You're either a dog person or you're not

My friend Sue lost her dog suddenly Friday, although she says in retrospect he hadn't been acting quite right for some time. Her children, teenager Alex and 6th grader Hunter, were and are devastated. And so is Sue. She came by for a drink tonight and--surprise!--she has already been to the humane society and adopted a new dog. She said simply, "I'm a dog person, and I am not happy living without one." I had been afraid to ask if she was getting another dog, fearing she might think it insensitive. She's a little touchy about replacing Gus so quickly, but I think it's a testimony to the fact that she loved having him in the house. This will be a radical change however--Gus was a small, terrier mix, always scrappy, always willing to take on any other dog but always anxious for affection and love. Sue, with her kids' encouragement, has adopted Jack, a lab mix (the pictures looks to me like he has retriever in him). He's a year old, and she put him through his paces, only to discover that he's sweet, fairly calm, obedient, and obviously came from a loving home. I'm delighted for her though I sense a mix of excitement and anxiety. It will all settle down, and they'll be happy.
I'm like Sue. I'm a dog person. For years in this house I had three dogs--my collie, Colin's Aussie, and Jamie's lab. My collie died (fairly tragic circumstances), then Maynard the lab died of cancer, and Colin took Cisco to Houston. I was without a dog for six months, and I didn't like it. Then Scooby appeared on the humane society list, and I was hooked.
Sue said tonight that she supposed at my age (she's a whole lot younger) I'd had and lost a lot of dogs, and of course that made me think of the dogs I've lost and the dogs I've loved. I could make a long list but I'll keep it brief. I think the most wonderful dog I ever had was a gorgeous mahoghany collie named Shea--my ex and I adopted him (almost stole him but the owners were grateful). He was the perfect gentleman, and we took him everywhere with us. At the same time, my brother had a German shepherd that I suspect was his best dog ever. King followed him to class and could not be kept out--he'd sneak into the building and find John.
I've had a lot of dogs since, from Cairn terriers to Irish wolfhounds, and loved them all. And I've grieved when I lost each one, sometimes to age, sometimes to accident and once to heart defect. I lost a puppy to distemper and another because it was blind from birth and couldn't adjust to the world--or to my children. I have a lot of dog stories. Now I have an aging Aussie (and an aging cat but that's another story). I'm thinking of getting Scooby a companion--I think it would be good for him, and I wouldn't have to hope to find the perfect dog in a few years when I lose him. But I'm watching for the perfect dog. In my mind, I'd like to have a labradoodle that I could train to be a care dog, visiting sick children or nursing home patients, something like that. The idea of taking my wild man Scooby into a nursing home boggles the mind--he'd jump in the patients' laps and lick them to death.
But Sue's big change got me thinking--some of us are dog people and some aren't. I was raised with dogs, though I remember being afraid of them as a young child. But my brother and my parents always had a dog, and I soon became a dog person. My ex and I even showed them for a while--it was obvious we were rank amateurs.
Scooby is a love, and I adore him, will grieve when old age gets him. Right now, he's just slower and a bit absent minded, but he sometimes jumps with joy when I come near him, he's curious as can be, and if he can filch food, he'll have at it. Some folks think he's ugly, with mismatched eyes. I think he's beautiful. Here he is in his bed, his most favorite ever place to be. At night, I find it comforting to hear him whimper in his dreams, and grunt and groan. Sue said her house is too quiet right now.

Cold, rainy, stay-at-home day

Jacob definitely knows how to spend a cold, rainy day. If he watched his new Star Trek DVD once, he watched it six times. When I told him it would snow, he begged to go out with Scooby and play in the snow--I had to expain it wouldn't be enough to play in, and it wasn't. As daughter-in-law Melanie said, it was a non-event. Big pretty flakes that didn't stick to the ground. Scooby has also spent the day in his bed and is getting spoiled, I fear.

