Wednesday guest--with some great sounding books

Please welcome my guest author, Carolyn Mulford.

Carolyn decided to become a writer while growing up on a Missouri farm. She earned an M.A. in journalism and went off to serve as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Ethiopia. There she became fascinated by other cultures and addicted to travel. She edited a United Nations magazine in Vienna, Austria, and a national service-learning magazine in Washington, D.C. She then worked as a freelance writer and editor and dabbled in fiction.

A few years ago she moved back to Missouri to focus on fiction. Her first novel, The Feedsack Dress, became Missouri's Great Read at the 2009 National Book Festival in Washington, D.C. In 2013 Five Star released the first two books in her mystery series, Show Me the Murder in February and Show Me the Deadly Deer in December. The books (in hardcover and Kindle) feature three women who grew up together in a small town, led wildly different lives for thirty-five years, and come together again as each faces a major crisis.

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I select the main characters for my books as carefully as I choose companions for a long trip. They must share some of my interests but differ enough to surprise, challenge, and entertain me day after day for months.

The protagonist for my Show Me series began to form ten years ago while I was working in Washington, D.C. I was horrified when the Bush administration revealed the name of a CIA covert operative, exposing her and acquaintances abroad to danger, ruining her career, and surely ending some friendships. I empathized because I’d feared that I wouldn’t be the only one to discover a friend in Vienna led a daring double life. Leading such a life required tremendous energy, brainpower, self-confidence bordering on arrogance, and—fascinating to me—idealism mixed with deception.

 But I hadn’t worked abroad for years and had avoided the CIA when I did. I planned to move back to Missouri. My spy would do the same. After thriving in a dual career in one of the world’s great cities, she would be compelled by a failed mission to give up her day and night jobs and return to her rural hometown. I call her Phoenix Smith.

In Show Me the Murder, Phoenix arrives weak from a near-fatal wound. She expects to relax with her childhood neighbor and closest friend, Annalynn Carr Keyser. The only child in a wealthy, educated family, Annalynn stayed home and became a civic leader. She has just buried her husband. He was found with a bullet in his head in a cheap motel with the body of a young woman. Everyone else except Annalynn believes it was a murder-suicide. She asks Phoenix to help prove it was a double murder.

Skeptical but sympathetic, Phoenix agrees. Soon she recognizes signs of a set-up and fears the killers will come after Annalynn, who refuses to run. Using different skill sets and reconciling conflicting attitudes, the two women risk their lives to identify the killer. To Phoenix’s disgust, the third member of their high school trio insists on helping. Connie Diamante expected to star on Broadway, but she never made it beyond summer stock. After her marriage disintegrated, she moved back and leads a precarious existence as a wedding singer and voice teacher. Connie adores Annalynn but barely tolerates Phoenix. Much of the book’s humor comes from the sparring and the coerced cooperation between Connie and Phoenix.

I had these three ongoing characters well in mind when I began writing. To my surprise, a character brought in as a plot twist refused to get off the page. So the series includes Achilles, a K-9 dropout who adopts Phoenix.

In Show Me the Deadly Deer, Phoenix goes with Annalynn, now acting sheriff, to look for a missing farmer. They find him dead on a pond bank with an antler sticking out of his back. Did someone frame a deer? Phoenix thinks so.

She searches for the deadly deer as an excuse for questioning suspects. At first she views the investigation as a game to relieve her boredom, but she cannot maintain an emotional distance as she sees how the death affects and endangers others. She breaks the law not only to find evidence but also to prevent additional tragedies.

In each book in the series, the women unravel complex crimes, deal with social issues (e.g., elder abuse in book three), and struggle to overcome large and small personal problems.

My major goal for each book: to tell a good story about people worth caring about.

You can read the first chapters of Show Me the Murder, Show Me the Deadly Deer, and The Feedsack Dress on my website: http://carolynmulford.com. Questions for book discussion groups and ordering information are also there.

 

 

 

 

Christmas cheer and the matter of mysteries

It was a day full of toys and cheers and laughter, and a few tears, a quiet Christmas compared to some our family has but one with its own special charms. Morgan and Kegan didn't wake up too early--in fact, I got up at 7:15, just before their mother finally gave up and wakened them. The morning moved at a slow pace--Santa presents, cook breakfast, finally open presents while breakfast baked. Then most of the day was playing with toys. Above, Colin and Lisa are figuring out the kids toys--transformers are really difficult!--and the kids are in time out for fighting over said toys. But here's a happier picture of everyone playing with Morgan's Zhuzhu Pets--lifelike little hamsters that move along the tracks above.

I spent much of the day reading and working on my manuscript--have just tried to read two mysteries and given up. I usually don't order titles for my Kindle without reading a sample, but this time I did. Both novels were slowed down by way too much backstory--in one I swear I was halfway into the book before there was a dead body, and I still hadn't figured out the characters. In the other, the narrator spent pages recounting the detective couple's early life.A helpful way to learn--by other people's mistakes.

I've enjoyed our quiet Christmas, grateful for the time to know these two grandchildren whom I don't see as often as others, grateful for quiet time with family and books. I hope every one of you enjoyed the day in your own way.



If this is what retirement is like . . . .

I may give it up before I begin. This morning I did sleep late and laze a bit over the paper and coffee, but then I did a grocery, hardware, jewelry shop (battery for a watch) run, unpacked groceries and spent about an hour and a half making salmon cakes and mashed potatoes for dinner. Oh, and I did two loads of laundry. I was really ready for a nap. After I napped, Jordan and Jacob arrived, all ready for the potato chip/beer party next door at Jay and Susan's. I took a small bottle of white wine, so I could sip out of the bottle like all the beer drinkers, but it was soon clear that Jacob was not enjoying the party--too many people he didn't know, too hot outside. So of course I was delegated to take him home and fix supper. I cooked all the salmon cakes (having been assured Jordan and her friend Arden would be back in an hour to eat), heated the mashed potatoes, cooked some broccoli, and added blueberries to Jacob's plate because he loves them. He ate one blueberry, spit it out, and said "It's yucky." Thereafter he proceeded into a screaming fit because he wanted Mommy and Addie--I explained they'd come back soon (good thing he didn't hold me to my word bcause at 10:30 I haven't seen them yet). I let him cry a while, then almost dragged him back to where I was eating dinner (darn it, I was hungry if he wasn't); he went back to the front door for some more screaming/crying (worse I've ever seen him do) and finally came to the back room because he wanted his pacifier (he's way too old for that) and froggie, his can't-live-without stuffed toy. He watched TV, I ate dinner and cleaned the kitchen, and then he came into th kitchen and said "I want my dinner." He ate all the blueberries and some of the salmon cake and said, "It's good." His mood improved considerably and, oh great triumph, he used the potty twice. We actually had a fun and pleasant evening, though he is fanatical about finding bugs on the floor and saying, "Get it, Juju." I will have to teach him about Alber Schweitzer. Also he found a plastic gun in the back of my closet that shoots stryofoam bullets, so I spent a lot of time talking about not pointing it at himself or others. Now he's sleeping (I have taken the gun out of the crib--sounds terribly uncomfortable to me), and I'm about ready to follow him. The girls are going to spend the night in the guest house, and I hope they're quiet about coming in.
Have I done a thing today that makes me feel like an author or intellectual person? Nope, except I'm still reading the mystery set in Norway--got to finish it before I go to sleep. And Lisa, with her mother born in Norway and the Norwegian relatives who visit every year, has got to read it. It's The Body in the Fjord by Katharine Hall Page. Full of Norwegian culture and food--the latter being why I started it.

