Central Market too. Should be a brighter day, even if it's raining.
This is the fiftieth anniversary of the publication of Strunk and White Elements of Style. I know the book of course and have used it occasionally, but I was amused to read a grammarian's essay tonight on how much damage that book, with its idiosyncratic style, has done to American grammar, making us all self-conscioius writers who worry excessively about the passive voice and the use of adverbs and adjectives.

The puzzles of the internet world

Recently several people have asked me to join their list on Linked In or to register as their friend on Facebook. I have done all willingly, except for one person I truly didn't know. Another acquaintance signed me up for Good Reads and every once in a while I get a long list of books she's read and liked. But what do I do on all these sites? I know my children are on Facebook and maybe I should look them up--I'm now a registered user, if I can remember my user name and password. But it seems to me you could spend all your time keeping up with these people on the various sites, and if they want to keep up with mr, they can read this blog. So I'm really at a loss what to do about it. I don't want to seem an ungrateful friend . . . I'll appreciate any advice.
We are under dire storm warnings tonight--tornadoes and the whole thing--but so far we haven't gotten a drop of rain. It's late enough in the evening now that I won't mind if I have to bring Scooby in for the night, and the storms are supposed to pass (if they ever come) well before morning, so I shouldn't have a problem getting him out in the morning. I know we need the rain desperately, but when I hear it in the forecast, my mind immediately jumps to how I'm going to deal with Scooby.
I started keying in typo corrections on the first portion of the second mystery tonight, and could not find one section. Apparently sometime after I printed it out, I revised. So now I have to go back, reread all ten chapters, and figure out if what I've done is right. I keep doing that to the point that I seem to never write another new word. Halfway through the book, and I just keep rewriting. I suspect its because I'm not sure where I'm going, though I have lots of notes. I also suspect if I got some positive feedback on the first novel, I'd throw myself into this one with more vigor. Is this truly writer's block? I know enough to know that the way through that is to keep writing, just as the way around phobias is to do what scares you (that's a whole other story).
But I have cleared my desk of other chores--my income tax information is off to the accountant, I don't have to write another column until at least a month from now, and all the flotsam and jetsam are cleared up. Except I'm gong to start tonight on concrete plans for publicizing "the" cookbook--bookmarks, mailing lists, reviewer lists, etc. I am getting such good feedback about the cover!

Family furor, nasty weather, and a thought about books

The furor in the family over the cookbook cover continues. Yesterday Colin doctored the cover to insert Kegan's face, only Kegan is wearing monster teeth (he's apparently fond of running around the house in them) and his head is too small under the hat and the whole things is too ugly--when my darling Kegan is so beautiful. Then Brandon took Colin's photo and furthered doctored it. And finally Jamie wrote that my publisher had sent him the real cover, which is titled "My Favorite Boy! How the love of one son can inspire an entire family . . . " I'm truly sorry that I couldn't get it to upload. I wrote a Marcia Daudistel, who follows my blog, about all this, and she suggested that small families don't have nearly as much fun as large ones. Jordan did tell me seriously that many of her girlfriends want to buy the book, always a good sign.
Tonight is one of those North Texas nights when you live in apprehension--will it really be icy in the morning? They're predicting freezing rain, subfreezing temperatures, and ice from early tomorrow morning through mid-day Wednesday. I have plenty of food and today did those errands that make you feel self-satisfied--the vet for dog and cat food, filled the car with gas, and picked up a prescription. Then, because it was already wet and nasty, I came home and hunkered down. I'm warm and cozy and prepared to stay home for a day or more if I have to. Of course, a power outage would change the whole story completely--and leave me without eat since my gas furnace has an electric starter.
I've been thinking a lot about point of view in fiction the last few days. I have most often written in first person, putting myself inside a female head--it's the voice that seems to come naturally to me and at which my writing is better. I think I mentioned recently my fear that you were supposed to graduate and I might never, along with the fact that my current mystery started out in third person and got much better when I rewrote in first.
But now I'm reading a mystery written in first person from a male point of view--and I don't mean to sound gender biased or anything like that, but I'm having a hard time with it. It's told by a man who's an undertaker--well, there's a bit of a problem in itself, still sleeps with his ex-wife, engages in pummeling with friends when they meet (He even says, "We men love that sort of pummeling."), drinks a bit too much, etc. I have a hard time identifying, whereas I quickly identify with the narrators of my cozies I read. There's no law that says cozies must be written by women, but they usually are. This has all the makings of a good plot, but I'm just not sure I'll hang in to the end--it's a fairly long mystery. Thank goodness I paid a dollar for it, used and on sale.
Just in case of ice, I ordered a couple of new books for my Kindle tonight (not that I don't have plenty of work to do, but this is the new, slower, lazier me). The beauty of the Kindle is that you can order the books and have them almost instantly.
An interest statistic: sales of e-books jumped 108% in the last--well, now, I don't know if it's quarter or year, but that's still an amazing jump.