A boastful moment: for years I have taken bad pictures. Even my late good friend Bobbie used to say, "You look much better in reality than you do in pictures." But I liked the cooking picture on last night's blog, and it occurred to me that I take a better picture these days because I'm more relaxed and at ease. I loved my twenty-eight years at TCU Press and would have told you I wasn't stressed, but the difference is amazing to me. I do think it's taken me since June but I may finally be settling in to retirement--and loving it. Polly, if you're reading this, please take a new picture of me:-)

Like the entire nation, I am heartsick about the shootings in Tucson. Tonight I saw an interview with the parents of the nine-year-old girl who died. So painful I couldn't bear to watch and listen. Who thinks of sending their child to a grocery store and having them shot? May God be with the victims and their families. The furor that incident is raising nationally is intersting--and maybe healthy and healing. One can only hope.

A young couple knocked on my door tonight, and I was wary even though they looked most friendly and nice. But I had Scooby by the collar, and they said they were new neighbors, as indeed they turned out to be. I know which house they bought. They were calling on neighbors to introduce themselves and deliver gifts of popcorn, which I thought was enterprising of them. Pleasant young people, and I look forward to getting to know them.

I know I've posted the recipe for Norwegian hamburgers before, but this is for Jason, who read last night's post and said he's always interested in new recipes. Tonight he was on Facebook saying he'd fixed vegetable soup with dumplings--obviously he's become a cook since the days I knew him. Happy cooking, Jason!

Norwegian hamburgers

3-4 slices of onion

3 Tbsp. butter (do not use oil)

1½ lbs. extra-lean hamburger (extra-lean is important)

2 eggs

3 Tbsp. cornstarch or potato starch

½ tsp. pepper

Milk as needed

4-5 envelopes instant gravy mix, prepared as directed

2 beef bullion cubes

Sauté onion in butter. Mix hamburger, eggs, cornstarch and pepper. Add milk as needed; start with ¼ c. and add ¼ c. at a time, but DON’T let the meat mixture get soggy. The last time I made a double batch of these, they tended to fall apart while I was browning them. I bet my mom’s trick of throwing a little tapioca into meatloaf would work here, too. Shape into patties and brown in same skillet as onions. Remove.

Make gravy in skillet, according to package directions. Add 2 bouillon cubes. When gravy thickens, return burgers and onions to pan and simmer 45 to 60 minutes.

Serve with white rice, egg noodles, or boiled potatoes. Peas, beets, or green beans are nice with this.

PS: The recipe is in Cooking My Way Through Life with Kids and Books.

Collaborative Cooking

Tonight Elizabeth, Weldon, and I cooked collaboratively--Norwegian hamburgers and mashed potatoes, but both had to be gluten- and dairy-free. Elizabeth had experimented last week and was pleased that tonight our collaborative effort came out pretty much like hers had last week. But you learn things cooking with other people--she learned that adding milk to the meat pattie mixture lightened the texture of it (she uses almond milk but you couldn't taste the almond), and I learned from Weldon, who made the mashed potatoes, that a bit of olive oil lightens the texture of the potatoes. Part of the plan was to have Jacob cook with us. I thought at least he'd help me make salad dressing, which he did last week, but he announced when he walked in that he was "tired of cooking." He did however don his apron for the picture above. We had lots of fun cooking and then lingering at the table--with Star Trek in the background. And while Elizabeth and I were making the meat patties, Weldon and Jacob had a good visit about the latest Star Trek movie. Jacob has, sadly, forgotten all about poor Spiderman.

Elizabeth and I decided our next collaborative project will be venison sausage from the book Ratio. But we're searching out sausage stuffing equipment--I know I used to have it, but I think it's gone, and it's not cheap to buy. She is alsos intrigued by the instructions for homemade mayonnaise, and having made it some in the past I know it's vastly superior to the store-bought product. John and Cindy had homemade mayo at Hot Tubs in their tartar sauce and cole slaw and raved about it. So that goes on my list too.
Rain, sleet, snow, and ice predicted for tonight starting at 6 p.m. Now, at ten, it still hasn't happened, but I imagine it will during the night and tomorrow. I stocked up at the store today so I wouldn't have to go early in the week but forgot a major ingredient for my dinner for Three Women in Publishing on Wednesday, so I'll have to go back, weather permitting. I'm in a cooking phase, but I'm also enjoying editing the sequel to Skeleton in a Dead Space. Retirement is really great fun.