Back at work

After an edgy day, I'm back at work on my second mystery novel. Edgy, I think, because this retirement thing is big and scary. I am worried about what I'm going to do all day, though everyone tells me I'll be busier than ever. If I don't get my balance and self-confidence back, though, I won't be able to go many places and that won't be fun. So I'm working at that. Also at the office, I much aware of being a lame duck--today we discussed the Annual Autograph Extravaganza, held in December, and I knew it wasn't right of me to call all the shots. I have some doubts about the program Susan and Melinda want, but I'm going with the flow. I guess I worry about not only myself but the press; however, I well know no one is indispensable and that includes me. Also, some days I'm just not busy. So I guess all this is making me anxious--and for me anxiety has always been a problem. It's worse in mid-day, so I'm wondering if it's low blood surgar (Melinda's diagnosis).
Anxiety aside I decided to devote the evening to the novel. Fred has given me his notes and that gives me new impetus. I'm starting reading at the beginning, and you know what? It's not at all bad. I like the tone, the people (who by now are family). But I'm sure most writers feel that way--when you first write it, you think it's worthless, but as you rework it, it grows on you. I do that even with my occasional columns for the Dallas Morning News.
Last night, I took my courage in my hand and queried the publisher who has had my first novel for six months. Haven't heard, and don't quite know what I'll do if I get a negative reply, though I read on the Sisters in Crime listserv all the time about authors who have "fulls" (as in full manuscripts opposed to partials) out on request and then are rejected. When I wrote about the American West, that never happened, so this is all new territory--but then I had an agent and now I don't. In any case, I'm rereading the second one with an eye to writing out the references to the first one and making it first in the series, just in case. There was an editor interested in the premise of the second one but not the first some time ago, so I might do that.
At any rate, it feels good to be back at my writing and realize it's not drivel.

Dinner for company, a windy day, and a writing insight

Last evening I was expecting company for supper, and I had spent some of Saturday preparing--a fresh green pea soup I thought would be light and airy for spring (medium recipe--I probably won't repeat; okay but bland), a vinaigrette for salad nicoise and some asparagus for the same salad, a cheese spread that I mentioned in my last post. I took my nap earlier than usual yesterday, and when I woke there was a message on the machine saying they had to cancel--both were sick, though with different ailments. So I called Jeannie and Jim and they joined me for supper. We ate on the porch--glorious weather--and had a good visit. We decided we were really sorry our friends were sick, but it all worked out well. My salad nicoise was really good--I ate the leftovers for lunch today. We also splurged--all three of us try to be careful about what we eat, but we had strawberry ice cream with chocolate mint sauce (yummm--just writing about it makes me want some).
Today was another pretty day, not quite as sunny, and very windy, and tomorrow we're to have storms. I always dread the battle to get Scooby outside when it rains or storms, but I can't leave him in when I'm not here. And then possible rain and cooler temps all week. I hope Melinda and I don't have to drive to Austin in the rain Wed. Jordan called this morning from the balcony of her bedrom on the cruise ship--she was staring at the Golden Gate Bridge and had watched the sun come up for her bedroom. Not a bad place to be!
I had a funny dream last night--I was somewhere in the middle of the night watching a play, and the only car I had was a rental VW but it was much smaller than mine. I was so aware that I was missing sleep (I must have a fixation about getting plenty of sleep) that I left the play early, got in this tiny car, and headed home, but I kept running into construction sites and other obstacles and finally ended up where I had started, long after the play was over. But then I was back in my own VW and grateful to be. Moral of this story: a Smart Car is probaby not for me. When I woke from that dream about 4 a.m. I was exhausted and so glad I could go back to sleep. I do sometimes think I wake tired because I've been so busy in my dreams.
I finished the Mary Higgins Clark novel, which was a real cliff-hanger and, as is her style, the villains weren't at all who you expected them to be. But I had an "aha!" moment, one I've had before and keep forgetting: authors like Clark can have all those threads because they write in third person; I unfailingly write in first. My few attempts at third have not been successful, and I end up making the great pronoun/point of view switch, which can be disastrous if you miss a pronoun. So I'm limied to what the main character knows. Some authors, of course, insert a prologue or even a chapter sometimes in another voice, often setting it apart in italics, but I haven't seen the need to do that yet. Conventional wisdom says authors write their first novel in first person and then move on, but lots of cozies are first person, and I'm really more comfortable getting inside the head of my charater. Now that I'm finished with that novel, I really must get back to my own. First, however, I have to post information on the Guppies Small Publishers list--it's taken me forever and the dedicated help of two others on the list to figure out how to do it, but I think I posted information on two publishers this evening--have to check--and have three to go.

Hello, nothing!