A Cold Evening--and Jacob

Today was North Texas in winter--in the 20s when I went to work, thinking only of how quickly I could come home and hibernate. When I left the office at noon, it was 29. Maybe hit 32 for a high. Tomorrow is supposed to be better, and by Saturday and Sunday we'll be at 70. Then back to the upper 30s Sunday when I'm going to Houston and in a dither whether to take winter or fall clothes. Houston is a lot south, but I've been there at Christmas when it snowed.
Jacob brought warmth to the house tonight. His parents had a party to attend, and he and I spent the evening together in great good spirits. He ate his pbj and applesauce and watched a DVD for a while but then he wanted to wander all over the house, which meant I wandered with him. He went with me to the bathroom, and applauded "Yeah, Juju" when I used the potty--obviously we're into toilet training here. And once when I tried to lure him back to the playroom I promised to show him the lights on "B's" house (B being his name for Jay, my handsome neighbor). He saw the lights, and then he saw Jay in his kitchen and kept rapping on the window. Needless to say, Jay didn't hear and didn't respond. By 8:30, he was back on the daybed, watching his DVD. But he came to life again when his folks arrived about 9:30. Christian, carrying Jacob and a huge bag of Jacob's clothes, Jordan's clothes, and who knows what else, got stuck between a chair and the couch, and I couldn't figure out why he couldn't move. All three adults got the uncontrollable giggles--okay, you had to be there to see it.
So now I'm settled at my desk and reading the first Rhys Bowen novel I've ever read--her characters are delightful, and I'm liking it a lot. I feel the winding down for the holidays--have cleared my office desk of major projects (except a complicated report that has to be written, maybe over Christmas break) and have nothing pressing on my personal desk. It's both a good and an uneasy feeling.

Cold weather, a writing story, and thanks

When North Texas turns cold, it can be really bitter. Today the predicted high was something like 63, but that was early in the morning. By 9:30, the wind picked up, the temperature dropped, and by 4:00 p.m. I hated to go outside to take care of the dog and take my garbage carts to the street. Tonight I'm glad to be cozily inside. Tomorrow's high is to be 46, and I'm debating what the warmest clothes I own are. Today it was the wind that did us in and made it feel twice as cold as it actually was, and tomorrow is to be the same way. But 70 by Sunday. North Texas is also unpredictable.
This was meant to be a blog about writing, cooking, and grandchildren. Well, I've kept up with the third subject, but I often feel like it's degenerated into a daily journal. Want to know what I did today? Spent from 8-9:30 in the dentist chair getting a new crown (he said I now have my own 401K in my moth), rushed into work like a mad woman trying to get everything done before an 11:15 lunch/business appt. Did have a great lunch at a small Italian restaurant that serves country food from the north of Italy--and we did get some business done. Then I had to go back to the office because I hadn't nearly accomplished everything.
But I do have a writing story to tell. I have favorite blogs that I check almost daily--some of them are pretty thought-provoking and some are pretty surface. But there came a notice that a young agent was sponsoring a contest--send him the first paragraph of a work-in-progress and if you win, he'd critique your query letter or do some other wonderful thing for you. I thought why not (the same agent had rejected my first mystery, though he did request three chapters before rejecting) and sent the opening paragraph of the second one. You were asked for your e-mail, presumably so you could be notified if you won. Not so--I've gotten every submission sent to him (at last count 765). Last night, not realizing the deluge to come, I read most of them--maybe 30. This morning my email had 98 new entries, and I've since spent the day deleting. Last time I try something like that, though I am curious about what he will finally choose. Some of the ones I read were pretty good, but a lot were inane. Maybe I don't want to be a mystery writer, in competition with all those 765 plus wannabees who are out there. No wonder it's hard to place a novel.
A couple of new people--Jeannie and Susan--have posted that they've recently fund my blog and are enjoying it, so to them I say thanks and welcome. It's always frustrating not to know who they are and not to be able to answer their comments. And I had a wonderful email today from my former physician who said he was enjoying my blog--and made some flattering observations about me from reading it. You're right, Steve, I am a very lucky person.

