tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12780850193705606322024-03-18T16:17:11.525-04:00Karen HeenanKarenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00449229622474314815noreply@blogger.comBlogger1552125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1278085019370560632.post-36117254641173381692024-03-13T11:34:00.003-04:002024-03-13T11:34:00.133-04:00Enemies to Lovers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL9-bEGy-8Is6ZAUN1TEEo3t_xxcshHe8hqsNtcsdkbV0hk5aWdsaD5ADK8v3lNitiLhi3ssedLwfITpurmtvReQUSiuRrB28bXE1y61D3z-N-0X6frJRIF4S6xB26Y8ZB8w7a15XVEYevT68w9HvwxfrIpcyDfN8cZHBdI8tWqk-3Ao1c0ggdljjjaG0/s2048/cat1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1332" data-original-width="2048" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL9-bEGy-8Is6ZAUN1TEEo3t_xxcshHe8hqsNtcsdkbV0hk5aWdsaD5ADK8v3lNitiLhi3ssedLwfITpurmtvReQUSiuRrB28bXE1y61D3z-N-0X6frJRIF4S6xB26Y8ZB8w7a15XVEYevT68w9HvwxfrIpcyDfN8cZHBdI8tWqk-3Ao1c0ggdljjjaG0/w400-h260/cat1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>We're not there yet, but things are definitely improving. They're willing to eat side-by-side, but most of the time they don't want to be in the same room.<div><br /></div><div>One exception: early morning, when the front door lets in sun across the living room carpet. They both want that, and they're willing to share.</div><div><br /></div><div>Generally Rufus has the front, and Tessa lines up behind him.</div><div><br /></div><div>The day I took these two photos, she got closer than usual. She was growling quietly, but that seems to be her standard - she's always on high alert for danger, even when she's the one putting herself in the line of fire by lying behind her sparring partner.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGwYF5gbHITHcbt5iTm6qwwRYHiTCRLAvgdqgh0X89UKd67OxJgTkAJSCNT4RaRLx3kM8GIFmOV2RC6usctLBJdJPuvdWTgmhAHCHgYYNGHzFlkt95H8Mv-xbwO5zwR_fDE-y4mbiepQ3DcC9sa7m2JFYFrJMyD30454tVZ68lOz6BtcFu9RWgBI0vnIg/s2048/cat2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1263" data-original-width="2048" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGwYF5gbHITHcbt5iTm6qwwRYHiTCRLAvgdqgh0X89UKd67OxJgTkAJSCNT4RaRLx3kM8GIFmOV2RC6usctLBJdJPuvdWTgmhAHCHgYYNGHzFlkt95H8Mv-xbwO5zwR_fDE-y4mbiepQ3DcC9sa7m2JFYFrJMyD30454tVZ68lOz6BtcFu9RWgBI0vnIg/w400-h246/cat2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />Then the impossible happened. She moved up, threw herself down again, and put an arm over him. Rufus opened one eye and quickly closed it again - if he didn't acknowledge it, maybe it wasn't real?</div><div><br /></div><div>But I call progress, even though it only lasted a few minutes.</div>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00449229622474314815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1278085019370560632.post-8935078658922869022024-03-06T11:01:00.000-05:002024-03-06T11:01:00.146-05:00Rage against the machines<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDMbu2crRIwTGSQsXG75SngsmlqrhBExkqEz25inmIO4ahZZhTSHeFYQauBXf2K-IMMwFylGI7pFaqbVG5o7njeTy7biikEbTNOLwij0gZ2mDC_xPQAQFs9hsW0CRJHPOkU8Wv9IePb8vIL8XmfNc5v-b7w4HzKMHVuOcDXGQYLpz4Y96FeCoPPC3lpm8/s1600/Princess%20of%20Spain%20final.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDMbu2crRIwTGSQsXG75SngsmlqrhBExkqEz25inmIO4ahZZhTSHeFYQauBXf2K-IMMwFylGI7pFaqbVG5o7njeTy7biikEbTNOLwij0gZ2mDC_xPQAQFs9hsW0CRJHPOkU8Wv9IePb8vIL8XmfNc5v-b7w4HzKMHVuOcDXGQYLpz4Y96FeCoPPC3lpm8/w256-h400/Princess%20of%20Spain%20final.jpg" width="256" /></a><div>I've mentioned before that I have done some experimenting with the different AI language models. Chat GPT and Google Bard (now Gemini) were actually quite helpful in rewriting my book descriptions for the Tudor Court series. It's not something I talk about to openly, because the writing community on social media is heavily weighted against the use of AI. </div><div><br /></div><div>The reasons are that it takes work from human creatives - the people who edit, provide book descriptions, design covers, etc. And don't even get them started on AI voice for audio books.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now, I'm a creator. So I do understand where the fear is coming from, but also, these are tools, and they are only as good as the users. Would you expect a chainsaw to know how to cut down a tree if no one was holding it?</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't mean to sound glib, but I have learned through experimentation that your results with these programs are only as good as the prompts they are given. It's not creativity in the same way as doing something from scratch, but find me a writer who likes to write a book description - a writer who can boil a 400 page book down to three paragraphs <i>that will sell the book </i>- and you're talking about one or two writers out of a vast number.</div><div><br /></div><div>Where I draw the line is with actual writing. I would never let AI write a book for me - or even a portion of one - because writing is what I enjoy and what I'm good at.</div><div><br /></div><div>One of the reasons that many of us became indie authors in the first place is that we didn't want to deal with gatekeepers, so I don't think it's right to gatekeep each other's choices when it comes to something as personal as our own business model. As they told us in school, keep your eyes on your own paper and don't worry about what someone else is doing.</div><div><br /></div><div>And as an example of what is possible with an AI art model, this is a cover that I did for Princess of Spain, which is the newest giveaway story for readers who sign up to my newsletter. You can get it <a href="https://dl.bookfunnel.com/3axliicgdx" target="_blank">here</a>. The prompt I gave it was this: <i>Please create a photo realistic illustration of a middle-aged white woman in dark-colored 16th century garb standing in a chapel. The room is shadowy, there are stained glass windows. The mood is contemplative.</i></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Bg4pKfaEaZpdQqdNTZAgcdSHE3yBxggz7emGJmGB2c4b8F3w7oLr7tX9HYlOcRWeK455PnCmNo-fSuFQ5dk1_Yv7qveNCWQFQDOI55Lfg5YwsX_cYoIZ5MTAi8IRRzHLiKmfYfFSI86F26Jbu9R-GUUutjItT7FuLt6eJbt9Oo5jQjjCl7xJq40XeYQ/s2000/Blank%202000%20x%202000%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1691" data-original-width="2000" height="339" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Bg4pKfaEaZpdQqdNTZAgcdSHE3yBxggz7emGJmGB2c4b8F3w7oLr7tX9HYlOcRWeK455PnCmNo-fSuFQ5dk1_Yv7qveNCWQFQDOI55Lfg5YwsX_cYoIZ5MTAi8IRRzHLiKmfYfFSI86F26Jbu9R-GUUutjItT7FuLt6eJbt9Oo5jQjjCl7xJq40XeYQ/w400-h339/Blank%202000%20x%202000%20(1).jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />The collage shows some of the results it gave me before I got more specific. Most of those, while pretty, are completely unusable, but the final - or at least the place where I decided to stop - is more than good enough. It's a 10,000 word short story; I would never hire a cover designer to put a cover on a short story. I'm not going to pay $100 plus (and sometimes considerably plus) for something that I'm giving away for free. Being in indie author also means managing your finances responsibly and knowing where and when you can spend money on things.