This is one of those nights when I feel I should blog but don't have much significant to say except I did this, and then I did that--and who really cares but me? Except that I did have lunch Friday with an old and dear friend I only see ever two or three years since she's moved to Atlanta. Her husband was supposed to come too, but he had a bad case of stomach something, so Subie and I had a girls lunch--and chatted about kids, grandkids, jobs, politics, the whole gamut. Really fun--a two-hour lunch!
Last night Master Jacob spent the night, but he was quite solemn all evening, mostly watched a DVD called "Happy Feet," so I sat at the table and read. His favorite things now are three tiny cars he carries everywhere with him. He went to bed happily enough, but for almost an hour I could hear the clank of those cars on the monitor. He woke about 5:30 this morning, and I could tell the sounds were fussing, not happy. After ten minutes or so, I went in, told him he was all right, I loved him, and gave him his cars--he slept until 7:45, thank goodness, and this morning he was his usual happy self. We had a giggling battle trying to get his clothes on--he would not stay still and kept kicking out of his pants. By the time he was finally dressed, it looked like a blind woman had done it--or he had dressed himself. By the time I got him fed and dressed, cleaned up his toys, went to the grocery, did the laundry and emptied the garbarge, I surely needed my nap.
I read a so-so mystery most of the evening, but late last evening I started the newest Julia Spencer-Fleming novel, I Shall Not Care. I probably won't do much else all weekend. She has created two believable, intriguing characters--with plenty of flaws but a lot to like about them. And the thing that draws you in is she keeps the romantic tension between them going--they just don't walk off into the sunset together. She's an Episcopalian priest, and in the early books he's the married (unhappily) chief of police. The attraction is mutual and strong but neither one acts on it because of a sense of honor--and then his wife is killed, while he's in a standoff with a criminal that the priest, Claire, kills to save his life. As this book opens, he refuses to see Claire or think about her, feeling guilty that if he hadn't been with her he could have saved his wife--but hey, if he hadn't been with her, he would have died. The human emotions are real, and I'm rethinking (for the 40th time!) my second mystery.
My neighbors' parents were supposed to come for wine tonight--they're babysitting while she's away on business, and I had bought some small smoked salmon spirals--those things I looked at in the store and wondered who would every be so silly to buy them. They got home too late from one of the children's soccer games, so I ate the salmon spirals myself for supper--so good, but so rich. I didn't eat them all.

Make my day!

I got an e-mail today from the assistant curator at the Southwestern Writers Collection at Texas State University-San Marcos. He sent a link to my very own archive page. To think that someone would want all that flotsam and jetsam of my thirty-plus years of writing is amazing. I've been clearing out files by sending them to the archive, but I was unprepared for this. They've got correspondence, manuscripts, all kinds of things. It inspire me to send more (I have three huge files at work titled "Personal"), and it also makes me feel like a real writer. Yes, I'm excited. Here's the link, if you want to check it out: http://alkek.library.txstate.edu/swwc/archives/writers/alter.html.
I needed something to make my day today. It's the second day we were iced in, although temperatures got up to 40 today and most things melted--except of course, my front steps, the front porch just before the side steps to the driveway, and the last few feet of the driveway before the garage. It's because I have a northern exposure. I have to go down those steps and over that driveway tomorrow morning--think I'll take some kitty litter with me, or rock salt. It will surely melt tomorrow, when the temp is supposed to go into the fifties.
I had enough to keep me busy, but little things--both household chores and desk chores, things I should do but had put off. I cleared up a few tax figures, read a lot on the computer--my newspaper didn't come until two in the afternoon, and I finally ventured out to clean the dog yard this afternoon. I offered to let Scooby stay inside--especially when it was 20 this morning--but he wanted to be outdoors. The sun was shining brightly, and I checked on him from time to time--he was fine and enjoying himself. Tonight, it's to go below freezing again, and he is in my office with me, while the cat is curled up on my bed.
I'm reading a cozy and trying to analyze why it works for me, getting some good ideas for my work in progress. I can't figure out why I keep avoiding it, but I do. When I once went back to it earlier this month, I had fun. I'm determined to finish the mystery I'm reading (which I think I've read before) and not start another one, so I can go back to writing.

Another day, another "Juju" trip

Today, we went to Old Town Spring--Spring being a town slightly north and west of Kingwood where the kids live. It's one of those rejuvenated old areas turned into a tourist attraction--lots of kitsch, boutiques, sweet shoppes, small cafes, and the like. It reminds one of Kemah, or Manitou Springs in Colorado, Old Town in Albuquerque, or even, with a different flavor, Fort Worth's Stockyards area. We ate a delicious lunch in Ellen's Cafe (where the specialty is home-made ice cream), the kids found a two-story ramp that they ran up and down, and we shopped a bit. Visited an amazing doll hospital, the Spring Historical Museum where they really have some interesting artifacts--a small, apparently volunteer project, it's quality for its size. And then we visited the public restroom several times. In spite of a drizzle, the area was full of tourists. We ended our outing back at Ellen's eating ice cream cones on the porch. On the way home the drizzle turned to a violent downpour, the kind you hate to drive in, though Colin did admirably.
Jordan and Jacob arrive tomorrow, so its dawned on me that my vacation is drawing to a close. In recognition, I took an extra long nap. But I'd felt that today anyway. For a week now, I've been "Juju," a grandmother, and today, the first thoughts of the office crept it. I began a list of things to be done when I get home. I thought of something I should write tonight. The week away has done me good, but I guess I'm no good at staying away too long.
I'm barely into the P. D. James novel, The Private Patient, but already I'm intrigued by technique. She opens the novel focusing on the intended murder victim, so for the first 60 pages or so, the reader sees things through her eyes. She's not a particularly likeable or warm woman--scarred by the scar she carries on her cheek, a woman who keeps herself remote from others. Perhpas that's so that we don't abandon the book when she's murdered. But I still think it's a bit unusual to spend so much time developing the characters of the intended victim--a technique perhaps that would only work in the hands of a masterful writer like James.
Excuse me, I've got to go. The children are "helping" put up new shelves in the playroom and the opening of the Olympics, the TV "Event of the Year," is being replayed.

Boxing Day

We did no boxing today, having thrown all the boxes away yesterday, but we treated the day like a holiday. Lisa and Colin did a Juju outing and dragged the kids to two places I wanted to go: Kenny & Ziggy's deli and Booked for Murder. I was so determined to eat ethnic food at the deli that I ordered a latke, which we shared, and chopped liver, thinking to compare it to what I usually get--I know, I know, I have to give it up. And today's serving was so big and rich that I am now through with it for a long time, definitely a good thing. But afterward, I wished I'd ordered one of their supersandwiches, like pastrami and tongue with Russian dressing. Just reading the menu is sheer delight for me.
Booked for Murder is one of the country's best murder bookstores. One of our authors suggested I go there, and I'd forgotten it but went happily, especially when I found out that all used books were 50% discounted. I got two hardbacks and two paperbacks for $11, not that I needed more reading material. Lesson learned: I bought a Phyllis Whitney novel, set in Norway--Whitney because I used to love reading her books, Norway because Lisa's mom grew up there, Lisa has visited often, and she's interested in cozies--so I thought this the perfect match. I'd read the book by Tuesday and leave it for her. Problem is the novel was written in 1972 and try as I might this afternoon, I couldn't get into it. It was too introspective, giving me all the troubles I often have with British cozies. I guess style in cozies changes--and then there's that age-old question of what authors' works will be read a hundred years from now--I don't guess Whiteny will make that cut. I gave up. I've started the newest P. D. James--it always takes me a while to get into her works too, but Mary Lu assures me it's such a wonderful book I should persevere--and besides, as Mary Lu says and I agree, she writes beautifully. Except I've already wished for a dictionary a couple of times.
I had given Lisa two books for Christmas--a Margaret Truman and a Diane Mott Davidson. Tonight we decided she should start with the Truman. All is quiet--I think the household is suffering from the "day after Christmas" letdown. Kegan slept in the car while we were out and about and so didn't get his good nap; Morgan "rested" briefly, ran and played, and then fell sound asleep on the couch for two hours. Now both are down, Colin's asleep, and Lisa and I are at our computers but ready to go to sleep.

