In the clear(ish)

Also, it's fall!

Remember last year when I was doing all that deferred medical maintenance? I had a mammogram back in March which showed something they wanted to take a further look at. They didn't schedule the follow-up until April, so that meant I had to go through a month of waiting, including a week in Paris, where they texted me everyday to remind me of my appointment.

At the April appointment, they did a second mammogram and then an ultrasound. The doctor decided that what I had was most likely a fibroadenoma, left breast, high on the left side. So a really difficult location to wedge between two plates on a mammogram machine. 

They told me it was very likely nothing to be concerned about. I had two options: a needle biopsy then and there or, if I wasn't likely to either disappear or spend 6 months worrying myself to death, a further mammogram and ultrasound in October. I decided that I could wait, because needles. 

So that happened monday. Thankfully the University of Pennsylvania Hospital does not observe holidays.

They didn't even do the ultrasound this time, just two views on the mammogram. The doctor said that, if anything, the fibroadenoma has gotten a bit smaller. Which is good. Mystifying to me, but whatever. He said to come back in 6 months for my regular mammogram - the yearly kind that I avoided until last year - and then whatever I have in there simply becomes my new baseline for them to look for changes. 

So I would have probably known that in April, if I'd agreed to the needle biopsy, but I was okay with the wait. Keep away from me with your pointy objects.

Live and in person!

This past Saturday I participated in the 23rd Collingswood Book Festival in Collingswood, NJ. This was an event I'd signed up for last year, then pulled my back out by loading the car. This year, all that was done early, and we spent the night at a friend's in Collingswood so we wouldn't have to run around like maniacs in the morning to get there by 7:30.

Nothing should start that early.

Not that it did, but to get 100+ authors loaded onto the sidewalks, their cars removed, and then the streets officially closed - well, it's not my place to argue logistics. I just sent my husband off for more coffee and swayed gently in the morning breeze until it arrived and I could face setting up.

This is the first time I've ever set up my entire tent for books - usually it's craft show with a side table for books. So the extra time came in handy because I arranged and rearranged things about six times.

The crowds were plentiful all day, and everyone was very into the idea of books. (Obviously, at a book festival, but I've had people come to craft shows with no interest in crafts). I sold a lot of the Tudor books with the old covers, which I was trying to move at a discount because I hate having them just sit in a trunk in the living room.

(In other words, if you're interested in a 4-book series with the older ceiling covers, they're $40 plus media mail shipping and I can get them out asap).

As an introvert, seven hours of talking to people is really draining, but when it's about a topic that I'm passionate about, I don't notice until it's over. Then I folded faster than my tent and couldn't wait to get home and put myself on the charger (i.e,. a glass of wine and my bed).

Exhaustion or not, I've already signed up to do it again next year.

And BTW, not surprisingly, the thing that drew most people into the tent was my vintage typewriter. 

Shifting Stages Cover Reveal

I feel like there should be music with this...

Something sultry, to go with the feather fans...

But instead it's just a blurb and some links. I hope you enjoy:

Beyond the footlights, a new calling

Philadelphia, 1949. For Thelma Kimber, dance isn’t just a passion; it’s the very thing that saved her, a triumph over a crippling childhood illness. She has fought for her place in the spotlight, but when a devastating diagnosis threatens to steal it all, she’s forced to confront a terrifying question: if she isn’t a dancer, who is she?

As her dreams shatter, a bold new opportunity beckons. With a director’s intriguing offer and the unwavering support of her closest friends, Thelma steps onto a different kind of stage, discovering a surprising new talent and the true cost of independence.

But the journey is fraught with obstacles. To build her new life, Thelma must learn to trust her instincts and redefine success on her own terms, even as it challenges her hard-won freedom.

Shifting Stages is a powerful, emotional journey for fans of historical women's fiction. Explore one woman's resilience as she redefines her destiny amidst the vibrant backdrop of post-war Philadelphia and bustling New York City.

US: https://a.co/d/imGQdzS

UK: https://amzn.eu/d/e58Df86

CA: https://a.co/d/2ulhiwg

AU: https://amzn.asia/d/3j8HMDS

 

Still Sewing

I'm still sewing, just not as often. The craft show/ handmade business portion of my life is winding down, but I can't stop until I use up more of my stash - there's way too much fabric in this house for me to be a lady of leisure yet.

While I can knock out production sewing - multiples of the sme item, even if in different fabric - without thinking about it, I still like custom orders the best.

Because most are made with provided fabric or garments, each one comes with a story. Todays' bear is no different.

I was contacted by a woman who'd seen my work in a local shop. She's getting married in October and asked if I would make a bear for her mother from the mother's 1980s wedding dress, some of her wedding dress, and a few items belonging to her dad. I said of course, I'd be pleased to do it!