</div><div><br /></div><div>Let me know your thoughts. We can agree to disagree, but any outright trolling on the subject will be deleted and the commenter will be blocked. We can all play nice.</div><p></p>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00449229622474314815noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1278085019370560632.post-32881590404033612642024-02-28T11:33:00.000-05:002024-02-28T11:33:00.170-05:00It happens every year<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuICN9YTqxr4T4GNE4JJ_LV87KXOejyIIKUdeWPTFhffdUZKhRn8Gs5OWxniuO-LoYgzhjHLF9qpyjfK6xNmaJj0oJ9avElVgo8XlpudJAg-7MQzAtOXEai4T5oPngVvpqWEYxZRolGTw8XgibKuR1hEnmhbf6Vz7V5hEgXjJOM2LAOM9cC2YnQiu6pSE/s2048/crocuses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1542" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuICN9YTqxr4T4GNE4JJ_LV87KXOejyIIKUdeWPTFhffdUZKhRn8Gs5OWxniuO-LoYgzhjHLF9qpyjfK6xNmaJj0oJ9avElVgo8XlpudJAg-7MQzAtOXEai4T5oPngVvpqWEYxZRolGTw8XgibKuR1hEnmhbf6Vz7V5hEgXjJOM2LAOM9cC2YnQiu6pSE/w301-h400/crocuses.jpg" width="301" /></a></div>Autumn is my favorite season, but winter comes a close second. I like battening down the hatches and being indoors when it's cold outside. I like being outdoors when it's cold outside. I definitely do not like sweating, which is why summer is a distant fourth in the seasonal sweepstakes. <p> But this winter is ending early, and I'm not as upset as I could be. We had an actual winter storm a few weeks ago, and it started raining in the house, which entailed getting an entire new torch down rubber roll roof on the flat portion. Not inexpensive, but it could definitely have been worse, and it was one of those times where we just had to think, "pay now or pay later." We paid now. </p><p> And now, today, it's in the high 60s and I am going out to face what has become of the garden during the off season. As always, I put a few things aside in November to deal with later, and later has now come. And current me is swearing at November me for being a lazy cow and leaving me with all this to clean up. </p><p>It happens every year. I shouldn't be surprised.</p>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00449229622474314815noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1278085019370560632.post-2917043040255576102024-02-21T11:59:00.001-05:002024-02-21T11:59:00.121-05:00Sentimental journey<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcLTvmlZWaZKVFCMqjbYrMAND4-Nh3qh2YNZTX0eCTTRsGucHoTNYqD5yJD83MgDqk7pYnaiW-LgTDbOmBwnYyhZV0m4MmnmcfiGWertnLf1HEt4nN6MlKyElS9D_ntwjmOxOgj3meZZhjrW0Rf-QQ9kM6Kz6CHBeo0DzvnH8kmYkoHk5nIqbPEcLCv78/s3792/2024-02-19T17_52_42.299Z.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2631" data-original-width="3792" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcLTvmlZWaZKVFCMqjbYrMAND4-Nh3qh2YNZTX0eCTTRsGucHoTNYqD5yJD83MgDqk7pYnaiW-LgTDbOmBwnYyhZV0m4MmnmcfiGWertnLf1HEt4nN6MlKyElS9D_ntwjmOxOgj3meZZhjrW0Rf-QQ9kM6Kz6CHBeo0DzvnH8kmYkoHk5nIqbPEcLCv78/w400-h278/2024-02-19T17_52_42.299Z.jpg" width="400" /></a><div>A non-book-related post this week.</div><div><br /></div><div>Before Christmas, I was contacted by a woman who I'd met when I was vending at the local farmers market. She asked if it's be interested in doing something with her mother's vintage wedding gown.</div><div><br /></div><div>I said yes, so long as she didn't mind waiting until after the holidays. We got together in early January to discuss the project. She suggested pillows, one for her and one for her sister.</div><div><br /></div><div>Their mother got married in 1949, and the gown was a relatively plain ivory rayon satin. It was pretty, but it had been in a box (not even proper wedding gown storage) for more than sixty years. It had more sentimental value to them than value as a vintage garment. Even so, it was hard to make that first cut.</div><div><br /></div><div>I embroidered each woman's initial in the center of a rectangular panel, and then pieced strips of the satin around it. The fabric has such an exceptional glow that I wanted to use pieces to catch the light. Since she asked if there was a way that the covered buttons could be incorporated, I made two rosette-style flowers and used buttons as the centers. The backs of the pillows are a patchwork quilt that had been on their parents' bed their entire childhood.</div><div><br /></div><div>I finished the pillows on Friday and she stopped over on Sunday to collect them. I love making people cry.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUkzhJwuIZBBGS2Q7FCu0VzCDPtcgWB-l8_edFMG75hOcVq7pi-ede8e_rYDvCdLcH-_S1LlmdTaWSpKk9wWeXbfpRyGZzpC68OvakS1INANZy8ZZ8Bxet9bHFuNRufrbD9tnABf1YrLL1dl-CmFDHPVBHxSHIrl9qRDDamC8x5t9p6-lteXWETxjVY_E/s3684/2024-02-19T17_54_32.341Z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="3684" height="334" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUkzhJwuIZBBGS2Q7FCu0VzCDPtcgWB-l8_edFMG75hOcVq7pi-ede8e_rYDvCdLcH-_S1LlmdTaWSpKk9wWeXbfpRyGZzpC68OvakS1INANZy8ZZ8Bxet9bHFuNRufrbD9tnABf1YrLL1dl-CmFDHPVBHxSHIrl9qRDDamC8x5t9p6-lteXWETxjVY_E/w400-h334/2024-02-19T17_54_32.341Z.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYI1HV9e-0XRzqB4GuAexqKERAhCqLT3sCSnSXXR2BGPfynJqbtr75lPOzT8LR11x5saT1eMniLi1fTnVeI1fUDY5ALGZZaeBbmEb8V92StruuHze4X4_mkYwXwouGeXP75ZEhEONuzqRnKryN9JxTrQmWk4UstZgZAFrcQGkl_0g4Y0A5zYwMpCekkRk/s3473/2024-02-19T17_54_59.193Z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2842" data-original-width="3473" height="328" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYI1HV9e-0XRzqB4GuAexqKERAhCqLT3sCSnSXXR2BGPfynJqbtr75lPOzT8LR11x5saT1eMniLi1fTnVeI1fUDY5ALGZZaeBbmEb8V92StruuHze4X4_mkYwXwouGeXP75ZEhEONuzqRnKryN9JxTrQmWk4UstZgZAFrcQGkl_0g4Y0A5zYwMpCekkRk/w400-h328/2024-02-19T17_54_59.193Z.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><p></p>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00449229622474314815noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1278085019370560632.post-61084567208939942302024-02-14T11:47:00.001-05:002024-02-14T11:47:00.123-05:00What's next: The Son in Shadow<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihrXIq_t-e8BXoZlkLr2_hpm9cgUrr-Z38P1G90ZT5PVUOOLsRkg1ELEwW7OwipNMbkxMZzVWOxCJ_IbaIZ5PiZyK3LyQHfoz58q6-PLJNk6EEZkoJf3FYzpBseUvjH_RpLwwfYZkqp_vgM-SC2lSQChDEVBB6azk4V-HyTrjKWbj2wQ3n7Ta0TZxsYic/s1024/_173b6c96-f16b-48c4-960c-8e7852c96cab.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihrXIq_t-e8BXoZlkLr2_hpm9cgUrr-Z38P1G90ZT5PVUOOLsRkg1ELEwW7OwipNMbkxMZzVWOxCJ_IbaIZ5PiZyK3LyQHfoz58q6-PLJNk6EEZkoJf3FYzpBseUvjH_RpLwwfYZkqp_vgM-SC2lSQChDEVBB6azk4V-HyTrjKWbj2wQ3n7Ta0TZxsYic/w400-h400/_173b6c96-f16b-48c4-960c-8e7852c96cab.jpg" width="400" /></a>Now that Ava & Claire are fully launched into the world, I've gone back to my first love, the Tudor era.<div><br /></div><div>I thought there were going to be five full novels in the series, with a collection of short stories to finish it out, but it turns out that there will be four and the collection. The fifth book just isn't taking shape properly, and everything I've been working on with book four tells me that it's the proper end of the series. </div><div><br /></div><div>When the book is that definite, I don't argue.</div><div><br /></div><div>The illustration here is AI. There is a completed cover, but it's not yet for public consumption. Here's the blurb.<br /><p></p><i><b>The Son in Shadow: A Tale of Spies, Love, and Rebellion in the Elizabethan Court </b></i></div><div><br /></div><div><i>