Creating a fictional world

When you write anything, everyone has a bit of advice on the way to do it. And of course no two bits agree. I'm definitely finding this in mysteries. Uber agent and legendary writing coach Donald Maas says every sentence, every paragraph, ever page has to vibrate with tension. Others say description slows down the activity, but then some say description creates the world in which the fictional characters operate. As I rewrite these days I'm most aware of description, because I use quite a bit of it--though, I hope, in small bits. It seems to me that Maas' advice holds true for thrillers and suspense novels--traditionally those where danger is present on every page. Often the victim (or stalkee) knows who the villain is, and it comes to a question of who can outlast who and who can trip the other one up. I recently read Mary Higgins Clark's Pretend You Don't See Her  in which the protagonist, witness to murder, is put in the federal witness protection program. She lets a trivial bit of information slip to her mother in the weekly phone call they're allowed, and the mother, interested in her daughter's welfare, buys a newspaper from the city where she now knows her daughter is, then leaves the newspaper on a chair in a restaurant. You got it--word is quickly sent to the hired assassin after her. So the reader is on pins and needles--will he get her or will she escape? (I truly don't think this much info is a spoiler.) I have always joked that I don't want to read Mary Higgins Clark when I'm home alone--well, I do, but they're scary on every page. That's the kind of tension Maas is talking about.
But I'm writing--or trying to write--cozies, a whole different kind of mystery. Cozies usually feature an amateur sleuth--in my case, a real estate agent who is drawn into solving an old murder because she finds a skeleton in a house she's renovating. Neither the protatgonist nor the reader know who the murderer is nor when someone else will fall victim, so there's your suspense (sometimes I think the author doesn't know either!). But the word cozy implies something different from the nail-biting suspense of the thriller. What draws me into the cozies I read is identifying with the protagonist--she (or he, though it's almost always a she) and the world in which she lives and the people around her become real to me, so that while I read I live in that world. And if it's a really good book, I'm reluctant to leave that world when I finish the book. In the mysteries I'm working on now, the world consists of Kelly O'Connell, her two young daughters, her boyfriend, Policemen Mike Shandy, her assistant Keisha, and the landmarks and houses of Fort Worth's Fairmount district. To make all that real to readers, I have to describe. I'm well aware however of the danger--reader boredom--that lurks in pages and pages of narrative desription. The old writer's saw, "Show, don't tell," is ever true, so it's a trick to work in description yet avoid too much narrative voice. Have I succeeded? Only a good editor will know. My mentor says I have. But it's a constant balancing act.
Readers are as different in their tastes as authors are in their creative leanings. Some prefer noir, exporing the dark underside of life; some prefer taut tension; some prefer the world of cozies--the craft group, the bakery or tea room, the flower shop, and, I hope, the real estate/renovation world. All I can do is keep writing and keep querying. I have a query out now on Skeleton in a Dead Space to Turquoise Morning Press, a small press about which I hear very good things, including that they want mysteries. And I'm working on No Neighborhood for Old Women. But soon my conscience will draw me back to a project with a more sure market: that book on chili.
A marketing note: a man named Joel Kirkpatrick has put together an anthology of first chapters of books on Smashwords or Amazon. He calls it the Bestseller Bound (BSB) anthology, and you can find it at http://www.scribd.com/jbkirkpat. The first chapter of my Mattie is in Volume Two. The anthology is a free download, and if you like the opening of Mattie's story,  you can order it, I think from Amazon or Smashwords. It's hard to publicize digital reprints, so Joel's project seems worthwhile and generous of him.

