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.

 

 

 

 

Getting back to work

Getting back from a trip complicated by the switch to daylight savings time has made it hard for me to get back to routine. Though I have to protest--against a swarm of complaints about the switch to daylight savings time, I love it, love the extra light at night, the darker mornings. And then there was Jacob's sickness--he had a stomach bug over the weekend which really worked to my benefit: I had two delightful dinners at their house, though I was dismayed by how lethargic he was. Even woke in the night worrying about him--lethargy is generally not in Jacob's vocabulary. He was to go to his other grandparents Sunday but was too sick, so Monday, after a trip to the doctor, I got the fun (?) of getting 2 oz. of Pedialite down him every fifteen minutes to get fluid into his severely dehydrated little body. He was cross, cranky, stubborn, and sleepy. Not the best day for either of us. Tuesday he was much brighter, back to his talk-a-bunch self--we ran errands and he was pleased to go inside a post office for what he said was the first time in his life, he wanted to do yoga stretches, etc. We were back on track.
This morning, he went to his other grandparents, my tenant left at 3:20 a.m. for a long weekend trip, and I felt deserted with a long day stretching ahead of me. Not that I didn't have work to do; I just had no enthusiasm for any of it. But the day got better--the man who keeps my house running came to fix a balky door and we had a long visit, discussing among other things a possible deck off the back door. Then I ran the one errand I hadn't done yesterday and decided to treat myself at Central Market--bought a salmon cake and twice baked potato for supper, a meatloaf for sandwiches, and--oh, yes--some chocolate. Brightened my mood considerably.
And, yes, I've done some work since, including writing a guest blog I was a bit baffled about. My crab cake and potato were delicious, though following my new routine I only ate half of each.
I love it when I can get busy on a day that starts out gloomy and end the day cheerfully. I think it's always up to us, a matter of deciding how we'll spend the day. And I didn't want to spend it in a sulk. I'm thinking of the rest of the week as my spring vacation--even slept late this morning. But I admit I'll be glad when we're back in the routine next Monday, homework and all.

Ready for a break

I'm at loose ends tonight. I've finished the rough draft of a novel, won't do more until I hear from my critique reader, and not ready to jump into another novel so soon; I'm caught up on various other chores, even got my income tax information to the accountant. And I'm flat out of blogging ideas. So I'm taking a break for a week. No writing, no blogging, minimal email and Facebook. I've got six books on my iPad, and I'm going to read ad laugh and dance and play, eat fine meals and sleep a lot.
So please mark your calendar and check back...oh, next Friday or Saturday, and I'll be back with more Judy's Stew and Potluck with Judy. Until then, see 'ya!

Life really gets in the way of writing

A lot of my fellow writers are knuckling down to work today, getting back to routines. It's the start of a new year, and time to get serious about that book. I wrote one sentence. That's right, one sentence (okay maybe I'll do two or three more tonight). Just to make it sound a little better, let me point out it's the first sentence in a new book...and that's always hard. And before I wrote it I had to go back to the previous book in the series and make a list of all the characters--because I was lazy and didn't do it the first time. Also had to look for quotes about hindsight, because that's how I want to open the book.
But I also had, at nine-thirty in the morning, a six-year-old who was watching a scary program on TV--I checked, it was Disney Channel--and decided he's like to watch it on my desk. Then, "Could you pull up naughty elves at home?" Pulled it up and found an extensive page of pictures, every one of which he wanted to study. His father told me he thinks his elf wasn't naughty enough, though there's one picture of an elf holding an electric razor and sitting next to a man with a bold swath of his head shaved. "My elf better not do that," Jacob said, "because then I'd touch him and he'd lose all his magic."
Jacob is with me during the day for three days because school hasn't started yet. It may be a long three days. At 10:30, he wanted lunch: I put him off until 11:15. At one, I delivered him to a neighbor's house to play and then that mom brought three little boys back here for snacks. While they played we had tea by the fireplace--kind of civilized, I thought. I still have the fire going, and every time I walk through the living room I feel a breath of warmth but unfortunately it doesn't reach to my office. But there went the day--Jordan stayed and we discussed family affairs until almost six, so there went the afternoon.
Tomorrow Jacob will leave at noon with a friend and the friend's grandfather for lunch and a trip to the Museum of Science and History, but I will spend the morning fixing dinner for all of them. May be another one-sentence day. Friday, grocery store, a probable trip to Grapevine for lunch (with Jacob), and dinner for a friend; Saturday, Jacob spends the night. Sunday is Twelfth Night, and we always throw a twig from the tree in the fire and make a wish--friends will join us, and I'll make a big pot of soup to use up yesterday's ham. Then, of course, I'll have to take down Christmas.
But next week, I'm going to write. Honest I am. I keep telling myself I'm a writer. I wonder how many other writers feel this way? Excuse me, but I'm going to write that second sentence now.