Will Hawkins has spent his life under the thumb of powerful men, but no more. He's finally carved out a comfortable existence for himself, working in Elizabeth's court for the esteemed Cecil and Walsingham. His future appears secure and full of potential, especially with his burgeoning love for the delightful Kit Rowan, his niece's governess. </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>But Kit unknowingly harbors a dangerous secret, and when she comes under the watchful and unforgiving eye of Walsingham, Will's carefully constructed world begins to crumble. He's forced to make an agonizing choice: his future or the woman he loves. </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Desperate to save Kit from the spymaster's clutches, Will finds himself partnering with the last person he ever expected - his domineering father. Together, they embark on a perilous journey, navigating a web of deceit and political intrigue. Can they find a way to free Kit from Walsingham's grasp, or will their efforts be in vain, costing them not only their hearts, but their very lives?</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Drama, drama, right? A blurb has to suck readers in, and I'm hoping this will do just that. Now I need to keep writing so that the inside lives up to what's written on the cover.</div>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00449229622474314815noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1278085019370560632.post-13424901728013272042024-02-07T11:30:00.001-05:002024-02-07T11:30:00.136-05:00Catchall<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC8RBTqmwglh_CBreqOF9VuqvrwA48yqPgvv3XQb4IG1t2aemgf0SO1lF-Roy4pRGjzL_ntUdWMZWFmhtLcsCcYj68puHP-bWV1OrckGNx0_LxRt1t2AKtIQ-s6aygfCe0nSHYg3kN376ftkuVxXBtssirOQQiFVdsANSL8XgFZliUZk1OFmemCby6w0M/s2048/rufe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1359" data-original-width="2048" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC8RBTqmwglh_CBreqOF9VuqvrwA48yqPgvv3XQb4IG1t2aemgf0SO1lF-Roy4pRGjzL_ntUdWMZWFmhtLcsCcYj68puHP-bWV1OrckGNx0_LxRt1t2AKtIQ-s6aygfCe0nSHYg3kN376ftkuVxXBtssirOQQiFVdsANSL8XgFZliUZk1OFmemCby6w0M/w400-h265/rufe.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>This week it's just sort of a piecemeal, patchwork, catch-up affair - nothing major has happened. <p></p><p>I had a birthday, it was 60, we went out for a lovely dinner at our favorite French restaurant. The Ava & Claire omnibus dropped, the cats are still hissing and spitting but getting along better than they were, and we're going to need an entirely new flat roof on the back of the house. All of which makes me tired.</p><p>I'll be better by next week. In the meantime, enjoy the children competing to see who looks better in the chair that gets the afternoon sun.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDKnwQNjNt2iOlhd2J-qFWPLNzWGdRq80gmMkQPIJ5HEK3VtW9x-snX5hEQIXmQ_bEcY9I5GlYvHsFp2-P37z2pdEzLoQT2TPlnbt9SqFCJ5ItdfICNW3oRW7gLcA0wiY1Ey-wVI3PRykRwAWEAD5JUuJy72KXs-mTiksTDWmlQyJhzks_VPgu7xK8P4E/s2048/tess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1436" data-original-width="2048" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDKnwQNjNt2iOlhd2J-qFWPLNzWGdRq80gmMkQPIJ5HEK3VtW9x-snX5hEQIXmQ_bEcY9I5GlYvHsFp2-P37z2pdEzLoQT2TPlnbt9SqFCJ5ItdfICNW3oRW7gLcA0wiY1Ey-wVI3PRykRwAWEAD5JUuJy72KXs-mTiksTDWmlQyJhzks_VPgu7xK8P4E/w400-h280/tess.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00449229622474314815noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1278085019370560632.post-45051944302000271782024-01-31T13:13:00.008-05:002024-01-31T13:13:00.144-05:00And then there were two<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNb50ymkHYcCv4FhW7O43-CLKcxo3er8ag-ddYMkUEjNYcNgXkkb5GGpmRKzOLeaPk_Als2BeXMx6VVAMpP0WyD3f1rPfDl3YA1ewU63XDXstPCBgMRixYj3vQkwwLaAGViwS0P4LfMqepQXqOx_uNQgT2Kno8vP0PxJxJacf-ptwFAqyPDfcfevZxWeY/s960/tessa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="834" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNb50ymkHYcCv4FhW7O43-CLKcxo3er8ag-ddYMkUEjNYcNgXkkb5GGpmRKzOLeaPk_Als2BeXMx6VVAMpP0WyD3f1rPfDl3YA1ewU63XDXstPCBgMRixYj3vQkwwLaAGViwS0P4LfMqepQXqOx_uNQgT2Kno8vP0PxJxJacf-ptwFAqyPDfcfevZxWeY/w348-h400/tessa.jpg" width="348" /></a></div>So I've been saying almost since the time we got Rufus that we needed two cats. But after a few months without one, and not finding any bonded pairs at the local rescue that appealed, we got Rufus and decided to find a second one when the time seemed right.<p></p><p>But the time never seemed right. All the cats shown were either too old or too young or needed only cat households or had expensive health problems.</p><p>Then came Tessa.</p><p>She'd been rescued sometime last year with a litter of kittens. They'd been put in a box with the trash, and the rescuer happened to hear them. Tessa had stayed with her kittens, and the whole box of them got brought home. The kittens were adopted quickly, but Tessa sort of fell through the cracks. Once the kittens were gone, other high profile, dramatic rescues happened and she somehow wasn't even on the website.</p><p>Once I saw her photo, I asked to meet her. She was sweet, but a bit shaken up, because her foster had a dog that was chasing her around. The next day we picked her up and brought her home, and over the last 10 days we've been gradually introducing then to each other, swapping out their rooms, letting them sniff at the door, doing supervised face-to-face meetings.</p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis9lhNYBFcpaJJrqYWqBLDRpG7I3SFpniDPqwg-GzAg4QOxXYZeCJMRtPujta7eiTV4Y8TmxTJfiqkCWy0qHnOSoTVuKa07oUBySRYhve16fMTn5RrHb79UHDCv4ZbP6LVicO3sMlt4EIKH-qCbTiO1xhoY52WpUafjRbpUzM44KwkNI_4EgF-CBLKgUs/s1120/422382662_10231524072185467_1971912339738339921_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1120" data-original-width="843" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis9lhNYBFcpaJJrqYWqBLDRpG7I3SFpniDPqwg-GzAg4QOxXYZeCJMRtPujta7eiTV4Y8TmxTJfiqkCWy0qHnOSoTVuKa07oUBySRYhve16fMTn5RrHb79UHDCv4ZbP6LVicO3sMlt4EIKH-qCbTiO1xhoY52WpUafjRbpUzM44KwkNI_4EgF-CBLKgUs/s320/422382662_10231524072185467_1971912339738339921_n.jpg" width="241" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at his offended little face!</td></tr></tbody></table>Last weekend we opened all the doors and let them free range. There's been hissing and growling and a heck of a lot of chasing, but no claws or teeth or bloodshed. </p><p>Rufus went from extremely territorial to doing this stiff legged Pepe Le Pew dance before prostrating himself before her. He wants to play. She looks at him like he's a fool and either walks off or smacks him on the head and walks off.</p><p>They'll get there. It's enemies to lovers, not insta-love. But it's nice having two cats again, and Tessa's a cuddler. It's been a long time since I've had a cat curl up on the love seat with me to take a nap. My productivity may take a nosedive.