Milestones

I hit two miletones yesterday--and one of them almost slipped by me. When I reached the mark of 19,000 hits on my blog, I thought I'd watch and have a blogobration (is that a blog celebration?) at 20,000. But I must have turned my head. Either that or more people read it than usual, because last night I looked and it was at 20,077. Now folks, this is not the Huffington Post--that probably gets over a thousand hits a day. I've been blogging four years, so that probably averages to 20 hits a day, though I think it's been growing lately. I guess the good news is that people don't read it once or twice and get bored but seem to come back. So I'm pleased. I enjoy blogging, and I'll keep doing it. I thank those of you who read it daily--Jeannie and Marcia and Elizabeth, among others--and those of you who check in when  you have time. Sometimes I think my blog is such a mish-mash that I'm not sure where it's going--but I try to keep it a mix of writing, cooking, and grandmothering--hats off to Melanie for coming up with that concept and title. And I try to avoid politics, though every once in a while I can't resist inserting a bit of my opinion on that subject. But thank you all for reading and caring. I'd like to hear more from you--what do you want me to talk about, what interests you, what bores you?
The second milestone was that I sent the rough draft of my Texas food book to the publisher who's expressed interest--I guess I blogged about that last night. But it was an accomplishment, because when I first looked at the list of foods that began in Texas, I thought writing about all of them was insurmountable. It wasn't. Instead it was fun.
Another phone bank day at the Bill White campaign office. I particularly liked the lady who said she didn't know anything about White, and we got to chatting. At one point she said to me, "I'm 70, but I'm not a dumb 70." I replied, "I got you beat. I'm 72." We laughed and continued to have a good conversation. It makes you feel good when you open someone's eyes to study the issues and the candidates, even if they don't immediately agree with you. Several people said to me, "I don't want to get involved." A campaign worker said, "You should ask them why they don't want to get involved. Don't they realize this is their state, and who is elected affects their daily lives?" I'll try it next week.
Jacob came for supper tonight. Supper consisted for him of seven chicken nuggets and one blackberry. I made myself another version of tuna salad--this with lemon, tomato, fresh tarragon from my porch, mayonnaise, red onion, and ate it along with hearts of palm and hummus. Good dinner, and not too fattening. Jacob's dad came and together they fnished the blackberries. But I turned a deaf ear to Jacob's pleas for ice cream. I think I've learned my lesson about sweets. He proudly pointed out to his dad where he hid under the dining room table the other night, and Christian, bless him, used the occasion to reinforce that Jacob was not ever going to hide from Juju again.
I'm usually a sound sleeper but last night I could not get to sleep. I would swear I didn't sleep all night, but my mom used to tell me I did and just didn't know it. But I do know I never got that deep REM sleep we need--and this morning at an 8:00 breakfast I felt like I was sleep-walking. Jacob's early arrival interrupted a good nap that Scooby and I were sharing, so I'm off to bed early. It seems a busy week looms, but when I think about it, I suspect its easily manageable.
Again, thanks for being interested in me and my doings, my writing, my cooking, my family.

Hmmm--what's new?

Sometimes I start a blog post with no idea where it's going, and that's the case tonight. I think I'm still in recovery from my hectic birthday day. But my house is lovely and cool, and I can't believe I took a three-hour nap today but I did. Still, I'm sure I'll have no trouble sleeping tonight. I think yesterday wore me out.
Sometiimes lately I'm afraid this blog will turn into a chronicle of how I went gluten free. A friend called from El Paso tonight and asked how it was going--I said it was too soon to tell. I mean I don't expect to see results for months--but I'm sticking to it. Went to Central Market today and bought broccoli, asparagus, and spinach, chopped sirloin, a lamb chop (big treat), Dover sole, and salmon. Froze everything but the sole, which I had for dinner tonight, along with the mushrooms and zucchini I had on hand. Dover sole is probably my favorite fish, so delicate in taste. Usually I flour it to saute but tonight I just did it in butter and olive oil and squeezed a bit of lemon over it--delicious.
After my nap I found Elizabeth had left me a birthday present--a book titled Gluten Free Girl, which she says she bought before I decided to go gluten free just because she knows I enjoy good food writing. And she left a bonus--a box of gluten-free brownies. I'll eat one tomorrow, when Jacob eats his chocolate cake.
Work? No, I haven't done any, though I can report over the past week good progess on my food book. Did you know that Wolf Brand Chili is so named because the man who started it had a pet wolf--it used to be Lyman Davis' Wolf Brand Chili. Or that Dr Pepper (note there is no period after the Dr so as not to confuse it with medical advice) because the pharmacist who doubled as a soda jerk and who put together the formula was intrigued with the flavor of the fruit ices he made in the late 19th century but individually none tasted like the aroma he inhaled when making all of them. So he made a blend of fruit syrups. Another day we'll talk about Dublin, which is legendary in Texas for the oldest bottling plant and the only one who still puts DP into glass bottles.
Food writing is fun--to read and to write.

Food writing

Well, my friends, what you have here is a bunch of cookbook covers--some twice or more for reasons I don't understand. I finally did drag them to the appropriate places, but I can't figure out how to get rid of the extra jackets at the bottom. It's very late, and I've been to a party, had a bit of wine, and am too tired to deal with it. So please ignore the extra jackets at the bottom. I'll figure this out another day.

As I said yesterday it was time to update my web page. Since my writing career is pretty static now, except for projects in process, I don't have much  reason to update--but I figure I can at least change the recipe page. This time I didn't write recipes--I wrote about books on food I've enjoyed lately. And I'm being lazy and copying the update here for a blog post. Maybe this will send some of you to my web page--http://www.judyalter.com. I'd love your comments.