Twelfth Night

Tonight is Twelfth Night, or Epiphany, the night when Christians recognize that God came to earth as a human being in the form of Jesus Christ. This revelation is particularly tied to the Magi, and I'v always thought of Twelfth Night as the night the Magi brought their gifts of frankincense, myrrh, and gold to the Baby Jesus. When I tried to explain that tonight to Jacob, he fixed me with a long look and said, "I don't know what you're talking about." (We've got to get that child to Sunday school!) But Twelfth Night is also the night when you must take down the last of the Christmas decorations, lest you run into bad luck.

When I was a child, neighbors semi-adopted me, showering me with gifts and attention. I called them Auntie E. (Emma Elizabeth) and Uncle Jack, and she, always the grand lady, had a tradition of each person burning a small branch of the Christmas tree on Twelfth Night and making a secret wish. We've done that in my family ever since. Jacob came into Tree Trimming in early December asking "Are we going to burn a branch tonight?" So tonight he was most excited that we were actually going to do that. From the pictures above, Jacob was obviously the focus of our celebration. It's getting harder and harder to find fresh greens, since everyone has fake trees, but Susan and Jay had a green wreath, and she brought the greens and took part in our burning ceremony--Jay was out of town. It's a nice way to put an end finally to the holiday season. And, fittingly, Christian, Jordan, and I put the decorations back up into the attic for another year.
As I said, I've been revising my second mystery since my mind was already in that world. But last night, to my horror, I disovered I only had nine chapters, maybe half the novel, on my hard drive; then I discovered on a zip drive a file titled No Neighborhood for Old Women revised. Guess what? I'd already revised it once and maybe done a better job. So now I'm starting all over, checking for extra words, outlining by chapter--nice that I have something to keep me busy. I'm actually not too upset--the more I go over it,the better I'll make it. I still feel that I don't have control of the plot, and I can pinpoint things that need to change.

Triva--a bit of Chritmas, a bit about food, my iPhone, and a rant against editing Mark Twain

This is Santa Mac, my newest Christmas decoration--Santa for obvious reasons, Mac for my father, R. N. MacBain, who was always called Mac but never wore a kilt in his life. Jeannie picked this up somewhere and said when she saw it she just knew I had to have it. When I was taking Christmas down, I was hesitant to pack Santa Mac away, so now he's on my bookshelf. It's okay to talk about Christmas one more day since tomorrow is Advent or Twelfth Night. I have also excused the people whose outdoor lights are still up on this basis. More about Twelfth Night tomorrow.

Betty and I went to Hot-tubs last night--she heard me rave about it and wanted to go. I had the sliders again, gave one to her and still only ate one and a half. Those little cups of complimentary beans are filling. When we looked at the menu, we really meant to split white chocolate blueberry bread pudding for dessert, but when it came to it, we just couldn't. Next time I'll remember: Life is uncertain--eat dessert first. The people at the next table had the bread pudding and Betty asked me if we could ask them for a bite but I nixed that idea. We had a nice young waiter who ended telling us he graduated from TCU in '09 and played football with members of the team that won the Rose Bowl. That strapping young man said the victory made him teary. Nice to see young people not afraid to cry, from joy or sadness, and admit it.

I've been in appointment mode--a haircut, the dentist, and today the audiologist. But the absolutely exciting, neat thing about all this is that I can take my new iPhone. In waiting rooms I can read e-mail, check Facebook, and even read the currenet book on my Kindle. I can't tell you how excited I am by that (okay, I know half the world is ahead of me) or by the fact that I'm learning to do all those things and more on the phone. A most appreciated gift.