</p>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00449229622474314815noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1278085019370560632.post-8814836478723280222024-01-24T11:43:00.001-05:002024-01-24T11:43:00.135-05:00Snow day, rain likely<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdmWqV3dX0Z04eDR3uz3nYlkfu9tYfsn_hTp9Wpb_sziAsS16QWg3_-SjwoNCiUegv_SDh3gmWxrQ8TjOLz2-c_JEE_A133T-TnUIWO4vzQ0Qs3wAy-W7PfFomYYDn8g2DOzvIFlaNt-pNKwA7Q2njAN_u00aZt8qPHdCAFQlEWsEfEr3RUKmhzhixvEE/s2048/420654854_10231491862980257_1979375621851493680_n.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1612" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdmWqV3dX0Z04eDR3uz3nYlkfu9tYfsn_hTp9Wpb_sziAsS16QWg3_-SjwoNCiUegv_SDh3gmWxrQ8TjOLz2-c_JEE_A133T-TnUIWO4vzQ0Qs3wAy-W7PfFomYYDn8g2DOzvIFlaNt-pNKwA7Q2njAN_u00aZt8qPHdCAFQlEWsEfEr3RUKmhzhixvEE/w315-h400/420654854_10231491862980257_1979375621851493680_n.jpg" width="315" /></a>It snowed the other day, for the first time in a solid two years. We've been having a lot of rain, but I'd rather have snow - it's prettier, it makes everything quiet, and nobody gets a rain day off work. I had my husband at home on Friday because the university closed. <div><br /></div><div>The downside with snow is that it's also water. And that water began dripping through the corner of the back bedroom ceiling Sunday night. It's the outside corner of the roof, where it attaches to the downspout, so we figured it was most likely an ice dam - though I couldn't see anything from ground level - or the roofing surface had peeled back from the flashing at the edge and water was getting in that way. </div><div><br /></div><div>Either was bad. </div><div><br /></div><div>The water was dripping down the bookshelves in my husband's office. Bookshelves that hold his collection of graphic novels and comic books. Thankfully he is one of those collectors who puts everything tightly into a sealed plastic bag, or the weeping and wailing would have been tremendous. As it was, there was just sprinting with arm loads of damp plastic and the hallway still looks like a bookstore. Nothing is going back in until we're certain that the problem has been solved. </div><div><br /></div><div>After we got everything out of harm's way, I called a local roofer highly recommended by the town Facebook group. His wife got back to me promptly and he came out Monday afternoon. We've been in the house for six years now, and we really should have had the roof coated at some point. Note to self: that's what always happens when you put off a job, it comes around to bite you in the ass.
<br /><br /></div><div>There's rain in the forecast. Fingers crossed it only occurs outside the house.</div>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00449229622474314815noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1278085019370560632.post-40457020982855000802024-01-17T11:30:00.001-05:002024-01-17T11:30:00.139-05:00Storytellers<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUP968CFDhQc8g5E5UhNBVMRxixrTsOIHoISrdpLgEmtSXWBbgv-I14CLDFJoGwbSctorbKRSn2QGUjXotoVmXSjcBpexzYfrrzu070cFTfqh1P6PmnblWHdldF0KO_LBI3zVvuVsXb9yfnzPKmNaV2vq8RQYPZfAU5y-YsbMeJYON5bXeexeN5aqTczg/s1276/Facebook%20Event%20Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="646" data-original-width="1276" height="325" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUP968CFDhQc8g5E5UhNBVMRxixrTsOIHoISrdpLgEmtSXWBbgv-I14CLDFJoGwbSctorbKRSn2QGUjXotoVmXSjcBpexzYfrrzu070cFTfqh1P6PmnblWHdldF0KO_LBI3zVvuVsXb9yfnzPKmNaV2vq8RQYPZfAU5y-YsbMeJYON5bXeexeN5aqTczg/w640-h325/Facebook%20Event%20Cover.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />I come from a family of storytellers. Not writers - they wouldn't have thought to do that - but they could tell stories, and many of those stories built a world in me that came out on my Ava and Claire books.<p></p><p>My great aunt Margaret (my cover girl) talked about the Depression. She was very nearly the same age as my characters. My dad wasn't much younger, but he had a very different upbringing. While my great grandmother kept up a pretense of gentility, even when they were poor, my dad was the youngest of a dozen kids, who stopped going to school at 12 to get a job, and who told me about going to the rail yards at night with his friends to pick coal off the tracks and to see if any of the boxcars were unlocked.</p><p>A different world, and one I tried to reproduce.</p><p>For anyone who's read the Ava and Claire books, the prequel novella about Claire's wedding and the Thanksgiving epilogue will only be available as newsletter bonuses until the end of the month. After that they'll be included in the new <a href="https://books2read.com/cominghomecollection" target="_blank">omnibus</a> and the freebie will be Tudor-themed, as my next book will be a return to that series.</p><p>If you want the freebies, you can sign up <a href="https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/g9n7e7" target="_blank">here</a>. I won't spam you - after the initial sequence confirming you've downloaded your bonuses, I check in once a month unless there's a sale or a new release to tell you about.</p>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00449229622474314815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1278085019370560632.post-16024536009192368282024-01-10T11:30:00.002-05:002024-01-10T12:42:45.179-05:00Handwork<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuGQBpokRi4FPgrI8XdjHxkrLaBSHebhw9rR93j_Eb-IkQcZctjhT32L_ASk9253ZKZpyNE4HZwFcEGsJRlV81edIlT9o6VWLv74WVzvD_TiNTMvRC8s3HPynxW1KSQg7H4qfIfHe220GYaf1LmfgAg9CiIpeBcRz7Wh1rOGtVdlec-yhD_tAXeJnZWVI/s1080/2024-01-10T17_33_43.619Z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="693" data-original-width="1080" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuGQBpokRi4FPgrI8XdjHxkrLaBSHebhw9rR93j_Eb-IkQcZctjhT32L_ASk9253ZKZpyNE4HZwFcEGsJRlV81edIlT9o6VWLv74WVzvD_TiNTMvRC8s3HPynxW1KSQg7H4qfIfHe220GYaf1LmfgAg9CiIpeBcRz7Wh1rOGtVdlec-yhD_tAXeJnZWVI/w400-h256/2024-01-10T17_33_43.619Z.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>This Monday I went to my town's fiber arts meetup. I always intend to go, and I've only gotten there a few times before. <p></p><p>It started during Covid as a meetup in one member's backyard so the makers in town (and there are many) could get out of their houses while still keeping their hands busy. Now it's held in the local maker space, which is less personal, but warmer and with better light.</p><p>The reason I've often ended up not going is that when I'm working on a project, I plow straight on to the finish. And for this meetup, I need hand work. Over the weekend, I finished piecing four custom Christmas stockings made from baby clothes, and I held off doing the applique and embroidery work because I knew I could do that on Monday night.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgVMIxpCtr2kk3c3uFhl3F7IVw6ndWRF8t7YN2i6PJi3_AIfAIiGC8AJ5WTLl7ePBEWojto3UDU4zRlRexymH-AhzJ_R_bZJQhBacdhN1fNaYWUJmOIIT2qQXcr4Y3u60ukxoU_IQpml8EarFaYlnOj_NHD_j7ALT2nZ5KLzrTKjZvlBsf1SRcdLQoHVQ/s960/411508115_912685416895885_1420089513513871476_n.