Lovely day, crazy weather, and chocolate

Yesterday it was shirt-sleeve weather--in the seventies; today it was in the low fifties with a cold wind in spite of sunny skies; tomorrow it will be in the seventies. Welcome to North Texas. Still it was a lovely, lazy day--grocery store, household chores--including changing linen on the guest bed. I hate to make beds so I do it by stages--put pillow cases on, several hours later, put sheets on. Still have to put the comforter, pillows, and decorative blanket in place.
No news to anyone but dieting sometimes makes you very hungry. I fixed myself a lovely lunch of one deviled egg, hearts of palm, and brown rice and flax crackers with hummus--healthy, no? But I went back and had a banana, and then, because I was writing a guest blog about chocolate, I had some chocolate--third piece I've had since New Years. Tonight I had two small new potatoes, a bit of spinach and a half hamburger--still hungry. Had blueberries. And I'm still hungry! Discovery: when you cook hamburgers in salt, as I do (my mom taught me that) blue cheese makes them too salty.
But I had fun this afternoon researching a blog on chocolate and writers--actually didn't come up with as much as I expected, but chocolate, for all its possible negative effects--obesity, migraine, etc.--is a "feel good" substance. Debate rages: does it make us feel good because of it's so rich, sensual, creamy, gratifying, dense, and silky smooth--or because it has flavonoids and caffeine and actually gives us a chemical boost? Now to apply that to writing--in 500 words.

A riveting memoir--and the Bookish Frogs

Let me tell you about Gerald Duff. He's the author of fifteen books, with five coming out this year--poetry, novels, short stories. But I want to talk about his memoir, published (of course) by TCU Press. Home Truths is a memoir about growing up in Deep East Texas. Gerald spoke tonight to the Bookish Frogs, the friends group of the press, and it was one of the most enjoyable evenings I've had in a while.
Home Truths, when I first read it, was titled Home Lies, because much of it is about  the lies he had to tell--and tell himself--to cope with growing up in a land of narrow-minded, fierce opinions where tradition rules over intellect or common sense. It's both a humorous book and a bittersweet one. Tonight his talk had  listeners laughing out loud, but there was much serious truth to it. He talked about the therapy of writing a memoir--how it makes you examine your life and get to know yourself, although he admitted there are some things in his life he still won't talk about, won't deal with. He quoted Socrates: "The unexamined life is a life not worth living." And he talked about guilt, that emotion that few of us escape.
But he also told funny stories--he believed his mother lied when she said she played basketball with Babe Didrikson Zaharias, until years later he saw a picture of the high school team that included both young women; the time he finally relented and confessed his faith in the Southern Baptist Church--well, I mean his faith in Jesus Christ but the confession was a ritual of the church--and he didn't feel any different afterward; the wedding of a cousin where the groom had a cigarette behind his ear, ready to light at any minutes. He was honest and forthright about the things that made him uncomfortable, but he could joke about the time he didn't recognize his second wife. He wove in advice he gave to students as he told anecdotes and read from the book, and he said that when he writes fiction, he gets one or two sentences down and sees what develops. He writes not plots but characters and sees where they will take him. It's a maxim I've heard all my writing life: listen to your characters. Now retired as a university administrator, Gerald used to write from 5:30 to 9:00 a.m. when he was working, and he believes that it's perspiration not inspiration that gets books written. It's also discipline--he aims for two pages  a day but now, with more time, he sometimes writes six or seven if the words are flowing. So, this was part memoir, part lesson in writing, and a lot of humor--a delightful evening. And the book will provide you with the same wonderful mix. I heartily recommend it.
A postscript about Bookish Frogs: for those of you who live in Fort Worth, it's a group that meets about every two months for a potluck supper--the food is delicious!--and to hear an author. Once a year there's a dinner, where every member gets a free copy of the press' "big" book from the year before. Interested? Write me at j.alter@tcu.edu. We'll be sending our information shortly after the new year.