Right now, I’m reading The Art of Eating In by Cathy Erway (New York: Penguin, 2009). A youngish career woman in Manhattan decides to give up eating in restaurants or buying takeout for two years—this in a city where eating out is the lifestyle. She began with a blog, “Not Eating Out in New York” that is still up and running and offers all kinds of sub-sites to explore. The book is not just a collection of blogs, but a chronological following of the development of her experiment. When she first started a friend sent her a recipe for squash biscuit. It called for yeast. She didn’t know what yeast was. I can’t tell you much more than that, because I haven’t gotten very far into it. But the narrative is charming and honest, and there are enough recipes scattered throughout to keep cooks happy.
A book I bought for the title: I Loved, I Lost, I Made Spaghetti, by Giulia Melucci ((New York: Grand Central Publishing, 2010). Giulia takes us through several of her romances—she too is in Manhattan—and the things she cooked for the men in her life. Lots of recipes here, some from her Italian background, some even garnered from boyfriends’ families, some from friends. I photocopied a lot for my own recipe collection, from simple tomato sauce and pasta for two to angel hair pasta with asparagus and her father’s rather unusual minestrone. But it’s not all Italian—there are recipes for meat loaf, pumpkin bread, “unforgettable halibut,” “frugal frittata,” farfelle with zucchini and egg, pork teriyaki, a cosmopolitan collection. Along the way the reader follows Giulia’s unsuccessful relationships with guys that will make most of you want to say, “Ditch that loser!” In the final chapter, after the departure of the last boyfriend, she turns to pasta, confessing that she never made pasta from scratch—and she delves into that subject. Giulia Melucci may not be much at romantic relationships (I’m still crossing my fingers for her), but she’s a great cook and a good writer.

A book that made a lasting impact on me was Jam Today: A Diary of Cooking With What You’ve Got, by Tod Davies (Exterminating Angel Press, 2009). I must have flagged at least fifteen pages with cooking ideas (there are few recipes, just descriptions) and given ten copies of the book as Christmas presents last year. Davies has an undeniable advantage over most of us: her vegetarian husband has a bountiful vegetable garden, so she can simply walk into the garden and see what looks good that night. She’ll mix whole wheat pasta with butter and shredded cheese and then add bits of whatever cheese she has on hand—Morbier (fat and creamy), Gorgonzola, Parmesan, some Salem Blue. On the side that night she had a sliced tomato that she salted, covered with rocket (a leafy green with a strong flavor) and spritzed with lemon—she let that marinate while she fixed the pasta. How about a meal of eggs poached in a roast tomato/chipotle chili sauce, black beans refried, and avocado/jalapeno/cilantro/scallion lime salad? She describes how to cook one of my favorites: beets with greens, served with vinaigrette. Eggs scrambled with cheese and white wine, put on baguettes, and baked in a skillet till the cheese melts. You get the idea—simple, no-fuss cooking.

Eating alone

I've been single for so many years I can't count them, and my last chicken flew the nest permanently about six years ago--before that she was in and out but we were like ships that passed in the night. So I am used to eating alone, four to five nights a week. I'm one of those compulsive persons for whom breakfast is shortly after you get up, lunch is at noon, and dinner at six. I eat lunch with friends often five days a week, but it's those dinners. I always plan ahead what I'm going to have, and I cook, anything from grilling a small piece of salmon to a sort of home-invented chicken a la king. So no wonder I was interested in What we eat when we eat alone, by husband-and-wife team Deborah Madison and Patrick McFarlin (Gibbs Smith Publishing).

To my surprise, they make a huge but believable distinction between what men eat alone and what women do. Men eat the foods they are used to and they will eat the same thing night after night. Women tend to be less predictable. Some will eat one food for dinner--ice cream, cottage cheese, and so on. Surprisingly there was little talk of cold cereal and only a little more of popcorn. Women who are used to cooking for others eat personal favorites--cookie dough, saltines crushed in milk (my mom made that when we were sick--lots of pepper added), Tater Tots. One sophisticated woman ate smoked salmon. Some will fix a soup or stew that they can eat for days, though I get tired of the same thing after about two days..

I found lots of familiar foods here--salmon cakes are mentioned a bit apologetically, while they remain one of my favorite foods, remembered from childhood. One woman eats peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwiches, which sounds like an odd combination to many but is another childhood favorite of mine. Yet another dish from memory is sauteed mushrooms on toast--I always thought it was a British custom imported by my Candian Anglophile father.

There is a whole chapter on sardines and pasta--I love sardines but don't know what to do with them, and this book reminded me of my Jewish ex-husband's habit of mixing them with lemon and onion as a spread for toast. I'm about to try that again. One woman eats pickled herring, which I love, but puts it with mashed potatoes and sweet onions--sounds dellicious.

The authors make a distinction between those who eat alone as a vacation from routine, those who eat alone temporarily because they're between relationships, and those, like me, who eat alone all the time. There's also a chapter on what young people cook and the importance of making them confident in the kitchen--in their early twenties being able to cook can make them popular with friends. And there is a frankly sensual chapter on cooking for seduction--including pimiento cheese panini. Who would have thought? Other seduction foods ranged from oysters to steak. Foods that can be cooked together were high on the list, and one man cited risotto because it's long and slow and builds anticipation--and stirring it can be a shared chore. Fondue was another suggestion--that makes sense to me. There wasn't as much mention of chocolate as an aphrodisiac as you'd expect.

Recipes in this book tend to be woven into the narrative but then are often repeated at the end of a chapter in traditional recipe form. Here are a few I flagged to try myself: skillet cheese (I used to know a woman who fried cheese and it was delicious but my own attempts were always too greasy; this convinces me I was using the wrong cheese, and I'll try provolone next); ways to use leftover polenta (cover it with Gorgonzola and grated Parmesan, add toasted breadcrumbs and chopped parsley mixed with fresh marjoram--yum!); roasted aspargus with chopped egg, torn bread, and mustard vinaigrette; cooked penne with vegetables, anchovies, olive oil, garlic and pepper; blue cheese sauce; and that pimiento cheese, though I don't intend to seduce anybody with it.

This isn't really a cookbook; it's food writing. But it's going to stay on my cookbook shelf. Of course, some of it may have to wait until I lose those pounds and get off Weight Watchers!