Thanksgiving memories

It's a little after the fact but today I received the disc with the photos of our Thanksgiving. Patty, my sister-in-law's sister, is our official family photographer, and she took 194 photos that day! I'm just attaching the one of all of us in front of the house. Sorry but I can't begin to figure out how to tell who is who, but my brother is the blue-jeaned one at the far right. Hmm--the pictures looks bit-mapped but you get the idea. It was a happy day. John twitted me for saying we're all loosely related, but that's the truth of it. Everyone there is related to someone else there but for some of us it's a distant relationship. Still it was a happy, congenial crowd. I was particularly glad to get to know Carlton's parents--he's married to my niece Jenn. And it was good to see my former sister-in-law and her new husband.

Last night I was down in the dumps, no energy, no nothing. Picked up a mystery that was too cozy, even for me. Then I picked up a Catherine Coulter novel, Tail Spin, that Mary Lu had loaned me. Coulter's books, billed as "FBI Thrillers" are anything but cozy. But she's a terrific storyteller, and makes you overlook coincidence--there really is at least one--and the fact that the two main characters are obviously headed for romance. Yes, there's violence, but the good guys win, and this one had me reading far into the night.

This morning I had that "I'm not sick but I sure don't feel good" feeling--coughing, blowing, lethargic--but it's always been my theory that if you get up and get going you'll feel better. It took till mid-morning, but then I was fine. Had lunch with my boss and a consultant and hope I held up my end of the conversation with some intelligence.

Tonight I've made one dip for Saturday--a start--and narrowed the menu since lots of people have called with regrets. I do hope there will be someone here! Bought wine today, and by luck Jim, the man who does my yard, was here. He carried it in for me, saving me endless trips with two bottles at a time.

Thought I would run to the grocery first thing tomorrow--but oops! I have an 8:30 meeting with my boss! Guess the grocery run is postponed.

Now I have to get back to Catherine Coulter! If you haven't read any of her books, I recommend them--and they're not for women only (for some reason, I'm thinking of John as I say that!). My trouble is that I've read several of her books and never know when I'm going to buy one I've already read. I wish I were very organized about keeping a database of the mysteries I read!

Mostly cooking

Marcia from El Paso claims she's missing her Judy's Stew fix because I haven't blogged enough lately, and I replied that I didn't think I had much to say except trivia. But I promised to post something tonight, so this is mostly a cooking blog. Last night I had lovely dinner guests--two couples fairly far apart in age but most compatible in spirit, and talk ranged from a scholarly interest in the history of comic books to the art of collecting to politics--we are all of the same mind but the discussion still got lively. And we ended the evening recounting a series of cooking failures (I hope that was not a reflection on my dinner).
I served a recipe I've looked at in my "appalling collection" for years and never tried--and of course I didn't read it carefully enough so I goofed several times. It was roast pork loin stuffed with an apricot mixture: I gleefully bought pork tenderloins, came home and read the recipe again, and that was not at all what was meant--it called for a loin roast. I figured I just wouldn't cook them as long. Then I forgot the part about divided use in the molasses and probably put too much in the stuffing, though it was pretty good. Then I didn't read carefully enough to realize that you were supposed to pour chicken broth and bourbon over the meat, roast it, and then add cream to the pan drippings. I added it at the beginning. But what was really cool was that I cooked that mixture--broth, bourbon, and cream--and then flamed it without burning myself. And I was amazed at how long it flamed merrily away. The accompanying recipe was for "Thunderbolt Mashed Potatoes"--seasoned with corn, cumin, chili powder. They were good but I made them the day before and didn't think I got them hot enough for dinner. To my mind the best was the apple crisp for dessert, but my oh my! it had a lot of butter, and I served it with real whipped cream. One of the guests, a man, looked at me and said, "Is this the real thing?" And his wife said, "It's better for you than the other kind." He ate two helpings.
Alas and alack, this morning I could barely button a favorite pair of pants, so I'm off bread, potatoes, etc., had a vinaigrette salad dressing tonight instead of that wonderful mayo/sourcream/blue cheese one I've recently invented, and limited my chocolate intake this afternoon.
Tonight I fixed spicy chicken fingers. Megan called, and I asked if she remembered them, and she did. You dust chicken tenders in flour mixed with salt, pepper and oregano, brown them in butter and olive oil, and then add diced Roma tomatoes, diced basil, garlic and lime juice. Such fun to pick the fresh basil, but I never use my fresh thyme--it's too strong.
No much else new. Everyone in the neighborhood is losing their political signs--but it's bipartisan. Both Obama and McCain signs are being stolen. I wonder if its a teenage prank or people with serious political beliefs and a distorted sense of American freedom of expression. They left the signs in my yard for a state senator and a state representative, just took the Obama one.
I started a British Victorian mystery over the weekend. I have to be careful about identifying titles or authors, because many of those authors I've now "met" through the Sisters in Crime network. But I seriously considered putting this one down several times. I persevered, however, and now I'm drawn into it. I decided maybe that's a huge difference between British and American cozies--in American cozies there's usually a body in the first chapter; in British ones, it takes you a long time to get drawn into the story. It may be too that I prefer to read about people I can identify with--contemporaries. I read a blurb recently for a mystery set in churches in Rome, but the protagonist was an American journalist, and I thought I'd really like to read that book. Like many that I read about on the Agent Quest listserv, it's unpublished now. I found one author has a series of Travel Agent Mysteries, so since Jordan is a travel agent I rushed to amazon--no luck. And then I realized that author, like me, is unpublished. I am working away though--and finishing that Victorian mystery.
Huge author's program tomorrow night--at least 500 tickets out, maybe more, for a venue that seats 450. It will be an interesting and long evening. Don't be surprised if I don't blog. Sorry, Marcia.