Anticipating what you already know

Do you ever read a book or see a movie for the second or third time and still find yourself getting anxious as the scary, climactic, whatever part of it approaches? That's what's happened to me tonight--I'm doing the absolute last read-through on my mystery, and as that climactic scene approaches, I'm distracting myself, turning to other things, etc. I don't know if it's because the scene always scares me a bit--it really does--or because I'm afraid I'll see the flaws in it. As I've read through, at this late stage, I've thought of totally different ways the plot could go, pieces that I didn't think worked, etc. I guess I'm at the point of chewing it to death and I best get it done and back to the editor. But the part about reliving the tension of the scene holds true too. Years ago I wrote a short story, "The Art of Candle Dipping" (now free for download on Smashwords) that affected me that way. The story garnered some acclaim, and I found myself reading it aloud to an audience on more than one occasion. And darned if I didn't cry each time. Other people's books do that to me but I'm not sure what it means when your own writing makes you emotional--is it ego, a sign that you like your writing, or, praise be, a sign that it's pretty good? I have no idea, but I'll have to wait for reaction to this particular ending. Meantime I'm almost through with that final edit . . . and itching to lose myself in reading something by someone else.
My big accomplishment for the day: I hydrated the cat. Gave Wywy 2 cc. of Ringer's solution subcutaneously. Moksha, the wonderfully kind and gentle petsitter, came to watch and help--and he actually got the needle onto the tube, so I have to learn to do that before next week when I do it alone. It went pretty well, except early on in the procedure Wywy decided he'd had enough and bolted from my lap, a move I wasn't expecting. In the flurry of the moment I didn't think it through and thought he'd go running off still attached to the tubing and bag of solution. I bolted after him, and nearly tripped over the tubing. Moksha meanwhile, had a much calmer head--after saving me from tripping, he turned off the drip. The needle, of course, had slipped out of Wywy's back when he ran. I retrieved a now-angry cat, Moksha put a new needle in place, and we proceeded. I was ready for the tensing of muscles that would indicate a break for freedom and kept a firm hold, all the while talking softly and encouraging. We finally got the 2 cc. into him, and then I fed him--showing him I wasn't mean.
Betty and I went exploring tonight and split a really good deli sandwich and each had cole slaw. Really reasonable meal, although the wine was pretty weak. Decor meant for a motorcyle gang--I swear the waiter looked at us as if to say, "What are you two ladies doing here?" I was glad when another older couple came in. Not a place we'll go back to, but we drove by a place I've wondered about for a long time. I came home, looked it up on the web, and decided it must be our next dining adventure.
Colin called tonight and we talked a bit but then I said, "Oops, Betty's here. We're going out to dinner." His response was, "You have a much busier social life than I do." I do hope he's glad his aged mother isn't sitting home withering.

Updating my life

Well, maybe I haven't updated my entire life, but I've updated my web page, something I don't do often enough. I'm particularly aware of this because the same recipe stays on the recipe page for way too long. But this time I've added information about the e-book versions of Sue Ellen Learns to Dance, updated my bio, changed the recipes and the cookbook page. Of course, I didn't do all that--hats off to Claudia Butts, graphic designer, who did it. I wish I knew how to do it, but as Brandon once said to me, "You really don't want to learn HTML and I surely don't want to teach it to you." My neighbor, Susan, came for happy hour tonight. She's having web pages lessons at the Apple Store and says it's easy--you don't need HTML. The program does it for you. But she's on a Mac, and I'm on a pc. Anyway, check out my newly updated web page at http://judyalter.com/. If that doesn't work, just google Judy Alter. They did that the othr day at the Bill White campaign office and were so surprised to see the page that they decided they had a celebrity in their midst. I assured them it was not true and told them one of my more humbling stories.
I spent two hours this morning at the campaign office. Just like last week, I talked to many people who either had or were going to vote for White and only one who was going to vote for Perry. I don't know where this list comes from or how heavily weighted it is, but I found this encouraging. As I drive around town I see a lot of yard signs for White, very few for Perry. But I understand Perry is charging for his--you should pay for the privilege of helping him campaign? Arrogance again!
A wild gastronomic day--a reuben for lunch (the kind with lots of kraut, so good!), hummus with pesto (my new discovery--homemade pesto) and Manchego cheese for happy hour, and a bowl of really spicy chili, courtesy of Susan's husband Jay, for supper. Hmmmm. Hope I sleep tonight. Maybe all that mixture of food is why I feel so weary! It astounds me to realize that from now until Sunday night, I will only eat supper at home Thursday and lunch Friday. Big times ahead. I'm busy picking out my wardrobe.
Back to the novel--I think I quit at 57,000 words last night. Not feeling ambitious tonight, so maybe I'll settle for a thousand.

Mondays

Why are Mondays always full of detail work, catching up, and stuff like that? I spent the morning answering emails, reading the newspaper online, doing not much profitable Taught my memoir class at noon, which went well, though when we ran out of discussion before the end of the period, I read them my piece on panic disorder. They were noticeably quiet, no response. Not sure how to interpret that. I asked how many knew about anxiety disorder and only one or two hands went up, so I hope I enlightened them. They are a good group, faithful attendees,but somehow the bonding of the evening group is missing. I think it's the difference between taking an hour from work and being in a home setting, plus Thursday evenings we loosen everyone's tongue with a bit of wine. I haven't written anything for the evening group in a long time, because they chatter away the whole evening.
I'm still on my writing kick--a thousand words this afternoon and hope to do a thousand this evening. I'm now in that phase of "get through the rough draft." Then I can go back, patch, elaborate, cut, whatever. I bet I add another 10,000 words when I do that. Okay, at least I'm hoping.
Life promises to get hectic toward the end of the week, so I'm doing as much ahead as I can--tonight I did a "kitchen" wash--towels, napkins, etc.
Jordan, Jacob, and Christian came tonight to eat leftover meatballs and mashed potatoes with spinach and gruyere--Jacob flatly refused the potatoes but enthusiastically ate two meatballs with brown gravy while declaring, "I love chicken, Juju." I didn't tell him he was eating beef. His parents, not spinach eaters, ate the potatoes, though Christian said they tasted very "spinachy." Jordan actually ate what Jacob left on his plate. While Jordan and Christian were clearing the table and getting him ice cream, Jacob came over to me and said, "Juju, I like you and I love you." Wonder if he really knows the distinction? Anyway, it was a "Be still my heart" moment.
What this post amounts to is I had nothing significant to say, just wanted everyone to know I am alive and well. Hope all is well in your world.