Writing, retirement, Memorial Day

On AgentQuest, the Sisters in Crime listserv for writers not yet published and seeking either an agent or publisher, there's a lot of talk about being in limbo. That's where I am--in limbo. I've had a full manuscript out to a publisher for almost six months--and they request an exclusive, so I cannot try another other avenues. Meantime I've been writing the sequel and am about to finish it and am already worrying about what's next. Today I thought again about food writing--maybe because after two signings my head is big over Cooking My Way Through Life with Books and Kids. But tonight I got out a book I'd read two or three years ago--Will Write for Food. It's a how-to guide for everything from cookbooks to writing fiction with food to restaurant reviewing (which I used to do years ago but am not sure my palate is sophisticated enough these days). I would like, as I said before, to write a review blog or column, about food writing and mysteries with food a primary element. I'm just not sure how to go about it. I think I'll request a review copy of one book I really want to read and see if that works--and gives me ideas. Then there are older books I've enjoyed that I could review--the one mentioned above or Julie and Julia, about the young woman in a tiny New York apartment kitchen who decides to cook every recipes in Julia Child's The Art of Mastering French Cooking, or anything by Ruth Reichel, now editor of Gourmet and formerly restaurant reviewer for, I think, The New York Times. She can be hysterically funny but she's also informative. Maybe what I need to do is apply myself. The mystery writer J. A. Jance once told me, rather peevishly, that the way to write a mystery is to put your bottom in the chair before the computer and go at it (I later learned she had just had a death in the family so I forgive her impatience) but I beg to differ. It's not tht easy--yes, maybe that's the way to write it, but then you have to find agent, publisher, etc. and that's hard and, to me, depends part on luck. But nothing ventured, nothing gained, so I'll keep trying on both fronts.

Meanwhile, I've been practicing for retirement today--slept late and piddled, something it's taken me hard practice to learn to do. I once wrote an article on the art of learning to putz but the editor changed it to putter because of unfortunate Yiddish connotations of the word putz. But anyway, it's the art of learning to do not much. This morning I slept late, lingered over the paper and my low fat breakfast, chunked up some fruit for a salad to take to friends tonight and put together an asparagus dish (you coat asparagus in a little bit of melted butter, top with crumbled goat cheese and bread crumbs and bake for 10 minutes at 400--delicious). Then I did my yoga, read emails and answered some, caught up on blogs and Facebook, and by then it was lunchtime. Read for a while, napped, and got ready to go to dinner.
Jean Walbridge had fixed steak and baked potatoes and sliced tomatoes. I added the aspargus dish and fruit that we had for dessert. All delicious. She served fat-free yogurt with the potatoes and it was great--my deal from now on. The three of us had a pleasant dinner, and Jim showed me the concept--and some samples--of the art he's working on now. Carvings where texture in the wood indicates texture in the coat of animals--like the mane of a lion or the ruff of a buffalo. Fascinating stuff. He showed me pictures of some early American art from which he got the idea. And I laughed to learn that when he has an idea he sketches right away--even on the margins of the program in church. Jim feels about his art like I do about my writing--we do it regardless, because we keep having ideas and because we cannot NOT do it. Jean's form of the addiction is weaving--with very fine yarns, for which I would never have the patience! But we are all three lucky to have found our avocations.

Salsa, friends and a good day

Years ago one of Megan's friends gave me the simplest salsa recipe ever--but I lost it and she doesn't seem to even remember it. It involved some kind of Tomatoes Especial (Hunts, I think) which I can't find anymore. But today I forgot to get salsa for Jordan's girls party tomorrow night, found a basic recipe in Southern Living, and realized I had everything but the jalopenos in my cupboard. So I threw it all in the blender, substituted a can of green chillies for the jalopenos, and added three tablespoons of the juice from pickled jalopenos (I remember that from the earlier recipe). Then I was leery of tasting it, so I'll let Jordan do that tomorrow. If she says it's awful, I'll throw it out and really all I've lost is a couple of cans of diced tomatoes and a can of green chillies. But now I realize I also forgot to get more chips. I'm going to CVS first thing in the morning and since they now carry lots of groceries, I'll hope they have them.
Had dinner with my good friends, Elizabeth and Weldon, tonight--we ate at an upscale bistro and Elizabeth and I splurged on wasabi-crusted scallops. They are both Weight Watchers veterans (Weldon is still doing it) and they were amazed that I only get 19 points a day--that's not much, as those of you who know the system realize. So I've decided to give it up for now. This is a time of tension for me--more about that in a couple of weeks--but I learned long ago that you have to be perfectly right with your world to diet and not have it affect you badly. To this point, it has changed my way of thinking about eating, but I'm not going to be slavish about 19 points. In fact, I just had a piece of chocolate.
New idea: I am fascinated by food writing--not cookbooks, but writing about food. I saw somewhere today a notice of a book about what we eat when we're alone. I know lots of women who don't eat or eat cereal or a pbj or something, and I almost always cook for myself and plan a meal. I think it would be fun to review the book, so I'd like to start a blog reviewing food writing. Have to think about putting that into play.
Meantime I am shameless abut promoting Cooking My Way Through Life--I know the owner and night chef at the bistro where we ate tonight. When she, the chef, came to the table to visit I told her about the book and shamelessly gave her a card. Then Elizabeth wanted several to pass out to friends. I'm learning to be a promoter.

TGIF

I woke up happy this morning, hurried through my routine to leave the house at 7:29 and sailed into and through the grocery store (a painful process last week since I've been having lots of "I can't walk from here to there" spells) and went into the office to announce boldly that I could walk again. Got a lot of work done, but when I left to go home, I couldn't make it across the concrete porch or entryway or whatever. Went back and got Melinda, who cheerfully walked me to the railing; after that I was fine. She pointed out that I start out the day in fine shape and fall about in mid-day, and I confessed that I had started to feel uneasy about 11 a.m. "Low blood sugar," she suggested. Made sense to me, and I may call the doctor Monday to ask about it. Meantime, when I get home, have lunch and a glass of wine, I'm fine.
There are some heavy things going on in my life that I'm not free to blog about that might be heightening my anxiety, but then again, I thought Melinda had a point. And the new recurrence sort of corresponds with my beginning of the Weight Watchers program. They say you should always consult your doctor before beginning a diet (especially at my age) and I hadn't done that, thinking Weight Watchers was nothing but good sense. And aside from yesterday's lapse, I'm doing a good job of staying within my allocated points, even with some wine. Tonight I had smoked salmon, hearts of palm, artichoke hearts, steamed squash, cherry tomatoes, and--oh my goodness--raspberries. They're my splurge, but they are sooo good.
And I'm into the final stretch of the mystery, writing the "climactic" scene tonight--not quite through with it, but I'd written 1200 words and decided that was enough taxation on my brain for one night. Fred told me yesterday that from what he's read he thinks it's coming along well. Wish I'd hear from the publisher who has the first one.
Tomorrow I get Jacob from noon Saturday until noon Sunday--the longest stretch I've ever kept him. I know John and Cindy keep their granddaughter, Emery, for days and even a week or so at a time, but I plead there are two of them and one of me (and John admits Cindy does all the work). And Jacob is much more energetic than Emery! Last week he was a whirling dervish. For support, I've invited the neighbors--Jay and Susan, Sue and her kids--for dinner, and Sue is going to bring the beau she's been reluctant to introduce to us. Jay will grill hot dogs and bring potato salad and a fruit salsa, Sue will bring tossed spinach salad and cookies, and I'll provide hot dogs, buns, condiments, and baked beans, plus chips and a more traditional salsa. Once I had a recipe for a great and easy salsa that was I think made from tomato sauce and tomato sauce Imperial plus garlic powder and jalopeno juice--I can now find neither the recipe nor the tomato sauce Imperial. I hope it's a porch night, though it's hard to control Jacob on the porch. If it rains--predicted--we can grill hot dogs on my indoor Jenn-Air. Should be fun.
Sunday Jordan will come about eleven to get her baby and we'll have lunch.