Heard on the news tonight that there's a move afoot to make Huckleberry Finn and The Adventures of Tom Sawyer politically correct. One "scholar" has rewritten the works, changing the n-word to "slave." Can you not just hear Mr. Twain's reaction? My own is pretty vehement. You don't change classics, for starters. And I always remember my good friend C. L. Sonnichsen, the below-the-salt dean of southwestern historians (honest, that's how he described himself), who claimed if a word or thought or action was true to time and place, it belonged in the work. Elmer Kelton used to say we couldn't blame our great-great-grandparents for plowing up the prairie because they didn't know any better. Well that same generation used the n-word freely, and we should recognize that its use gives us a clearer picture of the culture. Another scholar was quoted tonight as saying the use of the n-word illustrated exactly what Twain wanted us to see in those books--that folks as different from each other as could be were able to form strong and important relationships. Edit Mark Twain? The mind boggles.

The Soup Pot

It’s supposed to go down to the low 20s next week in North Texas and stay cold for the rest of January. The weather people haven’t mentioned snow, sleet and ice yet, but we seem all set for “stock show weather.” My mind naturally turns to soup.
This post will be submitted to the Charity Souper Bowl on the blog Branny Boils Over. For every recipe Branny receives, she’ll donate one dollar to the ASPCA, and she doesn’t want to be embarrassed by donating $13. So if you have a soup recipe, send it to her. This post is also dedicated to Scooby, my sweet but silly and aging Australian shepherd who is pacing the study floor now because he wants to go check out the kitchen floor for crumbs dropped.
For years, when my children were young and hungry all the time, I kept a soup pot. Everything went into it—a bit of a casserole, vegetables from corn and potatoes to carrots and green beans and peas, the tag end of gravy, a smidgen of leftover sauce, or the water left behind from boiling or steaming vegetables. Once a week, I fixed what I called “soup of the week.” I took a look at the soup pot and decided what it needed to make a soup for a family of five. Usually the concoction was brown—but, then, I’ve heard Texas is the land of brown food--chili, chicken-fried steak, fried potatoes. Sometimes I added an undrained can of tomatoes or a cup of broth or whatever was needed for texture and taste. You can add herbs, and salt and pepper are often a must. The kids liked it and never complained about the brown color.
You do have to be a bit careful about what you mix—if you put much chili, King Ranch chicken or something else with Mexican seasoning in it, you probably don’t want to add that leftover bit of tuna casserole (does anybody make tuna casserole, that relic of the ’50s?) Think of it as a theme to your soup pot: if it’s Mexican and you need some body to it, add a drained, rinsed can of pinto beans. If it’s more the traditional French or Italian soup pot, with say vegetables, meatballs or chicken, add some pasta or potatoes if you need starch.
For the patient, dedicated cook, here’s a minestrone recipe my daughter, Megan, gave me. It feeds an army. Megan actually makes a double batch if she’s going to dice all those vegetables. She keeps it in the freezer in batches that will feed two adults and two pre-schoolers, and she says the children love it.

Minestrone

1/3 c. olive or salad oil

¼ c. butter

1 large onion, diced

2 large carrots, diced

2 stalks celery, diced

2 medium potatoes, diced

½ lb. green beans, trimmed and cut in 1” pieces

Sauté the above in a large soup pot until lightly browned. Add,

6 c. water

16 oz. can diced tomatoes

5 oz. fresh spinach, shredded

2 medium zucchini, diced

6 beef bouillon cubes

1 tsp. salt (taste first)

Bring to a boil; reduce heat and simmer 40 minutes.

Add:

1 16 oz. can cannellini (white kidney) beans

1 16 oz. can red kidney beans

Cook 15 minutes until slightly thick. Do not overcook.

Sprinkle each serving with grated fresh parmesan or romano.

Serve with crusty French bread or garlic bread. Just slice the bread, spread it with soft butter, sprinkle with pressed garlic, chopped parsley, and parmesan or Romano. Broil until just brown at the edges.