Waking and Sleeping

In the last four days I've written about 8,000 words on my novel. I have, as they say, gotten into it. This morning, I woke up at 2:30 from a sound sleep but could not get back to sleep. I was living out scenes from the novel in my head, working out the future plot, even figured out how the protagonist saves herself  from the villain. For too long I kept abandoning this novel, then coming back to it. I think because the world of it didn't seem real. Now it does, and the characters do--this late in the manuscript (54,000 words, thank you very much), they're taking on personality and depth. When I do that first rewrite I'll be more confident about who they are. I want to toss the world aside and write, write, write, but of course I can't do that, particularly not this week. My horoscope this morning said the world would keep me very busy in the beginning of the week and then leave me hanging. My calendar indicates just the opposite. Anyway, having my muse talk to me is great, but I'd like some sleep, please. The late Dorothy Johnson (A Man Called Horse, The Hanging Tree, etc.) used to say if her muse wasn't talking to her she might as well go scrub windows. One day she wrote that she'd just had an awful shock: she was working on a novel about NYC during WWII, called The Unbombed, because New Yorkers always lived in fear of bombings. She wrote she'd had a terrible disappointment: her muse had just told her that the man she thought was going to be the hero was going to be killed in the war. I know the feeling--the villain in my current work-in-progress has changed three times, but I think now I finally know who it is.
I am still exporing the possibility of self-publishing this novel, since the others haven't sold. It's a whole new world out there, and self-publishing has lost its stigma, may have some distinct advantages.
Lovely dinner tonight with old friends, couples who knew each other from way back but don't visit often. Nice to bring people together. The two men were both Air Force pilots so there was a lot of flying talk, and one is a docent at the Carter where Kathie plans to volunteer, so they all had a lot to talk about. My meatballs were good--sitting overnight really did improve them, softened what I thought was too strong a tomato paste taste--and the mashed potatoes with spinach and gruyere were wonderful. For an appetizer, I served store-bought hummus--I've found a brand I really like, Cedar's Original, and I plopped a couple of defrosted cubes of pesto down in the middle. Great combination. Kathie brought chocolate cake for dessert, so it was a festive and good meal.
Nice day. Much better than yesterday. And I did write 2,000 words. Moving on.

Waiting for Godot

Or suspended animation. Or waiting for the other shoe to drop. All of those are how I felt today. Last week was really busy, the weekend even more so, and I told myself Monday I'd start all over again. But this morning I thought, "On what?" My food book is with the editor, and I've heard nothing about the other two posssible projects headed my way. The answer of course would be to dig right in and get to work on my novel--but it's hard to get back to after I've been away from it so long and while I'm anticipating being drawn away again. So I piddled this morning, did a laundry, did my yoga, answered emails. Then lunch with Fred, where we mostly talked about the current state of the world and I had a great tongue sandwich. Then this afternoon I read, figured out a menu for next Sunday night for a welcome for the new neighbors, and napped. I can distract myself all day going through recipes. Close to the end of the mystery I was reading so I finished it tonight. Really should write character descriptions of the primary people in the novel, and maybe I'll start on that. Also I have a review book on my desk. Not as though I don't have things to do--I just don't know which one to start or where or why.
Good supper tonight. I snitched some chopped chicken liver at the end of last night's party, maybe two tablespoonsfull but enough that I could tell I was eating schmaltz. So good. But to counter all that fat and bad organ meet, I had a half ear corn and a half of a yellow squash. Split the squash, cleaned out the seeds, spread with olive oil, and grilled it until charred and soft. Then brushed it with a mix of sherry vinegar and fresh oregan, and topped it with panko crumbs that I'd sauteed in olive oil with garlic and just a bit of crushed red pepper. Really good--I'll try that one again. And much easier on the diet than the cheesy casserole I usually make of yellow squash.
Today it was only 92 and cooler weather is supposedly in the near future. Can't wait. We've been blessed with plenty of rain, but this heat has been unreal.