Stormy day

It was a dark and stormy night . . . okay, no, it was a dark and stormy morning. I heard the thunder about six this morning and thought with dread about getting Scooby to go out. He is terrified of storms, but I can't leave him in because if I'm not watching him, his house manners are out the door. He has a secure, safe, dry doghouse outside, plus I know he has to pee and he wants his breakfast. But when 50 lbs. of frantic dog resists you on a leash, it's touch and go. I told Jordan she should call me every stormy morning to make sure he hasn't pulled me down. I try to hang on to something as I drag him outside--a piece of furniture, a counter, etc. Once this morning I thought he'd pull me down and I almost let go of the leash, but I righted myself and finally got him outside. After which I called a cheery, "Thank you." Not sure if I was thanking Scooby or the Lord. Tonight of course, he's lying sweetly at my feet. Here he is in his summer haircut--looks so cute. My friend Gayla has a standard mahoghany collie that when we first saw was shaved--I had no idea how beautiful and majestic she'd turn out to be. I told Gayla she should never shave her again--but majestic is a word we'll never apply to Scooby, and he really looks good with short hair and seems more comfortable. We're supposed to have scattered storms tomorrow--pray they don't come at eight a.m.

Lisa called just after I got Scooby out and I told her I was anxious to hear about their weekend but didn't want to talk because it was lightning. When Colin called tonight I told him that I'd hung up on his wife and why, and he said it was an old wives' tale. But once when Megan was insulted I said that to her, I found internet evidence, sent it to her, and both she and Brandon apologized. You are NOT supposed to talk on a land line or take a shower when it's lightning. Cell phones are not perfectly safe but better.

A busy work day. I got a lot done, including some things that were difficult for me, like rejecting a friend's manuscript. Still have more of that kind of thing to do, but I made great progress today. Academic publishing these days is a lot more complicated than it was ten years ago. I did office work when I came home, had a nap, did my yoga, fixed supper, and then really did write about six pages. Feeling good about that.

And the best news is that after six days on Weight Watchers I've lost not quite two pounds. I'm learning about free foods, etc. And I'm feeling good about being in this for the long haul until I lose twenty pounds. Just think, only 18 to go.

Cats and dogs

This will come as no surprise to anyone, let alone me, but cats are finicky. I have a wonderful new petsitter, a big gentle man nicknamed Moksha. He comes twice a day and emails me after each visit. When he's here, he brings Scooby into the house (something I would never do until evening for fear I'd never get him out again), and the three of them--Moksha, Scooby, and Wywy sit on the couch while he loves on them and talks to them. My neighbor even commented that she heard him talking to Wywy through the door, and he was so kind and gentle. I love on my animals, but in passing--Moksha does it deliberately. Scooby loves the attention, and I swear his face fell when he saw it was me Sunday night. But other than being a little extra demanding and in a hurry to go to his bed, you'd never know he missed me. Wywy, on the other hand, decided to punish me. He sits endlessly at my elbow on my desk--annoying if I'm trying to work on papers, and he knows it well. And he decided not to eat wet food. I put it out, he ignored it, it got stale, and I threw it away. Today, after two days, he has deigned to begin to eat again. But his look is still reproachful--and he still ignores me when I'm right in his face. Today I reached over to pet him and he bit at me--not enough to break the skin but enough for me to bat him away.
The book world is in turmoil over the Google Print Settlement--Google scanned a lot of books in public libraries, without permission; a class action suit was filed, and google lost. But administering the settlement is a nightmare, and we at TCU have put off dealing with it too long. Today we finally moved ahead, which means an intense couple of days getting a mailing out, but I am glad we're doing something. The press also has a big event this Sunday--but not as big as I'd like. Last year we had 225 people for Books & Music in the Garden; this year, we have only 64 reservations. I'm sure they'll pick up toward the end of the week, but not enough. Something to rethink.
I read a blog today about whether or not it is better for writers to slog away and write crap when they're not feeling inspired or to just wait; general opinion, better to write. Most books are rewritten, not written. So I'm in the process of getting the end of my novel down on paper, no matter how worthless the prose seems to me. I'll go back and carve it into scenes.
And my cookbook is almost here--at the bindery. They might try to drop ship some to me for Books & Music in the Garden, and I will for sure have them for my April 29 talk to the TCU staff book luncheon. I need to start working on mailing lists, etc. but rest assured, I'll post a huge notice on the blog when the book is available. In some ways, I have more of myself invested in that book than any other I've done. I guess the one that comes closest is my short story collection, because no one publishes short stories any more and I was so determined to see mine in print. New York publishers? Who needs them?

What a day!