Not much

I didn't blog yesterday, so I tried hard to think of something significant to write about tonight. But it's not there, unless I want to delve into the deep subject of presidential politics. I'm sitting here watching the debate, trying to pay attention to every word, trying hard to undestand, which is particularly hard for me on the economy, but pretty clear on the subject of let's meet with enemies before we decide to attack. Negotiation should always precede hostility . . . but there I go, talking about politics. I clearly have an opinion, especially about Senator McCain's waffling about the debate and injecting himself into economic negotations in Congress. After he got there, things that were almost worked out went haywire. Oh, well, Sarah Palin knows international relations because both of the countries that border her state are foreign countries. Duh?
The shortening days are causing me a problem. For years I've prided myself on never setting an alarm because I always get up on time. Somehow this year, with the darker mornings, I'm oversleeping. This morning I was astounded that it was 20 minutes past time for me to get up when I glanced at the clock, expecting to have another 30 minutes to doze. I have an employee who oversleeps a lot, so I feel bound to set an example. No way I was going to call in and say I overslept. I rushed around and got there on time but I didn't finish reading this morning's paper until 2:30 this afternoon.
Last night I sent off the complicated proposal that I've been working on, so today I've mostly on office stuff--reading a new chapter in a book in progress that came in by email, proofing pages of a small book that came from the designer yesterday. Tomorrow I'll get back to my own work. I did pick up a novel about home repair--sort of the same thing as my realtor/renovation series, and I was interested to make a distinction in my mind. The narrator and her sidekick are too wacky. Maybe what I want to say is the book is "too" cozy. I like my heroine better because she's serious about her work, about the skeletons and bodies she finds--yeah, she's a bit klutzy, but it's not the predominant characteristic about her.
I've been cleaning bookshelves, though I have a long way to go. But I have called the Friends of the Library bookstore and they say they'll send someone to get the hardbacks I have sorted out. I've also sorted paperbacks (mysteries--I have a whole lot of them!) and my friend Mary Lu is coming Sunday to look at them, make sure none are hers and none are ones she hasn't read and wants to. The remainder will get sold at Jordan's yard sale (in my front yard--a whole different subject) next weekend.

The Grace & Gumption Project and other matters

My string of stupid mistakes continues. This morning I took my car in--yeah! repair of the top-lowering mechanism was covered by warranty. I separated my other keys from the car key (I have a simple pop-apart thing that does that) and went about my day. Betty picked me up for lunch at the Modern Art Museum, where I indulged in a charcuterie platter--I don't often allow myself to eat pate because it's so bad for you, but it sure was good. Then she dropped me off, I got the car and came home. Once in the garage I couldn't find the house keys. I tore my purse apart, called Jordan to say I was coming to get her key to my house (which she couldn't find) and backed out of the garage, thinking I'd tear my purse apart one more time. Found them caught in an obscure pocket. I think that's three things, so the spell should have run its course. Two thoughts on this: if I'd driven out to Jordan's house, 20 minutes away, I would really be mad, though I have no one to blame but myself, and I seem to have a fixation lately about losing my keys, which I've been known to do a lot, except that they always turn up.

Last fall TCU Press published Grace & Gumption: Stories of Fort Worth Women. I've mentioned it before on the blog but to refresh: 14 area authors each contributed a chapter to the first women's history of Fort Worth and, in the process, became a bonded, close-knit group. The book was a huge success, flew off the shelves in Fort Worth, and the project grew wings. Forthcoming is a cookbook, with what recipes we can find from women in the book (they were all deceased--a requirement for inclusion, for practical reasons). People began to write and call telling us about women who should have been in the book, and we toyed with a second volume. One day in a light-bulb moment it struck me that a blog would be ideal for continuing the project. So, as of today, the Grace & Gumption blog is live. Check it out at http://www.graceandgumlption.blogspot.com/. And if you have stories about Fort Worth women, send them to tcupress@tcu.edu. We'd love to have digital pictures too.
I mentioned that Fred Erisman's advice to me in writing is always to slow down. He also said Sunday that Patt, his wife, doesn't like books that are all dialog. She wants description, enough that she feels she is in the story--that is of course my ultimate criterion for absorbing fiction. I told her not to read Spenser novels, but I also took that caution to heart. I knew all along that I was getting lost in dialog, so last night I went back over the first three chapters, filling out description and also Kelly's thoughts. Amazing how in one line I finally captured just the feel I want. She's describing Claire, who has just come to her house, impeccably dressed, to announce she shot her husband in the derriere (not the way she says it). Kelly notices in the midst of this trauma that her outfit is perfect, down to color coordinated sandals, and reflects that she herself is wearing light cotton workout pants and a T-shirt and is barefoot. To me, that captures the essence of Kelly. I felt good about it and other revisions and was really quite pleased with myself. I also rescued from oblivion a column I thought was awful and got a good start on another, so I was full of work and proud of it.
And then I took a little time for myself, almost finishing a Diane Mott Davidson catering mystery, Sticks & Scones. I like Davidson, though the way she puts off cooking for large events until the last minute causes me heartburn, and her recipes are far too complicated for me. But the stories are good, the people engaging, and Davidson knows her fictional town of Aspen Meadows, outside Denver. In fact, I think her novels these days are much better than the first one or two in the series. But it struck me that a lot of implausible things happen to Goldy, the central figure. This time she's come across the theft of a multi-million dollar stamp collection, finds a body in the river, is attacked by a fencing master and then someone pours boiling water on her from a "murder hole" in a castle ceiling. This all made me think--I'm trying to keep Kelly's adventures within the realm of possibility--things that really do happen in urban areas, like hidden family secrets that can lead to murder, domestic disputes that can push someone over the edge, even serial killers. I'm toying in my mind with the distinction and not sure about it yet.
Excuse me, but I got up to the last chapter at the car dealership this morning, and I really have to finish it.