Email explosion and no work

The lists from Sisters in Crime, Guppies, and Agent Quest exploded in my mail box--110 when I came home from lunch and 73 when I came home from supper. I barely caught up, though many don't require serious or lengthy reading, thank goodness. I guess usually I'm at my desk and deal with them as they come it, so it usually doesn't seem like so many.
Not a lick of work today, though mostly a pleasant day. Began with two hours in the dentist chair--much sitting and waiting, at which I am not graceful. And in the midst of it, the battery on my Kindle ran out of juice. But then Jim Lee took Jeannie and me to lunch at Patrizio's, which was fun--good company and good food. Came home, cleared out e-mails, had a nap, and John and Cindy arrived. We went to dinner with Cindy's sister Jenny and her Kevin, Patty and her Ralph, my niece Jennifer and her husband adorable almost-three-year-old, and a couple of friends, one an old family friend that I hate to think about how long we've known each other. It was Kevin's last night before he deploys to Afghanistan--a bittersweeet occasion though everyone was in good spirits. We had Mexican food--I guess if you are leaving Texas for a year you want your last hit of Mexican food. Ate at LaFamilia, which was really good.
So now it's the end of the day, I'm too tired to start anything, but I guess I'll re-read what I've written on Blue Bell Ice Cream, "the best ice cream in the country."
I am feeling the pull of fiction and think tomorrow, after lunch with my mentor, I'll go back to working on my novel. Nice quiet weekend looms.
'Night everyone. Godspeed to Kevin.

Why Writers Write

The Guppies listserv, a branch of Sister in Crime for those who are "going to be published," has been running a series of comments from "pre-published" authors answering questions such as where are you on your work in progress, is this your first manuscript, what's hardest for you--plotting, characterization, etc., and what do you do when you get discouraged. The answers are all over the place--some people are on their first manuscript, others have old ones stacked in the deep freeze. Many find plotting hard (me among them) but for others it's simply finding the time to write--or the drive--or the energy. But the thing that has struck me is that so many have said things like, "I like my characters. I want to stick with them," or "I am not healthy if I don't write--I have to go into therapy" or "I can't imagine not writing." One woman said she writes e-mails, blogs, anything to be creative if she's stuck on a story.
I know exactly how they feel. If I don't have something on my desk to write, I'm at loose ends. I'm fortunate right now to have two projects: the novel in progress and the nonfiction book. Lately I've been concentrating on the latter, but since Fred Erisman re-read my novel (about half a novel) and  decided his earlier questions were irrelevant and he "is hooked," I feel myself being drawn back to the novel and its possibilities. I'll have lunch with him Friday, and I'm sure we'll talk about it.
When people ask my why I blog, it's the same answer--it's a chance to write to the world. I have long felt that working things out in words is the same as a mathematician working things out in number. I just can't, God help me, do anything but the most elementary math.

Birds and other good stuff

I love watching the birds at the feeder just outside the window over my kitchen sink--I cannot imagine having a kitchen sink without a window over it and think that would keep me from buying a house. But the little birds, sparrows and the like, come five and six at a time and boy, do they squabble and chase each other away. But today I've had a beautiful male cardinal (I saw him yesterday too) and a male blue jay. They're bigger, and the little birds make room for them. Every once in a while a dove tries landing on the feeder, but they're really too big. Besides, they're mostly ground feeders and can eat what gets scattered on the ground. I think with this bird feeder--mesh, with a small lip and hung far enough from the tree--I have thwarted the squirrels. However, they have devoured the fig crop. I had lots and lots of small green figs and now I barely have a few. My mom used to encase her tree in netting, but my tree is too big for that. I don't remember that my folks had this problem in North Carolina--maybe they didn't have all the squirrels we have. But they had a huge row of fig trees, so tall that we put Colin on top of the van to pick them.
This was my last day of treating myself as fragile, and I really do feel a lot better. Cooked ground sirloin and spinach for dinner--only ate a little of each (it still hurts to open my mouth) so I'll have lunch and dinner for tomorrow. Got more work done--finished the chili chapter, combined all the chapters into one file, and took notes on Gail Borden. Who knew that condensed milk began in Texas, product of the mind of an eccentric inventor who spent most of his life in debt and ended up a rich philanthropist. I find the story fascinating. Had done a children's manuscript on it that has never been published, but I had all the info on hand.Tonight I'm going to give myself the luxury of reading.
I am apprehensive about tomorrow, of course. My brother called and said if I weren't, I wouldn't be normal. But I remember the morning the dentist did two crowns in one sitting because, as he said, if they're in the same quarter of the mouth, they do them all at once. It was an ordeal, and I was in the chair over three hours. That was the day I fell walking out of the dentist's office, which my doctor tells me  was not such a big deal--it's not unusual to be off balance when you've been in the dentist chair that long. I figure tomorrow won't be as bad as that.
After the dental appointment and a nap, I have to take control of my world again. But I've kind of enjoyed these two days! In a funny way--wouldn't want to live this way all the time.