A food blog

I meant to write post today about creating a fictional world--see I'm really trying to be a mystery novelist, and I had some deep thoughts I was going to share with Sisters in Crime people and others (who might find them not so deep). But I got distracted--first by thoughts of chili and then by a cookbook.
I talked with an editor today who is interested in having me turn the chili portion of my Texas foods book into a freestanding book, so I've got chili on my mind. Did you know for instance that Will Rogers loved the chili that Governor Ma Ferguson made? She always made it when he stopped by the Governor's Mansion. And of course there's Lady Bird's Pedernales Chili and the famous chili cookoff in Terlingua and the not-so-famous one in my living room. This manuscript will have recipes but won't be a cookbook. It's more of a chatty, informal approach to everything about chili, from the beans/no beans controversy to the history of Pendery's chili spice and Wolf Brand. I'm looking for chili stories and unusual recipes.I can do most of the usual ones--true Terlingua chili, my own Mild and Tentative Chili (from Cooking My Way Through Life with Kids and Books), gluten- and dairy-free chili, vegetarian, turkey, etc. But if you have a really different twist or a good story about eating or cooking chili, I'd love to hear it. Please send to me at judy@judyalter.com. Marcia, does El Paso have a distinctive chili (that's a challenge)? I'm also interested in world-class chili restaurants in Texas--so far I've got the Texas Chili Parlor in Austin and the old Richelieu Cafe, now gone but once on Fort Worth's Main Street..
My brother and sister-in-law gave me a book called Ratio for Christmas--it's about the ratio of ingredients in various things like broth made from bones, doughs and batters, sauces, brining solutions, etc. The chapter that really drew my attention is on making sausage, which should be 3 parts meat : one part fat; the seasoning should be 60 parts meat/fat : 1 part salt. I love sausage (the German side of me occasionally overrides the predominant Scottish) and I'd love to make this. Used to have sausage stuffing equipment--maybe it was used twice. I don't know if I can stil find it, but I'll look. Thing is I need a co-conspirator for this--too big a project to take on alone. But I know some experimental cooks who might be interested (yes, Elizabeth, you're on my mind). There's a great recipe for brining a chicken in this book, along with directions for homemade mayonnaise. If you've ever had homemade, you'll wave goodbye to Kraft and even Hellman's. Various vinaigrettes intrigue me because I've got to get Jordan off that one blue cheese recipe! Jacob helped make the salad dressing the other night and his idea of one little shake of Worcestershire made me add more oil and vinegar to the dressing--I'm sure I didn't get the ratio right. Jordan said indignantly, "We don't even put that in dressing!" Anyway, this book is a treasure, and I'll prowl its pages often. Kudos to author Michael Ruhlman, and thanks to John and Cindy.
While we're on the subject of food, I confess I had one of what Christian thinks of as my odd meals tonight: pickled herring--it's been in the fridge since my Christmas party and it kept calling me; hummus--counteracts the acid of the herring; hearts of palm; and, oh, that leftover teaspoon of ham salad. Not a bad meal at all.
Don't forget to send me those chili stories.

Overwriting--and a reason to sleep

Today was the Festival of Sleep. I'm not sure where I learned this, newspaper or internet, but  I had already put it to good use by sleeping really late. No Jacob to worry about. I fed the cat about 6:30 this morning and threatened him if he bothered me before 8:30--he didn't. And then this afternoon I crawled in bed for a good long nap. I'm sort of a dozer--I get warm and comfy in bed and can stay there a long time, my mind drifting in and out of light sleep, telling stories in my head, figuring out things that worry me, and reliving certain recent happenings.
One of the things I thought about today, while dozing, was the mystery I finished reading today. Once again, I'm learning by seeing what I don't thinks works in books by other authors. I liked a lot about this book--the setting (including a Jewish deli with all that good food), the protagonist who was spunky and determined, and the mystery, though I identified the murderer fairly early on. But I didn't think the author was in control of the characters. Ralph Waldo Emerson may have thought "a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds" but I think fictional characters have to be consistent, that is remain true to their character. And the characters here were all over the place--one minute despising someone and the next minute cozying up to them. The action began to seem like  ball of yarn that had become unrolled and tangled. Most fiction authors will tell you to listen to your characters and they'll tell you where the book is going, but you have to ask yourself the question, "Would the character I created really do this?"
Since I finished editing Skeleton in a Dead Space last week and was mentally in the world of Kelly O'Connell I decided to stay there--that would be the Fairmount neighborhood of Fort Worth and the imaginary characters I've peopled it with. So I began editing the rough draft of the sequel, No Neighborhood for Old Women. One thing I'm noticing about my writing is overwriting, and blog readers may notice it too. But as I edit, I delete lots of words--the word "very" is never needed, phrases such as "I semed to think" become "I thought."  That verbal garbage creeps in when you write quickly, trying to get action and thought on the page. First edit is a time to make your words lean and spare and match the action to that, while keeping suspense up (no mean trick).
This time I'm making an outline, chapter by chapter, as I go. For one thing I discovered characters for whom I staged a wedding later in the book were already married by the first chapter. But you know what? I'm having fun!