And the day is only half over. I've had the blahs the last couple of days--accompanied by a stuffy nose that made me think okay, I wasn't being blah, I have a cold. But that's sort of negative thinking. And to my mind, one way to get over the blahs, is to get a lot of things done, especially things you don't want to do. Now this may not sound like a big deal to many of you, but here's my list: go to the cleaners, drop off used clothing at the Women's Center used clothing store (all those curtains that I replaced with plantation blinds plus a whole bag of shoes that now kill my hammer toe and gnarly old feet), turn on the front porch hose since no freeze is coming for a while (this is not as easy as it sounds--it involves crawling under the railing on the porch steps to get to the spigot; getting there is not bad, getting up is a lot harder, in spite of all that "core strength" Elizbeth says I have). But the biggie--taking Scooby to the vet (twice) wreaked havoc on the back seat of my car. I took it to the car wash Saturday, and they didn't touch the back seat. So today as soon as I got home about noon, I put the top down, put on old clothes, and climbed in and scrubbed. Took two washings and still isn't perfect, but when I went to put the top up, it wouldn't go. I've had this problem before--it doesn't quite go all the way down, so naturally it won't go all the way back up. So tomorrow I'm headed for Volkswagen service as early as possible.
I fixed myself creamed tuna for lunch--one of my comfort foods, and then, settled at my desk, I called Dell support because the screen on my laptop is dark. The external monitor works fine, and I can carry on, but that dark screen makes me nervous. Every time I waken the computer, I'm afraid it won't wake up. Brandon is off skiing and no help, so I tried the online rememdies--didn't work. Then I called the support number where they told me that my computer is out of warranty but they could help me for a fee. I spent a long time on the phone with a woman whose first language is definitely not English--comined with my hearing that's sort of a recipe for disaster. And guess what? The laptop screen is still dark. I think she told me that the screen was dark because the picture is going to the external monitor, but I tried gently to remind her that it hasn't been that way for four years. I hope it all works until late March when I'll be in Austin and can ask Brandon to look at it.
I've been piddling ever since. I think I'll have a nap and see if I don't get enough wind back to go to the Fat Tuesday pancake supper at church with Jean and Jim, who kindly offered to come get me. I always worry about the idea of pancakes for supper--so sweet--but they do have luscious toppings and sausage patties. Got to be home by 8 though to hear the president's speech.
I have actually been moving ahead (sometimes blindly) on my second mystery and beginning to think of what project I want to take on after I finish that. I'm not one to have six or eight unpublished mystery manuscripts in my closet. So I think I want to do something more semi-academic. But I'd also like to do more food writing. Silly to be thinking about when I'm only two-thirds through the work-in-progress.
Family story of the week: Colin took Kegan, almost two, to California to meet his grandfather. They flew out Friday and back Sunday, which is a lot of travel for a little kid in a very short time. He was apparently good up until they had to leave at 3 a.m. to come home Sunday. Then he pitched a fit because he didn't want to get in the car--he wanted the golf cart. Rest of the trip went fairly well, I guess, with a change of planes in Salt Lake City. But the last 45 minutes to an hour out of Houston, Kegan, that sweet, calm, quiet little boy, pitched a fit of unknown quality and quantity. He didn't just cry--he screamed, he kicked, he thrashed about. Colin had to clutch him to his chest so he wouldn't kick the seat in front of him, and people of course gave him dirty looks. One man asked, "Don't you have a pacifier?" Someone suggested it was his ears, and Colin said, "No, he's just done." The woman next to Colin had a two-year-old at home and was sympathetic, but Kegan topped the whole thing off by throwing up all over himself, Colin, the woman next to Colin, and the seat back in front of them. Colin, who is really an excellent father, coped as best he could, but when he got off one woman said to him, "I can't believe you're traveling alone with that child." Lisa said the Lord knew what he was doing by putting Colin there and not her--she's have had a meltdown too. Apparently, now, all is well, and Kegan is back to his sweet, charming self.

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!

A day of blahs, writer anxiety, and the Kindle

Today was a day of blahs. Yesterday and today I woke up blowing my nose and blew and blew--well you get the picture. By noon it ws better, but I didn't have much enthusiasm for anything. And when I napped I kept waking myself up by coughing. I already had a head cold in December, so this is definitely not fair. Tonight I felt full of the blahs, but I got into revising a self-study report for the press, studying and analyzing a low stock report, and fixing my mind on other things than the blahs. Before I knew it, it was ten o'clock. And I've filled my day for tomorrow--Central Market in the morning, a yoga lesson at noon, and dinner with Charles and Mary Lu at Sapristi's. They serve mussels, which Charles loves, and tapas, which I love.
I have sent my first mystery novel off to a small publisher that asks for an exclusive--there are a few unanswered queries out there, but I figure they'll remain unanswered. So now I wait. There's been a lot on the AgentQuest listserv about the advantages of querying small presses instead of trying to hook an agent who will sell your manuscript to a big New York publisher and make you rich and famous. There are thousands of wannabees querying those agents, and your chances seem to be nil. Beside, since I'm still running a small press, this makes sense to me--more personal attention, etc. I don't every expect to hit the PW or NYT bestseller list. But having sent that first mystery off, I find I'm reluctant to go back to the second--I think I've ignored it for three months now. I think this definitely falls under the umbrella of writer anxiety--I like the first one, am not at all sure the second had the unity force, etc. This is the weekend that I'm going to go back to it--no excuses. Except that I think I'll clean closets on Sunday.Reminds me of Erma Bombeck who used to say that she would scrub floors or wash windows instead of facing that empty page in the typewriter--that was before the days of computers.
Meantime I'm reading Laura Lippman's What the Dead Know on my Kindle. Megan wrote tonight that she got a Kindle for Christmas and really likes it. I like mine a lot too. I have been buying so many papaerbacks that I don't relaly have shelf room for and yet am reluctant to discard. Kindle solves that problem--you can buy them cheaper and not take up shelf space. And if you delete them, they are stored at some mysterious Kindle digital archive, and you can always retrieve them. And yes, it's as easy to read as a regular book. I'm a convinced fan, but I wonder where they came up with the name Kindle.

Amazing Times

Well, the hoopla of conventions is over--now comes the campaign. It's hard to know what to believe and what not to, as we are beseiged on all sides with contradictory stories. McCain says Obama will raise taxes; Obama says McCain's tax program will only help the rich, and he Obama, will lower taxes for everyday citizens. McCain says how proud he is to have chosen the first woman to be nominated for vice-president by the Republican Party (hey, the Democrats did it quite a while back, even if she lost!) and we are told we must not raise gender issues--but then Governor Palin talks about being a soccer mom. McCain tells us he knows people are worried about jobs, gas prices, everyday living, and Joe Biden tells us McCain did not mention one concrete way of helping the ordinary citizen.
A friend of mine is setting off on a month-long trip driving through the American West. She says they'll stay in cabins and national park lodges, where there is no TV. They'll not take a computer. And she's delighted that when they come back, it will be almost over and she won't have to hear another word about it. But then at breakfast yesterday another friend said, "It's so exciting. No matter who wins, these are incredible times to be living. I'm loving it." I asked if she wanted it to be over, and she said, "No way. I'm fascinated."
I went to the grocery today--not ordinarily a big deal, but it had become a really big deal for me. Could I get in without crossing an open parking lot? Would I panic? Today I parked in a handicapped spot, breezed right it, and didn't cling to the cart on the way out (that always worries the sack boys a bit). I am feeling much better.
And I'm working away on my novel, realizing I need to get more serious about marketing the first one since I'm now halfway through the second one and feeling much much better about it.
The world seems in its place--as much as it can be in troubling times--and the only family complication I can think of at the moment is that Jacob has pink eye. Life can't be too bad if that's the worst of it. And I'd hate to say with assurance we've seen the last of summer, but the days are bearable and the early mornings downright pleasant. It makes everyone happier.