Blessed with a rainy day and the life of a writer

This morning we had what you would call insignifcant rain--I came home from Central Market with the top down on my car, even though it was sprinkling and I finally had to use the windshield wipers. When you're moving, the raindrops don't seem to hit you; at stoplights, you do get a bit wet. But it was cloudy and much cooler than it has been. Rain in June is unusual for us, but this afternoon we had what I'm sure weather people would call an "appreciable" amoiunt of rain--it certainly soaked my porch plants for me. And it made for great napping. If it was a quarter of an inch, I'll be surprised. This evening, even though it's not hot, it's terribly muggy and still. Yet I'm grateful for the rain. Just wish my new grass had gotten in before it came.
On Sisters in Crime  you read a lot about  the importance of close communication with your agent, and yet I never hear from mine, so yesterday I started a campaign to get in touch with him. Today I've had emails, which  report that two editors have passed on my manuscript and it's still out to five other editors.  Somewhat reassuring. I fired back a list of questions and haven't heard yet. A bit frustrating.
Even more frustrating, I think I like the novel I'm currently writing better than the first two--shh! should I say that aloud? Maybe you always like the one in progress best, like the newest baby in the family gets the most attention. But I had a great idea for a plot twist today and am going to work on that tonight. What do I do with it? Tell the agent to save some editors for this new one that is completely unconnected to the other two? Sometimes I have the feeling that I'm just beginning to learn the ropes of this business, and at my age, I don't have a lot of time left to learn.
I had a brief visit with the new director of the press this morning, and he said writing is a release for him. I agreed. I can't imagine not writing. But it would be nice to see some of it in print. I've said this before, but I've read cozies that I don't think are as well written or as interesting as mine--yet they're published, and, mostly, I enjoyed them. Conundrum!
I haven't had a response to my proposal for a nonfiction book, though I got three CDs in the mail today relating to it--I'd paid for them, so I hope I get to use them. And I occasionally spot an article in the newspaper that is relevant, so I'm always on the prowl.
These days, writing is what I do, though I've thought about Jean Walbridge--what she does is weave, which is pretty much a solitary occupation, like writing, but she's also active in the local weaver's guild and goes to the Monday Book at the Women's Club. She's joined groups and gets out of the house. I need to do that, because sometimes I enjoy too much of my own company.

Germs, menu planning, and a working day

Either yesterday or today I saw a segment on the TODAY show about germs. The specialist advocated not keeping your toothbrush in the bathroom, because it's the dirtiest place in the house. There are all those microbes in the commode, and when you flush it they are propelled at great velocity into the air. It made me think of the old James Thurber story about his aunt (I think it was) who thought an empty light bulb socket dripped electricity on to you. Anyway, if you must keep your toothbrush in the bathroom, keep it in the medicine chest, behind a door--well, thank you very much, my electric toothbrush would never fit into my medicine chest. And by the by you should not keep medicine in the medicine chest, because when you shower the room heats up beyond the temperature at which medicines keep best. Shoes? Nasty things. Take them off the minute you come in the door. Well, my feet are old and were the first thing to go south as I aged--I who went barefoot all my life am no longer comfortable doing that. Women's purses? Nasty on the bottom, because we set them on the floor in public restrooms--well, I do try to avoid that, and I make it a point (most of the time) not to set it on the kitchen counter. But whenever I hear things like that--such as you should wash your kitchen towel daily--I think we're all exposed to germs all the time. If we sterilize our conditions, it's like taking too many antibiotics--we'll lose our natural immunity. Every once in a while a bug does get us--as one did Jacob last weekend--but on the whole, I, for one who is careful but not overly so, seem to be consistently healthy (I hope I won't get smitten for this). Cleanliness is next to godliness--but only if you don't carry it to extremes.
Both of my sons and their families will be here Friday night, and I have been planning menus, none of which seemed to work out. You'd have thought I was entertaining the Queen of England, the way Lisa and I exchanged emails about food for the entire weekend. Colin finally called tonight and said, "Mom, don't fix dinner Friday night. Just feed yourself and Jacob. We'll eat before we get there." Jamie said the same thing. So Jacob will probably share spaghetti marinara with me. Saturday night's meal was also up for discussion, but Lisa, bless her, is bringing pasta salad and black bean salsa, and I'll add hamburgers, hot dogs, and baked beans. Feeding my family is almost as complicated as getting them to coordinate their schedules.
A good work day--I got quite a bit done on the nonfiction proposal I'm working on. My friend, librarian Carol Roark, came to help me with databases--she's a fanatic when it comes to research. I gave her a topic, and she kept finding new leads, etc. All the while my stomach was rumbling, and I finally had to tear her away from the computer so we could go to lunch. But she inspired me, and I came back and did a lot of work. Tonight I wrote maybe 700 words on my novel, so I'm feeling smug.