A miscellany

Hmm. Maybe it's an omen. I debated over what to call this post, couldn't decide, finally chose "A miscellany" and somehow hit the wrong key and was cheerfully informed that my blog had published. Not quite what I had in mind.
It's a hot, muggy night. My dinner plans cancelled, so Jordan suggested I come eat barbecue and potato salad (left over from Jacob's birthday). When I arrived she met me in the driveway and said, "Didn't you get my message? I asked you to stop for a bucket of chicken. Christian ate the barbecue." We made a salad, which was really good, and had some frozen pasta/chicken/carrot/broccoli thing out of a bag. Since she and I are both trying not to eat pasta, that wasn't a great choice. The worst of it was though that it had 940 mg. of sodium per serving. When we sat down, she sweetly asked, "Want salt with that?" It was okay--the company was better. It's obvious that day care tires Jacob out--he lies in front of the TV and rubs his eyes a lot, rousing himself occasionally to play with a balloon or ask to be pushed on the trike that he has not yet learned to steer let alone peddle.
It's also an animal day. Just now I heard rumbles of thunder, though nothing is forecast--darn! I let Scooby in because thunder scares him. On my way to Jordan's tonight, I left Wynona the cat at the vet so [she, he, it] can have a tooth cleaning. (Wynona was named as a kitten and was nearly grown when the vet said he could tell us why she'd never had kittens--she's a he; now we have big pronoun trouble, and every time I call him he Jordan says, "You know I hate it when you do that!"]. The vet said [he, she, it] could have no food or water after 10 p.m. tonight and I decided he would make my life miserable, so I boarded him overnight. He's 17 or 18, but the vet says cleaning his teeth and curing his gum infection will help a lot. He's been on antibiotics now for almost ten days.He's still lively, eats ravenously, and pees and poops, so I figure he's in pretty good shape. All his lab tests come back borderline. A lot of us should do so well at his age.
My garage apartment is finished and it looks--well, charming. I hope to get in there tomorrow and put things in order--bags of throw pillows and other decorative things are thrown on the bed now, and I'll have to wash linens and make the beds (all eight of them). But the furniture is in place. The futon is good looking--I didn't sit on it, but it looks okay, probably not a comfortable bed but just fine for some kids. The double-bed bunk beds are lovely looking, beautiful wood. Hmmm. I wonder if Maddie will put linen on the top bunk for me. The hardwood floors gleam and the paint is a lovely soft yellow. Mini-blinds are passe, I know, but they're a lot better than the curtains we had. I'll post pictures when I get it back together again.
Our neighborhood is in the midst of a flap. Most of us signed leases for gas drilling on our property--I really didn't want to but if everyone else signed, one house holding out was a joke--they'd drill under my property anyway to get to the adjacent land, so I might as well deposit the signing bonus. Now another gas company is threatening to put a gas drilling site too close to the neighborhood (this is a big deal throughout Fort Worth with the discovery and tapping into the Barnett Shale). The owner of the property says if they neighborhood is successful in blocking the drilling permit, he'll put something really obnoxious on the property, which is unfortunately zoned industrial. Chesapeake, the gas company, is offering to install sound barriers, landscaping, and other neighborhood-enhancing things, so it seems logical to me to negotiate. I've said as much on the e-mail chat line and boy! have I heard from the bullies, who are all for rushing in with hot-headed anger and boasting that no threat will stop them from standing up for their rights. Doesn't seem to me that's the way to get anything done, nor is it the way this neighborhood has accomplished the many things that make it a lovely place to live.
Guess I'll retreat quietly to writing my mystery which is going better and better. I now have four chapters in draft. I want to polish them and then my mentor from graduate school, who taught genre lit for many years, is willing to read them. But tonight I have some ideas about chapter five that I want to get down first. It's fun to be so involved in the story. And then, late, I might let myself read some of the Deborah Crombie mystery. I've read only a few pages, while riding my stationary bike. (stationery bike?)

Love and chocolate and other matters

Paula Dean said on a recent show that the feeling you get from eating chocolate is the same feeling you get from falling in love. Hmmm--food for thought, especially for a chocaholic. But I'd been thinking about love the other day and the fact that in my life there've been three men I was really in love with. Okay, one is my ex, but one of the others was before and the other was after and both of them stand out more in my memory now than the good days with the ex. Doesn't take a genius to figure out that bad times cancel good. But I was thinking, without a lot of regret, that those days are behind me, that kind of passionate, all-consuming love doesn't come when you're seventy. And maybe that's okay--my hormones aren't raging any more, and I have some wonderful memories. And I can always eat chocolate and test the theory.
I'm supposed to be proof-reading but I have managed to kind of piddle away the day. I did have a yoga lesson and Elizabeth, my student-turned-teacher, said frequently, "Very nice. You've been practicing." And indeed I have. My down dog was good today. I can't remember the other thing that elicited that practicing comment, but I was as proud as a third-grader who brought home an E for excellent. But I've spent much of the day with a Lillian Stewart Carl Scottish mystery, The Secret Portrait. It's basically about an American who has deluded himself to think he's the inheritor of Bonnie Prince Charlies' claim to the throne--and it's none too complimentary about Charlie's delusions of grandeur which cost many Highlanders their lives. I did a quick bit of research and found that my clan, the MacBains, were among Charlie's supporters. I presume a bunch of them died on the field. I'll have to go back and look because I know there was one MacBain (Red MacBean?) who covered himself with glory but I think it was an earlier battle, perhaps Stirling Bridge. Then I got a mailing from Clan MacBean today and it occurred to me I ought to enroll my oldest son in the clan. He, who wants to go to Scotland with me, is the obvious inheritor of the Scottish tradition in the family.
I also whiled away the time taking an appetizer to Jeannie, so we could sit on the patio over wine. She's one of the few people I know who appreciates pickled herring like I do. I bought a jar on impulse this morning in Central Market and we sat there saying, "That's so good!" I left the jar and crackers, so I can go back tomorrow and have more, when I take them dinner. I came home tonight and fixed myself Dover sole--the most delicate delicious fish I know. I floured it lightly sauteed it and then dressed it with a butter/lemon sauce. It was lovely, accompanied by fresh asparagus.
But now I ought to get to proofing. You know what? I have to finish that mystery first.