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="724" data-original-width="960" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgVMIxpCtr2kk3c3uFhl3F7IVw6ndWRF8t7YN2i6PJi3_AIfAIiGC8AJ5WTLl7ePBEWojto3UDU4zRlRexymH-AhzJ_R_bZJQhBacdhN1fNaYWUJmOIIT2qQXcr4Y3u60ukxoU_IQpml8EarFaYlnOj_NHD_j7ALT2nZ5KLzrTKjZvlBsf1SRcdLQoHVQ/s320/411508115_912685416895885_1420089513513871476_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>And I actually got them done. It was nice to sit there with coffee and a half dozen other women and catch up on our projects and our lives. It happens every other week, and I'm going to try to make it a more regular occurrence.<br /></p><p>What about you? Do you like getting together with others or do you prefer your creative pursuits done alone? No judgment here - I'm firmly in both camps.</p>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00449229622474314815noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1278085019370560632.post-24513288592099739772024-01-03T14:08:00.001-05:002024-01-03T14:08:37.017-05:002023 Recap<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ9Pbco07ykRbtkB_EzbgLP2tc9q0Hwn31g9L5JwgFC-KzqtNNrYO3cm86GkipCRs7Jja1Y6KhOxIpNh4H6E7byWbJxl7NLBNWdhOIMokkidU1IcphsdwfBxIb3m0P9QryC5QSUS6k6Vy_TH_ErHn5S2XWtgiyAqZliiVoM_8nviqHlH78W1jEM1IbjIc/s5472/glen-carrie-TGeFx4x4NHU-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ9Pbco07ykRbtkB_EzbgLP2tc9q0Hwn31g9L5JwgFC-KzqtNNrYO3cm86GkipCRs7Jja1Y6KhOxIpNh4H6E7byWbJxl7NLBNWdhOIMokkidU1IcphsdwfBxIb3m0P9QryC5QSUS6k6Vy_TH_ErHn5S2XWtgiyAqZliiVoM_8nviqHlH78W1jEM1IbjIc/s320/glen-carrie-TGeFx4x4NHU-unsplash.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />Indulge me a little, if you don't mind.<p></p><p>A few friends (the ones on the snarky scale) tell me that I worship at the altar of productivity. They're not wrong; they just mean it in a negative sense but I've always seen productivity as a positive. Maybe it's not healthy, but I've always judged myself by how much I've gotten done. I think it's the remainder of that bored only child - I can't be bored if I'm <i>busy</i>.</p><p>So, in writing/publishing, I put out two books this year: <i>Coming Closer</i> and <i>Coming Together</i>. I've assembled the ebook omnibus for the <i>Ava & Claire </i>trilogy, and that will be released on my birthday in January as <i><a href="https://books2read.com/cominghomecollection" target="_blank">Coming Home</a>.</i></p><p>I've taken workshops on marketing and advertising; I've edited two books for other people; I've commissioned covers after trying (and failing, again) to design my own. The answer to the question, "Would I be better off writing?" is almost always "yes."</p><p>In animal news, we lost Harriet in February and acquired Rufus in April, after two very strange cat-free months. At some point, Rufus will get a friend because he's insistent upon being a cat and not a cuddly, non-verbal family member, and I want a writing and sewing buddy.</p><p>The garden was both out of control and very productive this year. I neglected to pull the volunteer tomatoes before they set fruit - and then I feel bad about yanking them - so I ended the season with eighteen plants, enough jars of sauce for the next two years, and a lot of happy neighbors. Produce and canned goods are currency in my town. The fig rree also put out its fair share, and that turned into nineteen half-pint jars of jam. </p><p>There was no "real" vacation this year because we lost the credits for our thrice-postponed trip, but we did end up going to Vegas for my writing conference, which was a half-decent vacation when I was able to focus. I'd never want to go there for any other reason, though. I have nightmares that look like Vegas felt.</p><p>Even though I'm not usually the type to write it down, when I make my next day's to-do list lately, I've been writing down three things that I was grateful for during the day that just ended. It keeps me looking out for those good things throughout the day, and no matter how bad the day was, I can always manage to be grateful for my husband and coffee, and then I only have to find one more.</p>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00449229622474314815noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1278085019370560632.post-17837823804058646422023-12-27T11:30:00.001-05:002023-12-27T11:30:00.144-05:00A merry little Christmas<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBHn6Yo0_TjGLBWRiiB0tMbcVmJ48GJ6MogaFzs96vGqjjyKRKwTqq34ZKDgxDaJtMVQJj5Nv5UU4Yu3cewo7IutqVncYEya1wmxWtteao7nduU9Vt8f7BVUg-69S-yvMp5c2sU85r4T_z2THQ3vxnY2OAezn-8Hs5Xnhf1hEeynLTU3p5QQoBj_YNDEQ/s1080/2023-12-27T01_54_46.228Z.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="872" data-original-width="1080" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBHn6Yo0_TjGLBWRiiB0tMbcVmJ48GJ6MogaFzs96vGqjjyKRKwTqq34ZKDgxDaJtMVQJj5Nv5UU4Yu3cewo7IutqVncYEya1wmxWtteao7nduU9Vt8f7BVUg-69S-yvMp5c2sU85r4T_z2THQ3vxnY2OAezn-8Hs5Xnhf1hEeynLTU3p5QQoBj_YNDEQ/s320/2023-12-27T01_54_46.228Z.jpg" width="320" /></a><div>Low key was the order of the day. My husband is feeling much better but I've apparently started a completely unrelated cold, the kind with the huge surprise sneezes that come with the risk of putting your back out.</div><div><br /></div><div>We waffled about whether to do our big meal on the 24th or the day itself, but decided to go with Christmas Eve. The meal is important because we don't go gifts anymore, just usually go shopping and buy something fancy and spend the day wrecking the kitchen. Neither of us had the energy for that, so we made paella from a box and added extra mussels and peas, and it was delicious.</div><div><br /></div><div>The box said four servings. That was probably accurate because we each had two, and then fell back on the couch and moaned about how full we were.</div><div><br /></div><div>That didn't stop us from going to our local cafe the next morning for breakfast. They were open until noon today and the town came out to support the owner getting up on Christmas morning to take care of us. There were probably a dozen people there, and I knew all of them. One of the perks of being in a small town.</div><div><br /></div><div>After that, we took a long walk to settle all the calories and then came home. </div><div><br /></div><div>Nothing wrong with a quiet holiday. Nothing at all.</div><p></p>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00449229622474314815noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1278085019370560632.post-68921292224854981122023-12-20T11:30:00.002-05:002023-12-20T11:30:17.195-05:00Positively positive<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ1VxsNtuCXmnjQxa8B0zPSJxu6mQdp9NpxdLPjI2gXOIpubRkLLOuK2Yor_92kUxsttRccEf33NgGvzsAvtsf0_S2OGesMtIDRfPk2d6WhT5zKpUylRuoUCY2s49fio9WKK_Sl0kYdwnEUSRaCSffdxo0EybmOH0UGLVf5e8buxUxcdF5Co10BiuMcM0/s6000/medakit-ltd-yYhZuITR9Go-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ1VxsNtuCXmnjQxa8B0zPSJxu6mQdp9NpxdLPjI2gXOIpubRkLLOuK2Yor_92kUxsttRccEf33NgGvzsAvtsf0_S2OGesMtIDRfPk2d6WhT5zKpUylRuoUCY2s49fio9WKK_Sl0kYdwnEUSRaCSffdxo0EybmOH0UGLVf5e8buxUxcdF5Co10BiuMcM0/w400-h266/medakit-ltd-yYhZuITR9Go-unsplash.