Food--for animals and me

Night before last as my cat lay on my desk, I saw a flea crawl across her head--where the fur is sparse. A flea? On my desk? Next morning I was off to the vet to buy a flea pill for cats, though it only kills all the fleas on her for 18 hours. I figure that's enough since she's an indoor cat and the indoor/outdoor dog is on preventive medication. But how to give her the pill? With the vet's sanction, I crushed it up in part of a small can of tuna--man, did she wolf that down. So then I had to feed her the rest of the tuna by bits, and I'm afraid she's now spoiled. Tuna is the worst thing you can give an older cat with kidney disease (hers is mild) but oh, how I wish I could give it to her every day. I'm truly afraid now she'll turn up her nose at that kidney diet cat food.
Meantime I realized I was past due giving Scooby his flea and heartworm meds. I handed him one pill last night when hecame in and he threw it on the floor contemptuously, so this morning I crushed it up and spread it on a "sandwich" of saltines and peanut butter. He sniffed and ignored, and I truly thought he wasn't going to eat it,but eventually it was gone, there was a wet spot where it had been, and I found no trace of it in the yard. So tonight,, I crushed the other pill and spread it over a slice of liver cheese (like braunschweiger--one of my many indulgences) and hand fed it to him, sitting on the steps by the back door. He loved it. I'm going to have to figure out a better way of doing all this, but it still beats putting liquid flea medication between his shoulder blades, which always took two people.
Food for me: today was what I call a real retirement day--no obligations, no lunch dates, a blank slate. So one of the things I did was to boil the fresh beets that I had been given earlier (I'd boiled the greens much earlier before they wilted). Then I baked four chicken thighs (they come four to a packet--what is one to do?), seasoned them with soy, lemon pepper, and garlic powder (it's important to put the soy on first--otherwise it will rinse off the seasonings). Baked them mid-day and then refrigerated--I love cold chicken.
Other than that, I did piddly things around the house, putting away this and that, things I'd left lying around, did three loads of wash and still have one to do (how can one person have so much laundry?some of it was cleaning rags--Socorro cleaned yesterday--and some was napkins, etc., from having company).
Tonight I went to see my friend Charles and had a good, if brief, visit with him. He was a bit confused--when I called to ask if this was a good time, he asked what time it was and I said a little after four. He said, "In the morning?" Now why would I call him at four in the morning? Colin called just before I left and said, "Tell Uncle Charles to look out the window!" Then Charles had it in his head that I had ordered food for tonight (we'd been talking about going to lunch though now that he's pretty much in a wheelchair, I can't take him places since I can't fit the chair into my car). But I couldn't convince him I hadn't ordered food--I hope his dinner was good, since he thinks I ordered it. But I hate to see him confused like that.
No, I haven't written, but ideas are whirling in my brain, and I think I'll do a bit of internet research tonight. Now that my involvement with TCU Press is winding down--a new director starts June 1--it's time for me to get serious. And it would be a perfect time for my agent to tell me he's got a publisher interested in one of my manuscripts, but that hasn't happened yet. Oh, well.

More rain and cold

Weather reports this morning were confusing, but there was no doubt it was raining and very cold. Some reports said freezing by late morning; others said late afternoon; still others said freezing by noon and a warm air mass moving in. None of them were actually right--surprise. But I rushed to the grocery store to get home in case all that wet mess decided to freeze. Then I tentatively cancelled dinner plans to meet good friends, and I'd been so looking forward to the visit, but I wasn't venturing out on ice. Then suggested they drive the VW instead of the Smart Car and pick me up. Then realized, late afternoon, that the streets were perfectly dry so it didn't matter. I'm sure they got tired of my vascillating emails! 37 when I left home (for a restaurant just down the street from me) and 33 when I got home. Supposed to get very cold tonight but no more wetness.
Had a great dinner with Elizabeth and Weldon. She was a student worker in my office, probably 15 years ago--makes us both feel old to talk about it--but she has worked almost ever since graduation for a company that produces manuals for accountants. Plus she re-made herself with Weight Watchers, became an activist for young girls and took Leadership Fort Worth, and became a yoga instructor. I am so proud of her! Weldon is in sales, though like too many these days, he's now looking for a job--there's so much he would be good at. His interests are in classic comic books, Star Trek kind of stuff--all that puzzles me, but I am very fond of him. We had a good dinner at Chadra, the Italian/Lebanese place near me--they shared chicken schwarma and I had kafta--lamb and sirloin in grilled meat sticks--well, they're not hamburgers, not meatballs--shaped like long fat sausages. Very good, brought half of it home.
I am really proud that I am 5700 words into my new mystery. Writing, I've decided, is like unraveling a tangle of string--this thing leads to that, and new ideas pop into your head so that before you know it, you're creating complications, adding characters, fleshing out the bare-bones idea in all kinds of ways. Very satisfying. I'll work more on it tonight.
Right  now, though, I'm glad to be warm and cozy in my robe in my house, my dog and cat with me. Tomorrow is to be cold but dry, and all I have on my agenda is a trip to Central Market. Life is good.