Visiting and working

I spent probably 20 hours in Frisco this weekend, visiting Jamie and Mel, Maddie and Edie, and had a lovely time--good visits with the girls, though they are very self-contained and entertain themselves for hours, so sometimes adults don't see much of them. Sunday morning, Jamie went to work out, Mel and I both slept late, and it was eleven o'clock before the girls came downstairs. They'd been playing doctor, with Edie as the patient with a broken arm--Maddie is going to wear out that ace bandage, which she sometimes wraps around her own arm for effect. I had great adult visits though--talking politics separately with each of them (we all agree, but we can get vehement about our agreement). One highlight was that Jamie and I went to buy me a new Spring Instinct phone which does everything--phone, email, GPS, weather, voice reognition, camera, lots more than I ever thought I'd want. Then we spent much of the weekend setting it up (Jamie had lots of good laughs out of that and I won't embarrass msyelf with my technical lack of expertise) and teaching me to use it. We also went to a new grocery, Market Store, that is sort of a combination of an upscale grocery and a Central Market high end store. The produce and meat and seafood--lots of it organic and all very fresh--line the perimeter of the store, while the ordinary daily goods canned and dry goods are in the center. An hour and a half in the store passed quickly.
It was a wonderful weekend but as always I was glad to get home, though I detoured through Coppell. Jamie drove me there where Jordan and Christian were having dinner with his family. I came home with Jordan and Jacob, who'd eaten too much cake and chattered animatedly (and meaninglessly) most of the way.
From Saturday morning to late Sunday evening is not long and yet it seemed like I'd been away a long time. Unpacking, catching up with the animals--Sue had kindly taken care of them--catching up with email and the Sunday paper. Thanks goodness today was a holiday--I slept till 8:30 this morning, went to Central Market, and have been home working all day.
I'm rewriting again and sometimes wondering if I'll ever move forward or just keep rewriting. But I see where I'd gone amuck--one was to follow an editor's suggestion (without any promise of interest) to make the second novel the first. I tried hard to weave the back story into it, but I wasn't happy with the result, and Fred said the rewrite lacked the unity or coherence of my usual work. His other comment was that I was letting a subplot take over too much of the story. The problem was a famliar one to writers--I got so intrigued by one event that I let it take over. A designer friend of mine said she knew why a cover she was working on wasn't right--she was so determined to use one element, that it got away with the job. Once she discarded it, the cover worked. I'm hoping the same is true of me.
A friend, divorced after a long marriage, told me someone advised her to shoot her husband in his sorry ass. I laughed a lot--and saw it as the opening of a novel. It worked great, but then what did I do with that story in a novel about a serial killer? That's why I'm starting over. And each time I go through I see places where I can flesh the story out with more details, more description. Fred always tells me to stop hurrying through things, pointing out his wife likes the descriptions as well as the plot. He's write I do hurry--and if I'm not careful, I could write a whole novel in dialog. I did three chapters today, but I think I can only do two even on a good day. I begin to lose my edge.
Back to work tomorrow. A note of thanks to those who advised me to see a doctor about my balance and others who might have worried. I have done so, though I know very well it's part of my lifetime anxiety disorder--sometimes I can keep it under control and sometimes I can't. This time it has come out in the classic fear of open spacees--let me walk next to a walll, a line of parked cars, a person, and I'm fine--but don't ask me to cross an open parking lot alone. I have developed some coping skills (ways to avoid being confronted) but I know I have to face the problem and have taken steps to do that too. I appreciate your concern.

The Saga of Scooby Continues

Scooby is lying at my feet, looking at me with big eyes (one blue, one brown) in an adoring way, but it hasn't been a good week. After the debacle of getting him outside amidst thunder Wed.morning, I had to coax, urge, and do a bit of forcing on Thursday, but he went and I said a small prayer of gratitude. Yesterday when I woke up he had jumped out of his bed corner and was cowering in the closet. I spoke to him and left him there, until he heard the front door open when I went to get the paper. He came bounding out to find out what was going on, and it was when I went back through the living room I saw it--piles of poop. I had barely gotten the first, "Shame!" (delivered in my sternest, lowest voice) out when he made the fastest beeline to the back door you've ever seen. Last night I really barricaded him into his corner--a footstool topped with two chairs. He slept till 6:45, indicated he wanted to go out and trotted to the back door as he has for years. Maybe we're back to routine. I let him in again this afternoon as a trial.
It's a self-indulgent lazy day--lazy but I'm working, going through notes from sales meeting, writing. Self-indulgent because I'm cooking, although it didn't start out well. I decided this morning I wanted chicken salad for lunch, so I put a piece of chicken out to defrost while I went to Central Market. Came home, turned on the oven, seasoned the chicken, and put it in the oven--or thought I did. Went back about 45 minutes later, opened the oven--very hot and very empty. My still-raw chicken was in the microwave. Lunch was a little later than I anticipated, but it sure was good. My new chicken salad recipe (my invention) involves chicken, celery, scallion dressed with equal parts of sour cream and mayo, with lemon and blue cheese to taste. Tonight I'm going to grill scallops and a nectarine and serve (to myself only) with lime vinaigrette and a bit of pesto. Sounds really good.
I'm mulling over a problem. An editor suggested in an email that my second book should be first in the series, and I proceeded to make the changes requiring, which cannibalized the first book badly. But I haven't heard from the editor in response to the outline he requested, and it occurs to me that this doesn't feel right. It flows better if the first book is the first book. There are other editors who might disagree with the first one. Am I wrong to give up my vision of a series for the sake of an offhand opinon? Then again, no one else has shown interest--well, another publisher did ask for 30 pages, and it hasn't been a month, so it's too soon to hear.
I'm delighted with Obama's pick of Joe Biden, although quickly the news is full of his shortcomings. I have always thought he made such good sense on Sunday morning talk shows, particularly about Iraq. A friend wrote that when I grow up (well, that's not the way he said it--see his comment on my previous post) I might become a conservative like the rest of the old-timers. I don't think so. Most of my friends and contemporaries are confirmed liberals and plan, like me, to stay that way.