She showed up last week with a poofy meringue of a gown in a trash bag (just the way her mom had stored it), several strips of fabric from her gown, a few patches from Dad's school athlete days, a bracelet of her mother's, and a name patch and pin of Dad's. What I did with them was up to me. Mom wasn't particulary sentimental, she said, so it didn't have to be very "bridal" unless I found a way to make it work.

I think I did.

Body from Mom's gown (only the sleeves). Ears and feet from daughter's gown. Patch on belly, bracelet and pin like military medals. On the back, Dad's name, surrounded by "wings" made up of appliques from hte sleeves. I added another applique to the bear's forehead to hide the join where I gave her a tiny bridal veil, made out of the exaggeratedly large puff of netting which was the sleeve shaping. (I said 1980s, and it was). There are two further tiny floral appliques on the feet.

I think it came out adorable, and she's coming to pick it up very soon. I hope she's pleased. Even more, I hope her mom is pleased.

Wild Life

Not a lot to report this week. 

There's writing going on, my finger is healing, the garden is panicking and producing far too much produce, and I'm coping with most of it. 

Self-medicating with a few Robert Redford films. My God, that man was beautiful. 

Walking home from a gallery opening the other night, we saw this guy on our street, about a half a block from our house. According to a neighbor, he's called Waffle, and if you're walking a dog, he will follow you like he wants to make friends. 

It's almost enough to make me get a dog, so I can become friends with a fox.

What's Next?

First off, thank you for all the comments and concern about my finger. It's feeling better, I'm feeling stupid, and two of the stitches have already come out on their own, so I'm thinking I probably don't need to go back to urgent care next weekend. Yay me.

Typing has not been fun minus a finger. Because I learned on a manual typewriter, I don't type lightly with the pads of my fingers, but I stomp with the tips. That doesn't work with little bits of wire sticking out, as I soon discovered. So I'm a little slower than usual, but I'm still working. 

I've just realized it's only a little more than two months before my next release. It's not a full book, but it was never intended to be. When I wrote my Ava and Claire books, I stopped in the late 30s because I didn't want to write a World War II book. There are so many already, and I didn't know how much I'd have to say about the homefront and I didn't really want to follow the brothers. 

But the brothers had other ideas. So Home for Christmas is a novella set in December, 1941. The first Christmas after Pearl harbor, when men all over America joined up. Some were already gone, some made it back for the holiday, and some - like my character George - were still trying to figure out how to go.

Here's the official blurb to go with the cover. Did I mention I love the cover? Did I mention I love my cover designer? I want to write more books just so I can give her more covers to do.

In a season of miracles, could one little girl's greatest wish come true?

December, 1941. America grapples with the aftermath of Pearl Harbor. For Ava's family, the approaching Christmas feels different, weighted with the absence of her son Toby, who has already enlisted. His departure casts a long shadow, particularly over his younger brother, George, who has never been separated from him.

As her eldest son contributes to the war effort in the shipyards and her daughter Pearl contemplates her role in a nation at war, Ava witnesses the resilience of her other children: Thelma, determined to pursue her dreams, and little Grace, whose one wish is that they all spend one last Christmas together.

Amidst the anxieties of wartime, Ava must hold onto the enduring power of family and the fragile hope that even in the darkest of times, miracles can still unfold.

The Nine Fingered Writer

Well, this wasn't what I intended to write about this week, but it certainly the biggest thing that happened. 

On Saturday, I decided to deal with the produce that was stacking up in the kitchen. I was going to chop cucumbers and tomatoes for salad, but decided instead to get out my new mandoline and make pickles.

Do you see where this is going? 

It was the first time I'd used it. It made such amazingly thin slices. I kept going. Until. 

Then, all of a sudden, I was running up the steps yelling for my husband to get the bandaids. I sat on the toilet lid and told him what I needed, and my vision kept going spotty (I'm not good with blood generally, but especially not my own). The next thing I knew, he was on the phone with 911 because I'd passed out.

I came to and told him off for fussing at me, which is terrible *and*completely on brand. 

Two female EMTs came and asked if I wanted to go to the hospital. I said no. They asked if I wanted to go to urgent care. I said no. 

Where did I end up at 7 p.m.? Urgent care.

Five sutures and the most painful shots I've ever had in my life - directly into the wound to numb it for stitching - and a doctor who didn't appreciate the range of my profanity when she have me those needles. 

I'm grateful that I got a tetanus shot while I was on my doctor binge this past winter; at least I didn't have to deal with that. 

It doesn't hurt, except when I bang it into things, which I do at least four times a day. 

The mandoline qent for a new home on Monday via Buy Nothing. I am not careful enough to be trusted with a kitchen razor. I'll stick to knives. I understand how they work.