The holidays are upon us

This is the time of year when I abandon writing, career concerns, everything except my office, which is blissfully quiet though I did a ton of work this morning--mostly breaking hearts with rejection letters. But at home I've been busy cooking--I have a freezer full of desserts and tonight I made sausage and cheese balls (washing the pans is more work than making them!). My dining room table is wrapping central, though I'll have to clear it by Monday when the contributors to Grace & Gumption come for a holiday happy hour. But I've wrapped presents for those children I won't see at Christmas but will see at Thanksgiving, and for others I think I'll see before then but am not sure. I've double scheduled myself with the TCU Press Annual Autograph Extravaganza on Friday Dec. 5 and my party on Dec. 6. I guess I'll collapse on Dec. 7.

It's cold here--close to freezing last night, so that I asked Jay, my handsome neighbor, to carry in my basil. I'll make pesto of it this weekend. But nothing else on m porch appears devastated. Freezing predicted again tonight, and it surely was a sharp wind today. Yes, I wanted cold weather so I could wear winter clothes, but maybe the 50s would do instead of the 30s.

In east Forr Worth, on the north side of I-30, there's a runty mimosa tree that is decorated every year for Christmas. The story is a once-homeless woman decorated it so the homeless in Fort Worth would have a Christmas tree. She did it for many years, but after she was unable to, the neighborhood took up the tradition--and now the little tree is decorated for Easter, Halloween and other holidays. Leslie Gordon wrote and self-published a great children's picture book about it. I first heard of it when Melanie called to say she'd heard about it on NPR and could I find a copy for Maddie and Edie. She said they looked for the tree every time they came to Fort Worth. I got them a copy. And now TCU Press has reprinted the book, because Leslie sold out her initial printing. We're excited about it, and I plan to give it to the other grandchildren in the family. Want a great Christmas gift for children? Try The Homeless Christmas Tree by Leslie Gordon. Even if you don't live in Fort Worth and drive by the tree, it's a heartwarming Christmas story.

Yoga and a nice day

This is me at my yoga lesson this morning--not my best pictures. In fact, I left one off because I said it made me look so fat, and Elizabeth said, "But look how straight your leg is"--it's a pose where you get on hands and knees, extend one arm and the opposite leg, and it's one that I am really proud that I can do for a long slow count of ten. For those who don't do yoga (and there aren't many these days), the one on the left is a kneeling plank, and on the right, a down dog. I don't look nearly as good as I imagine myself while I'm doing these poses. And truth to tell, I had a poor yoga session today, though Elizabeth kept telling me that it was so much better than I was when I began. But I felt shaky during the whole thing, could feel my muscles twitching. I am never content, as she advises, to just say, "Okay, it's a bad day." I have to look for reasons, though I could find none. By the time Elizabeth got here a little after eleven, I had been to two groceries and the nursery to buy cyclamen for my flower boxes for winter. Really felt good, so I don't know why I was so twitchy.

Winter came to Fort Worth today--the temperature probably wasn't all that cold, but the wind was fierce and I was chilled to the bone when I got home this morning. Too cold to plant those cyclamen. I wore an insulated vest--another reminder of Scotland, for I had bought it for that trip.