Stormy weather, a difficult dog, good friends, and long meetings

My good publishing friends, Gayla and Fran, spent the night last night. We had been to an all-afternoon sales meeting followed by dinner at Joe T. Garcia's for about ten of us. Gayla, Fran, and I had a quiet evening after that. They went to bed about ten and I rushed to catch up on email and ended up staying up too late. This morning, I remember in half sleep hearing a funny rumbling noise, and I thought vaguely, "Gayla's playing with Jacob's toys"--she always likes to sleep on the bed in the playroom. But I had wrongly accused her--it was thunder, and Scooby knew it. He refused to go out. I gentled, I did everything I knew, and then I got a leash. With great effort--I'm always afraid his 55 lbs. of pure strength will pull me down when he resists--I got him to the back door, but I couldn't get him out. So I thought, "Well, I'll just miss today's meetings," because I can't leave him alone in the house, and I knew he had to pee. The ladies loved on him, which led him to send me resentful looks like I was an old witch. He came as far as the dining room where we were having coffee and snuggled up to me, so I snapped the leash on and tried again. This time I got him, holding back, climbing on a chair, tangling his legs in his leash, to the back door, got the door open, and couldn't quite get him out. I called for Fran, who came and gave a final shove to his rear end--and he was out! We all three looked out the windows as he peed--and peed and peed. Gayla said, "I've never seen a dog pee for that long." Yeah, he really needed to go out, poor thing. Fran is the one who was here the night the cat bit me (almost two years ago) and she rushed me to ER, so I told her she's always here for my animal emergencies, and she said "It's just that you have more of them than most people." Scooby would never bite or anything--he's just terrified and can't help himself, and I understand irrational fear better than most people. But as I kept trying to tell him, life has to go on.
Fran went to Dallas, Gayla and I went to the sales meeting at the Botanic Garden where we talked about all kinds of things that are the changing world of technology--upgrades so that online ordering is more secure, amazon's increasing pressure on providers, print-on-demand technology. Things like that make me think it's time to retire. At lunch, it was pretty enough to sit outside with our box lunches; but when we left about 3:30, it was raining. Six blocks away, it was sunny and dry! I fed Scooby tonight, but I don't think he's forgiven me.
It's been a long two days, and I intend to do a bit of work, read a bit, and go to bed early tonight. Tomorrow I'm having lunch with my mentor, and I want to take him the newest version of my mystery, the now rewritten second book which has become the first book--all seven and a half chapters of it. Not much.
I'm going to start having guest bloggers so watch for an occasional new voice in the next few weeks. I hope you'll find them interesting, and I hope they'll deal with the things this blog is about--writing (especially mysteries), cooking--okay, I'll keep the grandchildren part for myself.

Cool weather and busy but good days

I would not be so foolish as to predict fall has arrived in mid-August, but we've had a definite temperature change, and it's wonderful. This morning when I ran errands, it was in the mid-70s and cloudy. I would have put the top down on the car but rain looked all too possible. The last few nights I've sat on the porch with a glass of wine, enjoying a cool breeze. And it's predicted to be no higher than the upper 80s for the next two or three days. A welcome break. Oh, and we've had rain--quite a bit yesterday. I left the lid open to my garbage cart to air it out and yesterday morning realized there might be a bit of water in it. A bit? Probably three feet deep and heavy enough that it was hard for me to empty. Besides it created a great flood by the driveway.
Speaking of errands, my trips this morning were an enormous success for reasons few will understand well except me. Ever since the heady days of the kids' visit and my birthday party, my anxiety about space has come back. (I truly believe anxiety comes from excitement as well as negative emotions.) Do NOT tell me to cross an open parking lot alone--it won't happen. I keep telling myself this has come and left before and will again, but I get pretty discouraged. One thing I have discovered is that I do much better if I work up a head of steam. Still, there have been some discouraging days and experiences--thinking I couldn't get from the grocery to my car, having to ask a friend to come help me to her car, etc. (My friends are so helpful that I am really blest--they help quietly, without drawing attention, and without criticizing, teasing, any of the negative things they could do.)
Last Saturday morning I geared myself up to go to Central Market and didn't do anything thing else. I am fully aware that it would be way to easy for me to be a recluse--but that would have its own perils. So today, I went by my office to pick up some work, to the pharmacy to leave a prescription and pick up a few things, to Barnes & Noble to buy one new book (I bought four) and to Central Market. At each place I walked vigorously with a head of steam and no problems. Sure, I've discovered tricks and shortcuts, like parking by a discarded basket at the grocery store and pushing it inside. But, hey, I get things done. So I'm feeling good today.
This was one weekend I didn't mind being fairly empty. I have too much desk work to do, but it turned out not to be empty at all. Last night Charles and I had supper at a Lebanese place down the street from my house; tonight Jordan is going to a baseball game (the Fort Worth Cats) with her office while Christian works, so I'm keeping Jacob overnight. She asked if I'd like her to come to supper on her way and I said of course, I'd make chicken salad because that's what I have a taste for. She doesn't. She's really dieting and wants plain sauteed chicken with lemon and salad. So I'm a short order cook--made myself chicken salad with blue cheese dressing. She tasted it and said, "Why didn't I want chicken salad?" I told her, and she said, "Next time remind me I really like your chicken salad." No need to tell her it's never the same twice.
And tomorrow night, to celebrate the cool weather, the neighbors are coming for cocktails on the porch.
Meantime, I'm working hard on the manuscript on which I'm keying in corrections, but I decided a compulsion to finish it should not keep me from blogging or doing my daily stint on my novel. So I got quite a bit done last night and today, but I've got about a third of the novel to go. I quit to blog and tonight, after Jacob is asleep, I'll work on my own novel. Once again, I know where the next scene is going!
And, of course, I have to sneak in time for a nap. Scoob and Wywy wouldn't underestand if we didn't have our nap time. They're going to be thrown off schedule, and so will I, next week when I have afternoon meetings two days!