2011 is off to a good start

Is New Year's Day an omen of how the year will go? In so many ways I hope so. The highlight of the day was TCU's close but decisive win of the Rose Bowl. Who thought a school of 8700 could field a team against a school of 42,000 students and win? Jordan and Christian and Susan and Jay and I watched, while Jacob boycotted us and watched the Disney channel in my office. I'm curious to see what changes this big, national win will have on campus--it can either focus attention completely on athletics at the cost of academics or it can help boost all facets of the university. I'm hoping for the latter--and for a strong university press as part of the deal.
The day was also off to a good cooking start--sort of a no-brainer but I heated a spiral-sliced ham, made mashed potatoes, heated canned black-eyed peas (I never can cook them from scratch so they're any good, but, Barbara, if you're reading this I can still do purple hulls as you showed me years ago). I made a Reuben spread for an appetizer, and Jay brought an amazing array of cookies and sweets that he'd baked over the holidays. Jacob helped me cook--he's suddenly crazy about cooking (if he's in the right mood and has his apron). He helped make salad dressing, dumped the peas into a saucepan, watched me unwrap the ham carefully, and at the table took credit for much of the meal. We all praised him. I wanted him to keep his apron on so we could have our pictures taken but a blow-up over whether the TCU game or Rudolph should be on the TV put him in a bad mood--and he was moody off and off all evening. I know, I know, I believe in discipline but it just breaks my heart when he sobs. The typical soft-hearted grandmother.
And the day was a good omen for writing (I hope)--I submitted my mystery, Skeleton in a Dead Space, to a small press. The fact that I'm going to try a few small presses and then go to self-publishing is indicative of the changes we've seen in publishing just over the past year. Self-publishing has lost it's tinge of disgrace (though some bad books still see their way to at least electronic print that way), small presses are doing gangbuster things, and some people predict the decline of the chain bookstores and a resurgence of the indie stores. All laudable trends since publishing in New York has been sort of a closed circle that it was hard-to-impossible for a beginner to enter. I don't think this is sour grapes because an agent submitted my mystery to the major big publishers without success--I think it's more a recognition of the changing face of publishing. I'm not going to justify the fact that a major publisher wasn't swept away by my book--I know how many mystery writers there are out there. But with my small press background, I'm cheering the new approach to books and publishing.
Technology is changing so fast too--Jay brought over tonight the book Susan made him for Christmas, a chronological record of the dishes he has cooked for them over the last two or three years. She took the pictures with her iPhone, designed it on her computer, and sent it off to some service of Apple to be bound. Result is a quality book, hard-bound, dust jacket and all--and to my eye good color. (OK, Melinda, your eye would be more discerning). I was much impressed, and Jay was sentimental about it. He is, by the by, a great experimental cook and creates some wonderful dishes!
I would happily accept my day as an omen for the new year except for nagging distress over Jacob's meltdowns--I guess that's all part of being four. I hope each of you found as much pleasure in your day and look forward to a great year.