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Well, this was unexpected.<p></p><p>Maybe it shouldn't have been - most of us have either experienced this or been anticipating it since March 2020 - but there are only two positive tests I don't want to see, and the ship has sailed for the other one.</p><p>It's not me; my husband went to his office's holiday party at a bowling alley last Thursday, and by Saturday was feeling achy. Sunday he had a sore throat. Monday was a cough and chills. Yesterday was a fever.</p><p>I'm clear so far. Not sure how, but I'll take it because someone needs to be healthy enough to ask, "Have you taken your cough medicine? What was your temperature just then?"</p><p>He's feeling some better already. Not there yet, by any means, but I think for the most part we've also all forgotten how to be sick. Masking didn't just prevent Covid, it kept all the normal nasty germs and allergens from getting in.</p><p>What absolutely astounds me is that we flew to Las Vegas, hung out in a smoky, crowded casino with thousands of people, and then flew home again, and while a lot of attendees did get Covid and RSV and just general con crud, we didn't. </p><p>At a bowling alley. A freaking bowling alley. </p><p>Christmas will be quiet this year. (There's an upside to everything if you look for it).<br /> </p>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00449229622474314815noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1278085019370560632.post-56827033582438866982023-12-13T12:53:00.005-05:002023-12-13T12:53:58.074-05:00Insomnia<p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS4SvSqS4_slNjCQz-lMWmEK7Tmugl4z8g9pSbiEYaHDVnNDryQXOQ7tKSd0f-wmPi2UDxNwQgleUjxzX2Sn0oiKO6vJDACqW_f3KVujqVshCVMih4JRJWVb2pQqsDlaH46uSU18_9kWDON7TNEawbVSbAyqP-3am1Yi2ESsaOJXogloxAR_vxY2D2W58/s4080/2023-12-13T17_50_00.121Z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2338" data-original-width="4080" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS4SvSqS4_slNjCQz-lMWmEK7Tmugl4z8g9pSbiEYaHDVnNDryQXOQ7tKSd0f-wmPi2UDxNwQgleUjxzX2Sn0oiKO6vJDACqW_f3KVujqVshCVMih4JRJWVb2pQqsDlaH46uSU18_9kWDON7TNEawbVSbAyqP-3am1Yi2ESsaOJXogloxAR_vxY2D2W58/w400-h229/2023-12-13T17_50_00.121Z.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rufus can <i>always</i> sleep.<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />I'll be 60 in January. No, I have no idea how that happened, and it's a topic for another day.</p><p>What I'm thinking about today - because I haven't slept - is another one of the benefits of aging. How much more I can get done be because I'm rarely tired at bedtime.</p><p>Peri- and then full-on menopause has been fun. Not. Would not recommend. Except for the parts that I would, like a better sense of what my body is going to do (gain weight, slow down, ache in random places) and the at-first-insulting but then rather wonderful realization that I'm now mostly invisible to a certain class of annoying people.</p><p>Which means I don't have to worry about impressing anyone except myself and the select few I care enough to want to impress. It's lovely.</p><p>All this to say, I couldn't sleep the other night. I listened to my favorite bedtime podcast, <a href="https://www.nothingmuchhappens.com/" target="_blank">Nothing Much Happens</a>, where a woman reads lovely, no conflict, low stakes stories that normally relax me and send me to sleep long before she's finished.</p><p>Except that night's episode was called <i>The Pantry</i>. It was a simple story about the kind of chores we put off, and how good cleaning and organizing your space can make you feel.</p><p>Not a good thing to tell me when I'm lying there, still with my tank half full. I wanted to get up and go down to the basement and organize things. I wanted to scrub the floor. That's how I knew I was stupid tired, because I never want to do that.</p><p>And guess what? Next day, did I get any of that done? </p><p>Nope. </p><p>Tomorrow is another day.</p>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00449229622474314815noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1278085019370560632.post-84188534314225120422023-12-06T11:49:00.000-05:002023-12-06T11:49:00.132-05:00Representation matters<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZahYD4maRymNJbZkbfPvbR3tJGXB36VGq2U2IiqqiR5T2zXuKHNqO1ER9wLYJSEieava7cSqA8YPf_fQ9TtI38UbWbkS2xC8lUREcdIDyLIMrbxhqvElqwbLAbzG6i90ovgMa7_9sK-uOmfz9uZ-m6WRJo3FXwYcBjLOhRLZZ2zvvYgKfFiKKTLS1jeI/s960/405375808_906127610884999_5242640208190405266_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="767" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZahYD4maRymNJbZkbfPvbR3tJGXB36VGq2U2IiqqiR5T2zXuKHNqO1ER9wLYJSEieava7cSqA8YPf_fQ9TtI38UbWbkS2xC8lUREcdIDyLIMrbxhqvElqwbLAbzG6i90ovgMa7_9sK-uOmfz9uZ-m6WRJo3FXwYcBjLOhRLZZ2zvvYgKfFiKKTLS1jeI/w320-h400/405375808_906127610884999_5242640208190405266_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Stepping away from books agin this week to talk about a custom order I just shipped out on Monday. A woman reached out to me, and said that her four-year-old granddaughter was obsessed with the character of Chrissie from <i>Daniel Tiger</i>. Apparently Chrissy has spina bifida and uses crutches and braces on her legs. The little girl had never seen a doll like her before, and Grandma wanted to know could I do something similar that wasn't exactly Chrissie.<p></p><p>It's high craft show season, so custom orders aren't my favorite, but I took this one as a challenge. I didn't have any pale gray felt on hand, and since this order was already going to take more time than it should have, I wasn't going to run up to the fabric store to buy any. The braces and the crutches are made from felt of another color, covered with light gray cotton which I did have in stash.</p><p>The braces are stitched onto the doll's legs, while the crutches have a snap fastener so they can come off her wrists. I was baffled with what to use for the crutches, and then it came to me that straws would work. Of course, I didn't have any of those either, but my local buy nothing group supplied a handful. Really, the hardest part of the whole doll experience was calculating the width of fabric to make tubes for the straws. I left a tab of fabric at the top, to be sewn to the cuff, and the leftover fabric at the bottom was tucked inside the straw using the tube turner.</p><p>I can't wait to hear what the little girl thinks of her.</p><p>Also, because everything does lead back to books eventually, another reason I wanted to do this was because the youngest daughter in <i>Coming Apart </i>wears braces on her legs, and I tried to imagine how it would feel to her to find a doll that looked like her. Representation matters.