The holiday weekend

Have you noticed that when you go back to work or out in the world after a holiday weekend, everyone asks, "How was your weekend?" I've thought about that, and my answer this time is that it was busy, but it was busyness of my own making. One of the women in my office said, "That's a really good thing," and I agreed. Last night my neighbors and some other friends came for a potluck barbecue--there were six of us and we had enough food for 15. But it was a lovely, convivial evening on the porch--casual, interesting conversation, good food, a tad too hot but who cared. I thought once again how blessed I am by friends and neighbors. And with everyone taking their serving dishes home and having used paper plates, cleanup was a snap. (Okay, I do try to save the environment and not use disposables, but there are some times when it surely is a blessing!).
One thing I learned this weekend, a lesson learned over and over, is that both cooking and yoga are hard work. I cooked for two hours yesterday morning--puttered really, but I did some freezer work (and need to do more), made a black bean salsa (soooo good!), brownies with chile powder and cinnamon added to the Ghiardelli mix (that mix is very moist and maybe the best I've ever had--and the spices were pretty good), and a baguette stuffed with pesto cream cheese, chopped sun-dried tomatoes, parmesan, and chopped spinach--good but messy and hard to deal with. When I got through I was really tired and ready to sit down. And then in the afternoon I did some of the yoga exercises Elizabeth is teaching me--and I was tired again. Today, as so often happens after a weekend of cooking, I had aches and pains that I usually don't have--but my feet didn't hurt.
The weekend was made even better because I really got into a P. D. James mystery--Devices & Desires. British mysteries are hard for me--they're slow to engage when I went the quick action and drawing into the scene of an American cozy. But when I force myself to persevere and stick with James or Martha Grimes, I find I really am hooked and want to keep reading. But, always, my own mystery--number two in my great series of unpublished--rattles around in my brain, and I have what seems like absolutely great ideas. I wrote some today and will do some more tonight. The plot that I thought was minor seems to be taking over, while what I thought was going to be the main story, is moving more into the background. Fun to see how it develops. I'm thinking of calling it No Neighborhood for Old Women, with a bow to Cormac McCarthy, because if it comes out as I envision, there will be a serial killer stalking old ladies. I doubt that, should I find a publisher, I'd get away with that title, but I think it's fun for now. I'm trying to keep a careful list of what agent and when I query, so I can follow up. They're pretty rude about not answering if they're not interested.
Meanwhile, the idea has come up that maybe Colin and I should go to Scotland this fall. My good friends from Omaha were planning for us to take a Santa Fe trip, but maybe Scotland will over-ride that. It's just a vague thought at this point, but I'm going to email him some places to google tonight.

Broomsticks

I bought a new broomstick today. Not a broom, just the stick. This may not sound like a big deal to many people, but it is to me. I had the stick to an old mop that had come apart. I kept that stick on the porch, and it was my gardening stick--it gave me balance when I went into the yard. Last weekend, it disappeared, and I accused Jordan and Christian of pirating it away so Jacob wouldn't get it. They deny it vehemently, but I don't know who would take an old plastic stick with a broken and sharp end. But now, for a mere $4, I have a neat new wooden "garden stick." I am completely happy--and have little excuse for not doing my ten minutes of gardening a day. That's the kind of gardener I am, mostly because the bending and stooping makes my back hurt. Fortuntely mine is a small yard.
Had my third yoga lesson today and did things I didn't think I could. Elizabeth says I did very well, and I sure felt a lot of those postures pull at my muscles--in a good way. As everyone has always told me, yoga is hard work. In several poses, such as down dog, my muscles quiver from the exertion. But I feel a real sense of accomplishment from it and intend to keep at it. It was a great lift to have Elizabeth say that my confidence and balance are better than three weeks ago when I started.
I've had mysteries rattling around in my brain again today. I thought maybe if I hadn't heard from that agent, I should a) send a proposal to more agents, and b) start work on a new book. The latter puzzles me. I think, Okay, I'll write about a senior sleuth. But I like the two little girls in the book that's out and hate to abandon them. And there's that ditzy old aunt from another manuscript--could I incorporate her? This morning I resolved that you had to have the murder first--people kill for love or money. Which would it be? I know it's good that these ideas are floating around in my brain. Some day I'll have an "Aha!" moment. Hope it's soon.

Remodeling, Mealoaf, and Mysteries, Always Mysteries

You can't tell much from this picture, but it's the best I could do for a closet that's no longer a closet. Andit gives you a picture of the rather wild color scheme in my garage appt.We've gotten serious about rennovating the apt. It hasn't been updated in 15 years, and during that time it had two boys--one a neat freak and the other a mess--and then a single girl addicted to candles (it's a wonder she didn't burn it down)--hard use. The plan is to put down hardwoods, paint, upgrade the plumbing a bit, check the electrical system, replace the gas wall furnace which sometimes makes me wake late sleepers to be sure they're alive, and get rid of furniture, adding instead a full-over-full bunk bed and a futon. That will make space for eight to sleep. Last night Jordan and I let Jacob play in the driveway (protected by a gate) while we stripped beds, packed up throw pillows, took down pictures and small shelves, and generally cleared out the place. It is now a mess. Lewis, the contractor, has already broken out the section of closet we want removed because it made the bathroom too small.

The kids have all had input into this remodeling, because they're the ones I'm doing it for. Jamie was most alramed when I said I might keep the current color scheme and also concerned that the bathroom was too small for more than one person and couldn't we take out that bit of closet that extended into the room (it was basically an L-shaped closet, and the extension was an add-on). I had to bite my tongue--he has always been THE most private person in the bathroom, and now he wants a crowd in there? Jordan wanted sleeping lofts but we nixed that--too expensive and not possible structurally unless they were shallow enough to give even children claustrophobia. I polled them all to be sure before I spent all this money that they would stay there and they all said they would, except Jamie who said he would "If it's cute enough"! I looked around the room tonight, stripped as it is, and saw how really shabby it looks. I'm glad to be doing this.

Tonight I made a big "Italian-style" meatloaf--new recipe. It smells--well, different--but I just nibbled on a bite and it's pretty good. Topped with mozarella which turned crusty and brown--I put it in for the last 15 minutes. I had a salad last week with lots and lots of mozarella on it and decided I don't like mozarella--but this brown version was good--and crisp. Tomorrow I'll make cheese grits and saute some summer squash and zucchini with a bit of fresh basil and take half of all of it to Jeannie and Jim. Jordan will probably come eat the other half with me.

I've been thinking a lot about mysteries (while not reading one). The agent has not replied about my manuscript, but I am not encouraged since he said it sounded familiar and hadn't I queried him before? I think I should start yet another new story--this will be my third mystery with none published. Only my determination to publish a mystery keeps me going--but I am determined. I've joined a chat group or whatever about senior sleuths, which are increasingly popular--the AARP Bulletin recently had an article about the popularity of mysteries with senior sleuths (think "Murder, She Wrote" or some such). I'd had one in mind, but I decided my senior citizen was a stereotype of the dithery old maiden aunt. Strike that. There are too many cooking-related mysteries, but I still think that's what I should do--it seems a natural for me. Of course, there's the matter of plotting . . . . haven't come up with that (Jamie once said the reason I wrote historical fiction was that I was so poor at coming up with my own plots--and that's a polite way of putting what he really said!). Think I could do a mystery that involves cooking and grandchildren? Some ideas rattle around in my brain but they sure haven't settled down yet.