A miscellany

Aargh! I gained 2.5 lbs. last week, not sure how unless it was that decadent lunch of bratwurst, potato salad, kraut, and Black Forest cake--the latter is probably the real culprit. And maybe last night's dinner--chicken loaf isn't many points, but then there's the mayonnaise, and the oil and butter I sauteed the squash in, and the cheese-stuffed mushrooms I served as appetizers. Had friends from Dallas over, Scott and Lisa, a young couple whose company I much enjoy but don't see often enough. Years ago when I was new to Fort Worth, we rented a house from Lisa's aunt, Carolyn Burk, and Carolyn sort of adopted me. For years, she always called me on the birthday of each of my children, and she wrote me notes about how proud she was of what I'd done with my life. And she gave me the chicken loaf recipe. I asked Lisa if she remembered it, but she said she'd never had it. They both went back for seconds, so it must be good. After dinner, we sat on the porch with a final glass of wine--it was an absolutely lovely evening, with just a slight breeze. Today was an equally pleasant day, and I know it's too soon to count summer heat down and out, but this respite sure is nice.
Today I was featured in an online blog about why older women are better writers. I cringe a little about the headline, "Judy Alter--a perfect example of better with age," but here's a very complicated link: http://www.examiner.com/x-19445-AustinWritingExaminer~y2009m8d31-JudyAlter-a-perfect-example-of-better-with-age?cid=examiner-email. If it doesn't work, try googling Sylvia Dickey Smith. Copy is mostly what I wrote, not about Cooking My Way Through Life with Kids and Books, as I'd hoped, but a good picture of the cover, that lovely picture of my whole family on my 70th b'day and that picture of me that is 20 years out of date but the best picture I ever had taken. It also graces my website, www.judyalter.com. I'm grateful to Sylvia for the publicity.
Spent the morning at the office, staff meeting and sundry other chores, then came up and finished up the cookbook. A good feeling, although Katie, the editor, asked me last week, "What are you going to do with retirement once you finish the cookbook?" I'll have to think about that. I have ideas rattling around but nothing concrete. Meanwhile I am committed to writing a chapter in the forthcoming 40-year history of the Texas College of Osteopathic Medicine. I'm sure other projects will come along.

A good retirement day

Sometimes I feel like this blog deteriorates into "and then I did this and then I did that," but that's exactly what's on my mind today. Today was the kind of day retirement should be. I had resolved to go to an 8 am. meeting of the Breakfast Ladies--a once a month gathering of ladies whose lives have revolved around books. I woke up at 6:45, looked at the clock, and decided I had time to linger. The next time I looked at the clock, it was 7:42--and you have never seen anybody move so fast. But stiill, hair washed, makeup in place, cat and dog fed and taken care of, I was there at 8:10-the restaurant is about a block from my house. Found one lonely member eating her breakfast. So I sat and visited with her and had my lean breakfast--one egg over easy and wheat toast with a bit of butter to sop up the egg.

Came home and actually did some work on the cookbook chapter that had me boggled. I have a handle on it now, and it made me feel good to be writing. Also called and handled some business about my retirement accounts--I hate dealing with that stuff!

At 11:30, I picked Charles up and we went to Lucille's Bistro where we split a Greek salad. He had said he had a lot to tell me, and mostly it was that he had just been to a fitness camp at the Prude Ranch in the Davis Mountains (remember that he's 91 years old) and he'd done yoga, which he never thought he could do. He was surprised at how inflexible he was but is very enthusiastic about learning more. I am going to try to hook him up with Elizabeth, my longtime friend and now yoga instructor. Then we went to Central Market so I could buy steak and baked potatoes for Christian's b'day dinner tomorrow night. Charles never shops there but he allowed as how if he could follow me around he might get comfortable in the store. So I'll start to take him on my regular Saturday morning runs.

Came home, worked, napped and then Jacob arrived to spend the evening, but not the night, even though he began insisting he wanted his jammies at 6:15. When I explained he wasn't spending the night, he protested that he wanted to. We had a pleasant evening, though he insisted on shedding his clothes--in preparation for jammies--and didn't eat much dinner but then said he wanted ice cream. I held firm--eat your dinner and then you can have ice cream. So he ate most of a pbj sandwich (okay I ate all his blueberries but two or three). I gave him strawberry ice cream which he loved and spilled all over the table, to his great amusement. Later when he said he wanted his froggie--which was lying on the flooor right be the day bed where he was lying--I told him to get down and get it. And he did. I ain't a soft-touch grandma.

So now the house is quiet. Scooby, Wywy and I have it to ourselves. I'm studing recipes to figure what I want to cook for guests Sunday night, and I'll read the blogs I regularly follow, and then do a little reading--part fun, part work. A truly satisfying day.