</p>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00449229622474314815noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1278085019370560632.post-5668143384245841942023-11-29T16:23:00.001-05:002023-11-29T16:23:00.139-05:00It's the most exhausting time of the year<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfxKI_zID2q36J4QWmm7pR_8L5PR5wZzE1XUl1gtT-ylOTdMfV98c5LecMQDN82xlRlBzXlc9sotC5_MUPlyO_DQZj8GvgCrPWvfwOshhC67jl5z1d7Em3UmaWdsYIEfEXYveeNJh8GOj77pr1Z7NHVh8vLz57gyLDeAUuRURoe7D0CqC3qISBpfmnE-4/s775/show%2011-24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="481" data-original-width="775" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfxKI_zID2q36J4QWmm7pR_8L5PR5wZzE1XUl1gtT-ylOTdMfV98c5LecMQDN82xlRlBzXlc9sotC5_MUPlyO_DQZj8GvgCrPWvfwOshhC67jl5z1d7Em3UmaWdsYIEfEXYveeNJh8GOj77pr1Z7NHVh8vLz57gyLDeAUuRURoe7D0CqC3qISBpfmnE-4/w400-h249/show%2011-24.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Every year, I think it will be different. I'll get through craft show season, thanksgiving, and craft show season part 2 without turning into a puddle of goo on the living room floor. <p></p><p>And every year, it happens again.</p><p>This year, we actually hosted thanksgiving. It was just the two of us and my sister-in-law, but still. Butternut squash soup, roast turkey breast, duck fat potatoes, Mac and cheese, broccoli, cranberry sauce - from the can, as God intended - with crackers and cheese before and wine throughout (SIL's contribution). Everything came out as intended, and we were flat on the couch by 4:00 p.m.</p><p>Which was good, because Friday and Saturday I had a two-day craft show in town, and while it's not the hardest show I do all year, because of the timing, it's one of the most wearing.</p><p>But it went off well. Sales were decent, though not as good as previous years - but it seems to be that way across the board with all the crafters I know. I think despite the economy picking back up, we're not all entirely trusting and are sitting on some of our disposable cash. I can't criticize, because I'm doing it too, I just wish it weren't the case.</p><p>Now I've got until December 9th to catch up on everything I've let slide since before Las Vegas. That should be fun.</p><p>I'm very glad that our Christmas gifts to each other generally just entail buying expensive ingredients and making a complicated, delicious dinner.</p><p>FYI: if you're interested in buying paperbacks of any of my books, or complete trilogies, I just got a new shipment of author copies and books are available. Leave a comment with your email, or reach out to me on the website's contact form.</p>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00449229622474314815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1278085019370560632.post-91104548139290434542023-11-22T12:35:00.001-05:002023-11-22T12:35:00.162-05:00Thanksgiving<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXAo1dz12owftIqojU_lnHv5vaFsDU5arApYAiEs7l0lqUsgojM1twy0cVUzhIN7JM39W0-1C7yoPjapbAvA3XaDhtd0oNY7C6CqlcpfikGHwLBCBUhNvGcrtMIrFKVOqrOHLvlmUyCVdIEH_ykxGCJKaFvfO6IBSiJUbGH3pnPMGMidXS_C6E6PXotBk/s3375/Coming%20Apart%20ebook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3375" data-original-width="2115" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXAo1dz12owftIqojU_lnHv5vaFsDU5arApYAiEs7l0lqUsgojM1twy0cVUzhIN7JM39W0-1C7yoPjapbAvA3XaDhtd0oNY7C6CqlcpfikGHwLBCBUhNvGcrtMIrFKVOqrOHLvlmUyCVdIEH_ykxGCJKaFvfO6IBSiJUbGH3pnPMGMidXS_C6E6PXotBk/s320/Coming%20Apart%20ebook.jpg" width="201" /></a></div><br />This is a snippet from <i><a href="http://books2read.com/comingapart" target="_blank">Coming Apart</a></i>, both because it<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 48px;">’</span>s the perfect time of year to re-share and because I<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 48px;">’</span>m up to my eyebrows in Thanksgiving preparations and so I'll leave you with Ava<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-align: justify; text-indent: 48px;">’</span>s meal instead.<p></p><p>It is Thanksgiving, 1931, early in the Depression but there didn't need to be a crash for poverty to be felt in Pennsylvania's coal country. Ava's mother has just died and the family is still reeling from her loss and the unexpected return of her sister Claire. They share the meal with their next-door neighbors so that everyone has enough food.</p><p style="text-align: center;">******</p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Trudy
and I combine forces for Thanksgiving. Her son has not returned, and for a few
days, my smiling friend is replaced by a sad-eyed woman who looks ten years
older. She pulls herself together because Fritz and Hetty, her remaining grandchildren,
need her</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">In
addition to the moral support, a joint dinner means more food for all. One of Daniel</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">’s friends managed to shoot a couple of turkeys in the woods
north of town, and he brought one home in exchange for helping to fix a roof.
The house is perfumed with its rich scent. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Carrying the platter across the back
porch to Trudy’s kitchen, I think about how this was always Mama’s favorite
holiday. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">She
was big on gratitude, giving loud thanks for blessings other people might not
have recognized as such. I want to be more like her, but I can</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">’t help but see that we have a turkey only because Daniel
gave up his day off, and a meal meant for family must be shared with others for
there to be enough.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I
hear Mama</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">’s voice, as I often do these days. </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Family is whoever you choose to bring under your roof.
</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Trudy
is family, in that sense, as was Dora, her daughter-in-law.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">There
are thirteen around the table, which is two tables put together and dragged
into the front room: Trudy and Hermann, Fritz and Hetty, Daniel and me and our
five, and two of Trudy</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">’s boarders who were invited at the
last minute, soft-spoken men whose contributions are a pie and a packet of tea.
</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy
gifts which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, Our Lord,
amen.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The
room falls silent but for </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“please pass
the potatoes” and “may I have more beans?” For once no one worries about holding
back for the next day.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">One
of the men says something to Hermann, and he repeats it to Trudy. She turns to
me. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Hans says at such a meal, his family
would go around the table and each person says what they are grateful for. Do
you think this is good?”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“It sounds like something Mama would
have liked.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Her
eyes crinkle. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Then we shall do it for Lillie.”
She explains the idea to everyone and points to the man who suggested it.