A pleasant day. After my morning of errands and yoga, I had lunch, read emails and blogs, and had a lovely long nap. Jordan and Jacob arrived about 4:30, and a friend of hers shortly thereafter. I had fixed stuffed mushrooms, a recipe I remember from my mom, and then we made a salad, I steamed broccoli, and roasted some salmon and put pesto on it. All to fit Jordan's South Beach diet, which Addie, her friend, is apparently on too. Jacob ate lots--his first time to try salmon but he liked it. Liked the cheese-stuffing in the mushrooms but the first bite his mom gave him was way too hot.

So now I'm tucked in for the night, listening to the wind outside and thinking I need a sweatshirt. My evening project is to work on the cookbook, but I've recharged my Kindle and think I'll see what's on it that I haven't read.

Lots of nothing

I haven't posted in days. Brandon, the Austin son-in-law, asked me once if I wouldn't lose my audience if I didn't post for days, and I told him I hoped not. But this time it's a combination of being busy and not having anything significant to say, unless I wanted to get on a poitical soapbox. Okay, I'll begin there: I read a letter to the editor the other day where someone wrote that they would never vote for Sara Palin to be a heartbeat away from the presidency because she uses poor grammar. The writer was offended because before the vice-presidential debate Palin approached Senator Biden and said, "Can I call you Joe?" Well, clearly, as the writer pointed out, she should have said, "May I call you Joe?" I laughed out loud. I can think of a hundred reasons not to vote for Sarah Palin, but that's pretty low on my list.
Tonight is the first night all week that I have stayed home alone--Monday I went to dinner with friends, Tuesday Betty and I went to the same restaurant because it was Lobsterama, where they sell a whole lobster for $13.95. It was delicious, and we're going back next week while the event is still on. Last night Jordan and Jacob came for dinner, and I laughed at Jacob when he left. After sweet hugs and kisses, he said, "Bye bye, Juju. Bye bye, dinner." I think he meant a phrase he's recently learned which is "Thank you dinner."
Work has been busy but unremarkale. We have a huge, sold-out author event next week, and that's taken a lot of my planning. I feel good about it--which is always a good sign--but there are a thousand ways it could go wrong, and I'll breathe easier when it's over.
And I'm trying to get back into that second novel. I've learned so very much from the Sister in Crime list, the Agent Quest list, and a cozy class I'm taking online. One of the things stressed is to profile your villain first, then profile the other suspects--something I hadn't done. I just leapt into it. But now I'm going back and doing that. And it all works out in my mind, but I find myself reluctant to actually get back to writing. Maybe it's because I've had no luck at placing the first novel--though I realize I haven't tried as many agents and publishers nor been rejected as many times as many many other authors have. Maybe I'm getting lazy, and maybe I'm too easily seduced into reading other people's mysteries. I need some self-discipline, which I've always prided myself on having at least a fair amount of (oops, a sentence ending with a preposition).
Cool weather--well, cool for us--has finally arrived in Texas. When I came home this afternoon, the house felt cool, and I closed some of the windows that have been open for a month. After a nap, I woke up cold and put on a sweatshirt. I think it's a sure sign of fall, though it is really late this year. Whatever, the cool nights make for wonderful sleeping.