Post-party recovery

The other day we ate Sunday breakfast at Ol' South Pancake House, a local institution that Jamie particularly loves. I was reminded of Jordan's wedding day when we ate there. The waitress found out that Jordan would be married that evening and arrived with a single pancake topped with whipped cream and strawberries and a lone candle. As she presented it, she sang, "The party's over . . . ." That's how I feel. The party's over, but the glow lingers on. And for me, my birthday continued through yesterday--the actual day--when the office gang took me to Cafe Aspen, the same favorite place Jordan and I ate Monday. And last night, Jeannie, Betty and I celebrated at Lanny's Alta Cocina, an upscale (to put it mildly) Mexican restaurant--haute cuisine from the amuse bouche to the chocolate whatever that came as the birthday dessert. Betty and I shared rack of lamb, and it was absolutelly delicious.
But I am getting back to work. At the office I've been busy catching up on details and dealing with a load of acquisitions--rejecting some, considering some at length, and asking, so far, for two complete manuscripts and a formal proposal.
At home I've gotten things done too, but it gnaws at me that I'm not back to the mystery. The Guppies listserv (Going to be Published) has been full of peole offering their writing schedules and how to avoid distractions. It makes me realize my schedule is very haphazard most of the time, unless I'm burning with an idea. I wonder if I'm committed enough to the project to really make it happen. On the other hand, if I have a chance to play with grandchildren or have dinner with friends, I hate to pass up the opportunity. Part of my philosophy these days is "Carpe diem!" In that mood, I fixed dinner for Jordan and Jacob tonight--Jacob was in a sweet affectionate mood (grab it while you can!) but he'd had a rough day. Another kid bit him, hard enough to break the skin. He didn't want to talk about it and wouldn't let his mom look at it (I imagine she will at bath time tonight).
Julia Spencer-Fleming is part of my problem, part of the reason I'm not writing (I hope she has one of those services that alerts her every time her name or books are mentioned anywhere on the web). I read the first two of her Clare Fergusson/Russ Van Alstyne mysteries about a month ago and really got wrapped up in them. Then a friend brought me not one but three more, and I've almost been unable to tear myself away for constructive work. Tonight I must polish a column and get it off and respond to a request for a partial manuscript from a publisher--I should be more excited, but all I can think is I want to read tonight. Spencer-Fleming has constructed a wonderful fictional world, and she tells compelling stories. Wish I could write like that.
Excuse me. I'm getting to work.

Oh-Oh! Another Day at Home

I've stayed in again all day. Yes, it's beastly hot outside, but that's not the reason. Every bit of me feels much, much better than yesterday, which must have just been an off day--every bit of me, that is, except my right foot, which hurts like *&%$#. It dawned on me this morning, after I put a chicken in to roast and settled at my desk to read the newspaper, that it really hurt, and I wasn't going to a luncheon today, even though it was in honor of Betty. I called Betty, who was sad that neither Jeannie nor I could make it; I called the hostess who suggested someone would pick me up, but I knew I should just stay off it; I called my brother who prescribed aspirin every four hours and hot soaks; I called Jeannie, who is so down in her back she couldn't go to the luncheon, and she suggested we'd make a great team. Then I settled in for a long day at home--sometimes I don't handle them gracefully, but I actually enjoyed this one.
I wrote more on my novel, and it seemed to flow--maybe I wrote five pages. But I got hoooked on Bleeding Kansas, a contemporary anti-war novel that draws on "Bleeding Kansas'" Civil War history. Written by Sara Parestsky, it's set outside Lawrence, where history-minded folk still know all about Quantrill's Raiders. Paretsky is known for V. I. Warshawski novels, about a female private eye in Chicago, and she wrote one recent nonfiction book, Writing in an Age of Silence, that I liked a lot because it dwells on writing, the state of publishing in today's world, and strongly echoes my own liberal views. In fact, I e-mailed her after reading that book and received a lovely, gracious reply. I'm not liking this one as well--she's better at mysteries--but I agree with the sentiments she's trying to get across, and I find myself drawn to the book, picking it up again and again (okay, picking up the Kindle) when I should be writing my own book. I'm such a Paretsky fan that I hate to criticize but I do find some of the characters stereotypical and too broadly drawn, especially the redneck family who are high on born-again Christianity and patriotism.
I've tried to stay off my feet today, but it's amazing on a quiet day at home how much walking you do--laundry in the dryer had to be folded, clean dishes unloaded from the dishwasher, plants inside and out watered, the bed made, animals fed, and on and on. Tonight I've done it all, I think, and I'm about to go soak my feet and then go next door to Sue's house for supper--she starts a new job tomorrow, a big jump in her career, and wants a cheering team of one tonight.

A Day at Home

This is Jacob with his pal, Clifford. Clifford's a stuffed cheetah, but Jacob thinks it's a "puppy" and spent much of the morning riding Clifford and falling off with great glee. Jacob spent the night last night, and we had fun though he was given to fits of occasional screaming for no reason. A long hug and a few loving words, and he was back to himself. But this morning, he woke up screaming again (luckily not till 7:30). We think it's two-year molars.
It was a great day to stay home. I was sleepy and draggy for no reason--slept as long as usual, my right foot really hurts (tendonitis I guess), and this morning my stomach was off. Besides that, it's at least 101 outside, and there's something psychological about it--but when they predict temperatures over 100, it gets hotter. It's very hot and very still tonight. After Jacob's parents collected him, I ran to Central Market and haven't been outside since except to feed the dog and water plants. A two-hour nap greatly helped my sleepiness, but I still feel very lazy. When I went out to feed Scooby and clean up his yard, he cringed when I picked up the scoopers. I guess he remembers my spectacular fall of a few days ago.
In Central Market, I ran into Fred Erisman who told me he'd read the first four chapter of the new mystery and liked it. He thought the characters were developing, the dialog was good, and, when asked, said he thought it wold be better than the first book in what I hope will be a series. I've noticed that some writers I read get better after their first books--maybe you sort of get into the characters. Anyway, when Fred said that, I told him I was going right home to work.
And I did. I reread the last chapter I've written and wrote about five pages on Chapter Six--wow, a long way to go! But the new material pleased me. The traditional wisdom is characters take over and tell an author where the story's going. That sure happened today--I had no idea Kelly was going to stubbornly pick a fight with Mike, but she did. I'll work more on it tonight.
Just cut back my basil--Jay next door told me to do that, but it was so lush and lovely I hated to. But I made fresh pesto that is delicious. Now I'm going to pan fry a trout fillet for supper--an experiment for me.