Mysteries and various musings

Susan Wittig Albert, author of the China Bayles mystery series, came to TCU today to talk to a luncheon. She was entertaining, erudite, and informative--in short, a terrific speaker. She talked about her own career, but she put it in the context of the genre and traced the development of women writing mysteries, from P.D. James to Sue Grafton's A is for Alibi to the present when there is a real explosion of women writing mysteries, so much so that they have an international organization, Sisters in Crime. I'd met Susan before and was pleased that she remembered me. When we chatted briefly, I mentioned that I'd written a mystery and didn't know what to do next. Her instant answer wa Sisters in Crime, so tonight I've joined, written a check, and am expecting miracles to happen. Albert's story is one of great luck--an editor who just happened to look at her proposal and liked it--but also one of incredible hard work and of believing in herself. Back to what Jamie said: if you believe it will happen, it will. Okay, I really believe my mystery will sell, and I just have to find the righ path. Maybe Susan Wittig Albert set me onto that path today. Meantime, I'm a big fan of her books. She passed out a bookmark with all the China Bayles books listed, and I realized I have a lot to read.
Oops. I don't know what I hit, but the above posted long before I was ready. I wanted to muse a bit on things tha puzzle me. Tonight I watched the Pennsylvania Clinton/Obama debate. I'll be darned if I can tell their basic positions apart, and I'm glad I'm no longer called on to vote for one or the other. I listen to all the arguments about which one could win for the Democrats, and I don't know what to think. I do know that John McCain is about the scariest man to come along since George W. Bush. Josseph Galloway's column the other day described Bush as not just a disaster for our country but one of Titanic proportions, and I certainly agree. And, unfortunately, I feel McCain would follow the same path and is as unpredictable and unreliable as Bush.
But other things puzzle me too--the seizure of all those children from the ranch in West Texas. I am torn. I probably really think those children were not living healthy lives--abused or not. But is it the state's business to take children from their mothers on such a mass scale? And as a mother, I sympthize with those mothers. On the other hand, I long to protect the children. I wish life came with easy answers.
And then there's the case of those teen-age girls who savagely beat a classmate. How have we raised a generation of children who could even think of that? I am appalled. I watched those videos with horror, and I wondered how I would feel if my child had done that. Except I have perfect confidence none of my children would have. How is the victim going to go on with her life? And what kind of future do the girls who did the beating have? It's almost too frightening to think about--and yet, as the grandparent of young children, soon to grow into teenagers, I have to think about it.
One a lighter note: I'm watching what I eat. Had salad plates for lunch and dinner yesterday, a small quiche and salad today at the Albert luncheon, and tonight I cooked a really good dinner for Jordan (Jacob ate his own things). I floured and sauteed chicken in wine and lemon, then sauteed a stir-fry of sugar snap peas, haricot vert, and sliced mushrooms. The peas were especially crunchy and tasted green and fresh. The big thing is that I sauteed them in a small amount of butter and added olive oil--as opposed to the tons of butter I usually use. And I haven't had a chocolate sundae in four days. Of course I expect the weight to have melted away, but I know that's not true.

Darkness, dreams, and controversy

Last night was the great "turn out your lights" night, sponsored I believe by the National Wildlife Refuge. I dutifully turned out the lights (but not the TV or computer) and got out a flashlight (my neighbor says I was as hard on the environment as if I'd left the lights on, but, hey, I was trying!). It was spooky wandering through my dark house, though more comforting than an electrical outage--I could see lights outside (the schoolyard lights were fully on) and I knew I could flip a switch any time. I felt sort of righteous, knowing that many people would tell themselves, "My one house doesn't make a difference." But I also felt sort of silly--I couldn't see anyone else around whose lights were out. I even thought my neighbors might call to ask if I was okay. Jay kept his light out until he wanted dinner and then turned on the kitchen light--he claims that's better than my flashlight. But it also gave me a good feeling to spend that hour in the dark, like I'd listened and done my bit.

I read something the other day, in another blog, about remembering your dreams and how can you bear to let go of them. They have such significance for our dailiy lives. Well, I had a weird one last night, and I can't think where it came from. My high school best friend was getting married (forget that she's been happily married for over 50 years) and she was a young girl again. I was hosting the wedding and reception, and I was the age I am now (oops, we mixed generations!) The wedding was lovely, but the groom wouldn't come to the reception--he didn't approve of drinking, and all my friends were there, drinking wine. I guess I mixed friends too, for I have a friend of some 40+ years whose husband of 15-20 years doesn't approve of drinking and therefore won't go to restaurants that he considers bars. In my dream all this got us into a discussion of "disapproval" of drinking. I once had a man working for me who was a true alcoholic--his every move was governed by when the next drink would come and he was never without some alcohol in his system. Now, yes, I "disapprove" of that. I object to it because it interfered with his work. But "disapproving" because someone takes one or two drinks seems taking an unacceptable moral leap. It's like abortion rights--people have a right to make a decision for themselves but not to make judgments for others! I've heard from both those old friends in recent days, so maybe that's where that all came from.

TCU has been embroiled in a controversy the last week or more. It began when Rev. Jeremiah Wright's sermons or sound clips from them were made public. Yes, there were racist, ranting, all the things that oppose reasonable discourse. Rev. Wright was to be honored by Brite Divinity School on the TCU campus for the truly remarkable accomplishments of his ministry to African Americans on Chicago's South Side. TCU immediately distanced itself from the event, and it was moved off campus for security reasons--all the way to Dallas. Then Rev. Wright, citing security concerns for himself and his family, cancelled his trip to Texas. An editorial this morning in our paper criticized everyone involved--TCU for academic timidity and caution, when it should be an open forum to all points of view, and Rev. Wright for retreating. I do think Martin Luther King would have come to Texas. One of the points made over and over is that African American religion in America has to be taken in context--some of Dr. King's comments, pulled out of context, sound inciteful too and yet he is a national hero, with a day dedicated to his memory. I'm disturbed by the entire thing, but I know I would have liked to have Dr. Wright on campus. And after all this fuss, I'd have gone to hear him speak, something that wouldn't have occurred to me before. Another comment suggested that the Wright controversy and Obama's speech on race revealed the depth of racial problems in this country--and maybe indicated that he is ultimately unelectable. I certainly hope not.

On a much lighter note, I've discovered a new series of cozy mysteries, these set in a Greenwich Village coffeehouse and written by Cleo Cloyce. The one I read is Decaffinated Corpse, but there are apparently a number in the series before that. Check it out at www.coffeehousemurder.com.

And thanks to Amanda for a tuna recipe comment on a post way back about using canned tuna. Amanda, I've made a similar tuna salad--with pecnas, not walnuts, probably because I'm in Texas--and it's delicious.