A beautiful but disturbing day, sad news, and the mystery of writing mysteries

The weather in North Texas remains wonderful--downright cool when I poked my head out for the paper this morning and plesant all day, with a breeze. I haven't heard my air conditioner kick on, and with the windows open, the house feels much fresher. Hard to explain the difference, but it's there. Still on a beautiful day, much of the news is bad. As more and more reports come in about the damage from Hurricane Ike, it's hard to take in the magnitude of the destruction and of the recovery that will take at least a year. Colin and his family say they're doing fine, coping from day to day and hoping for power in the next few days. I know if the family did a heave-to, rented a U-Haul, took gas, ice, and a larger generator down there, the power would come on as we drove in the driveway. So we wait . . . and I worry, though three-year-old Morgan said tonight, "We're fine, Juju." And then there's the financial news from Wall Street. Admittedly, I don't understand the country's finances--I don't understand where a country with the horrendous debt we have gets the money for such massive bail-outs. And Senator McCain has admitted that he hasn't paid much attention to the economy. Between that and Governor Palin, I wish someone could tell me why he's running so strongly. I read one article today suggesting it's Palin's designer eyeglasses--is that how dumb this country has become?
A disturbing phone message tonight from the husband of a high school friend. When we finally connected by phone tonight, I was right--he was not a bearer of good tidings. Bernice died Thursday, and Alan was uncertain who to call, kept forgetting, but said today he was looking at wedding pictures and thought of course he must call me. I knew Bernice had breast cancer for four years but we only kept in touch at Christmas, and I didn't realize it had gotten critical. Makes me sad on lots of fronts, but it also calls back good memories and funny ones--Alan and I talked about some of those memories and then I had an email from their daughter--I replied with thanks and a recounting of a teen-age escapade that got us in trouble. I guess you think people from your young years will always be there, and of course that's not true. But Bernice is one of the major memories of my high school years in Chicago and the years after when we crossed paths occasionally. She was straightforward, adventuresome, and always fun.
And then there's the mystery of writing mysteries. I've thought long and hard about this. I read several mystery-related blogs and listservs and it has struck me that I may simply not be devoted enough. I read a blog of advice to newcomers to publishing (I don't consider myself one but I can always learn and the game changes constantly) where the blogger maintains about twelve internet "billboards" as he calls them--Twitter, mySpace, Facebook, several personal blogs, etc. When does he have time to do anything but tend to those? Then the listserv about seeking an agent makes the querying process sound intense and full-time. When to these people--mostly women--write? I realize I love writing, but I have a lot of other things in my life--family, friends, cooking, my job, reading books I enjoy, reading recipe magazines, doing my yoga. I'm not willing to give up all aspects of my life for my writing--and maybe that's what it takes in today's marketig-intensive world. But then I read other mystery-related blogs that talk about bad hair days or a fondness for picnics or some other everyday topic with which I can identify and I think, "Okay, maybe I can do both." Right now I can't decide whether to keep going through the second novel or turn some intense attention to querying and placing the first novel. Hah! As if I know how to do that. But I think that's where I'll turn my efforts tonight. It's a puzzlement.

Fall and Walkers, plus a guest blogger

In the mornings now, you can sense fall might be nearing. It's still pretty hot mid-day and a bit muggy in the evening, but mornings are really pleasant. I'm tempted to put the top down to drive to work, but it's only five minutes and seems like too much effort. Then again, maybe I should do it. I live across the street from an elementary school, so I see lots of parents walking their children to school. Part of me says it's a pity they have to do that these days--I remember sending second grader Megan off on a bike with a fifth grader as her protector, and Jordan always walked when we lived about four blocks from the school I now live right by. But it's a different world.
What tickles me is that the kids go to school on scooters or whatever, and then the parents are left to cart these things home. Today I saw two parents riding the scooters. One was a man I know from church, so I slowed down to compliment him on his form, and he laughed and thanked me.
It's also a neighborhood of walkers--a very busy place at 8 a.m. But that's what makes it nice.
I recently read Asking for Murder, by Roberta Isleib, president of Sisters in Crime, author of eight mysteries in seven years, some of which were nominated for Agatha, Anthony and McCavity awards. Asking for Murder is newly out, and Roberta is doing a blog tour to promote it. When I invited her to be my guest one day, I suggested she write about cooking. When I read her novel, I was impressed by the dinners the protagonist, counselor and advice columnist Rebecca Butterman, seemed to throw together casually, especially the spaghetti carbonera. I thought this author is a good cook. Besides, cooking is a big part of my blog, and it seemed appropriate to ask. Roberta obliged gladly. I've been following her tour, and I notice she writes a different post for each blog--a lot of work, and my hat's off to her for not rubber stamping.
The cooking habits of fictional characters are of particular interest to me. Somehow Kelly, the central figure in the series I'm currently working on, isn't much of a cook. She takes her kids out, she fixes a lot of peanut butter and jelly, or she asks boyfriend Mike to grill to accompany store-bought potato salad. I keep trying to nudge her into more cooking, because I'm dumbfounded that I, who like to cook so much, created this woman who really doesn't like the kitchen much. Kelly hasn't taken the hint. Maybe she'll learn from Roberta. Anyway, I'll post Roberta's blog tomorrow night.