“Hans, is your idea, so you go first.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Hans
blushes and stammers, but manages—with Trudy</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">’s
translation—to say, “I am thankful to be surrounded by kind people when I am
missing my family.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">His
friend, whose name I didn</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">’t catch, echoes him, word for word.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“I’m thankful for turkey!” Toby
waves his fork.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“And pie!” George, not to be
outdone, points toward the kitchen. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“I’m grateful for my family,” Dandy
says, ducking his head. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Trudy
looks around. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“I am thankful for my family that is
here, and my family that is not here.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Fritz,
his chin quivering, gulps and says, </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“I
am thankful Mama didn’t live to see us separated.” His grandmother says
something sharp in German and the boy shakes his head.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“I’m grateful for Granny,” Pearl
says, smoothing things over. “I’m grateful we had her as long as we did.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“So am I, honey.” I put my hand over
hers. “And I’m grateful for everyone at this table today.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Thelma?” Daniel asks. “What about
you?”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">She
looks up through tousled curls and points at my belly. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“I’ll
be grateful not to be the baby anymore.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">There
is no night shift on Thanksgiving. Daniel and I huddle together under the
quilts, listening to the murmur of the kids</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">’
conversation on the other side of the wall. It quiets down soon enough; their
bellies are too full for them to stay awake for long.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“You never said what you were
thankful for.” I roll on my left side, the only position in which I am
comfortable. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">He
curls around me and nuzzles my neck. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Like
you have to ask,” he says. “I’m thankful for you, and our family. I’m the
luckiest man in the goddamn world.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00449229622474314815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1278085019370560632.post-28989669944932096602023-11-15T13:09:00.049-05:002023-11-15T13:09:00.137-05:00It's Vegas, Baby!<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhahCfRHQzpm6GgSuPDVoN5vnzqXodpWyDXYU-u8YFRNMORlLbqLNpbs0DvASi1xGHNMGD1L1Ejyh3cqQcjYFO8DVZ9L8NDfRXJCygkh_DdbctMMyjj4TXxrgBSORNS7Cv8qoSQ6duCLpEmurxGAmnz_iTSSk0KC0MuLkNXP3XIl-7tCm_GxlnnY3G_KSE/s2611/2023-11-13T18_27_00.579Z.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="1313" data-original-width="2611" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhahCfRHQzpm6GgSuPDVoN5vnzqXodpWyDXYU-u8YFRNMORlLbqLNpbs0DvASi1xGHNMGD1L1Ejyh3cqQcjYFO8DVZ9L8NDfRXJCygkh_DdbctMMyjj4TXxrgBSORNS7Cv8qoSQ6duCLpEmurxGAmnz_iTSSk0KC0MuLkNXP3XIl-7tCm_GxlnnY3G_KSE/w400-h201/2023-11-13T18_27_00.579Z.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>We got back Friday night. Five full days in Vegas which simultaneously felt like forever and also the blink of an eye.</p><p>I knew, in theory, that Las Vegas would be overwhelming - the lights, the crowds, the noise. Add in a full day of author service vendors, offering services and explaining how they would help and handing out swag, then follow that with three days of intensive sessions on craft, marketing, mindset, different aspects of the industry, and that is a recipe for fried brains.</p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyneJ4wFtQCisjircqWvM4kjYp-LtTJ5YU-YLq-mfN6FhHftTV-cQ-c9pcHgJbA3QgXKmMT5rFfkNZ8zGR8Pds5kIinO1-BTf1SiAPIGdqby9d8Yf79iLOnswTOQLoXny1chAqSfO7wUGamQC6E80EhG8aBfZiY1rKPqOrtAJAYrInxd7myCrxOjSscQs/s1228/2023-11-13T18_27_18.338Z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1228" data-original-width="927" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyneJ4wFtQCisjircqWvM4kjYp-LtTJ5YU-YLq-mfN6FhHftTV-cQ-c9pcHgJbA3QgXKmMT5rFfkNZ8zGR8Pds5kIinO1-BTf1SiAPIGdqby9d8Yf79iLOnswTOQLoXny1chAqSfO7wUGamQC6E80EhG8aBfZiY1rKPqOrtAJAYrInxd7myCrxOjSscQs/s320/2023-11-13T18_27_18.338Z.jpg" width="242" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Venetian - canals in the desert</td></tr></tbody></table>My husband went along as a volunteer for the AV crew, because the conference was also livestreamed for those who couldn't come to Vegas. I attended virtually for the past 2 years, but decided to do this one in person. I'm glad I did, but I don't think I'll be back to normal for at least another week. This exhaustion goes all the way to my bones.</p><p>But having him there was great, because when we both got done around 5:00 p.m. each day, we could step away from the conference center and walk or go out for dinner - an expensive proposition - and just talk over the different things we'd learned. He may not be a writer but he is creative and he does write, and many of the sessions he got to witness were right up his alley in terms of topic.</p><p>I came home with a notebook packed full of notes and ideas, which I'm still transcribing (legibly, this time) and trying to sort out. I think this conference will be career-changing, once I can organize myself and begin to implement some of the ideas.</p><p>Outside of the conference, some of my favorite things: </p><p>The Dale Chihuly glass ceiling at the Bellagio; </p><p>The food court at the Horseshoe, where we stayed - site of many author meetups and middle of the night insomnia writing sessions; </p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeMqnnkuNYENBjp1Cxy_qP3aBgG9MGPDXwq8CUAbkM00KGVT8VsZ-K3zpKmXD5UWggDnfOgREtdKLnqGSLXpILQa1q-V5lYlFLt-zPfRsVH4NeJ9PneKwwCF5zcH0sUlTB_13qFUBcatdfpi1yUbESyrK_5vVhD-_hpm1r60jQfQAYI-G2AiD5pjUf-p0/s4080/2023-11-13T18_25_40.827Z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4080" data-original-width="3072" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeMqnnkuNYENBjp1Cxy_qP3aBgG9MGPDXwq8CUAbkM00KGVT8VsZ-K3zpKmXD5UWggDnfOgREtdKLnqGSLXpILQa1q-V5lYlFLt-zPfRsVH4NeJ9PneKwwCF5zcH0sUlTB_13qFUBcatdfpi1yUbESyrK_5vVhD-_hpm1r60jQfQAYI-G2AiD5pjUf-p0/s320/2023-11-13T18_25_40.827Z.jpg" width="241" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chihuly ceiling at Bellagio</td></tr></tbody></table>The interior of the Venetian. The shopping area has an artfully painted and lit ceiling, so that it looks like outdoors. There are canals with gondolas - ridiculous in the desert - but I was impressed that they got the distinctive green-blue color of Venice's water absolutely correct; </p><p>Mon Ami Gabi, the French restaurant at the base of the miniature Eiffel Tower at the Paris casino. We had our Thursday night splurge dinner there before leaving on Friday and it was delicious;</p><p>Possibly most important, the teeny tiny travel coffee maker I bought for our room. The hotel gave us a fridge, but no coffee maker or microwave because they want guests to come downstairs and spend money. I'll come downstairs when I'm caffeinated, thank you very much. </p><p>Have you ever been to Vegas? What did you think? Was it fabulous? A nightmare? Some winning combination of the two?</p>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00449229622474314815noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1278085019370560632.post-68438988395785924782023-11-08T14:25:00.000-05:002023-11-08T14:25:00.155-05:00Gone Fishing<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2x2OyhelHRx_K7xcytEG8cMPy1TI7Q4GsPCrW7zOQTf6iPItMmvSCJwsWSmOCR2t5GHtOJXAKl0QbHpjT21Yy6CQNZEpHrMVBXCzUHZJF-PnzTypnfkBFnLEZfJFNhhuZX5v1lNAoZ0fp5uHYLBTrYMQi_kH8e9HPL9TLXcZzVk7zTbrNluCBGngCQgs/s4712/sincerely-media-lrnJU1vbG50-unsplash%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4712" data-original-width="3456" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2x2OyhelHRx_K7xcytEG8cMPy1TI7Q4GsPCrW7zOQTf6iPItMmvSCJwsWSmOCR2t5GHtOJXAKl0QbHpjT21Yy6CQNZEpHrMVBXCzUHZJF-PnzTypnfkBFnLEZfJFNhhuZX5v1lNAoZ0fp5uHYLBTrYMQi_kH8e9HPL9TLXcZzVk7zTbrNluCBGngCQgs/w294-h400/sincerely-media-lrnJU1vbG50-unsplash%20(1).jpg" width="294" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Can't wait to tell you all about it when I return!</div><br /><p></p>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00449229622474314815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1278085019370560632.post-38189901261705009582023-11-01T12:58:00.000-04:002023-11-01T12:58:00.137-04:00Meet Ava & Claire<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDsFKcG8blbYaMi5fSgf529bwiNshwvbc97eVgIJEMkc0eZMNiwt4kT82fJ0J7D1DHOpefIs3JRutHiCbuNY1LLCwW8bmFVtb76dgKk_3iXQcd2pAjdCfHWC2Gp6RFcLx-eMb1ALzLlByS15g2WuM7P8cnY5uMBBV9OjwAHiOKZpagk1MBYl6P86ijJa8/s1055/_e591476e-0301-47c0-ab3b-78aa4449a655%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1014" data-original-width="1055" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDsFKcG8blbYaMi5fSgf529bwiNshwvbc97eVgIJEMkc0eZMNiwt4kT82fJ0J7D1DHOpefIs3JRutHiCbuNY1LLCwW8bmFVtb76dgKk_3iXQcd2pAjdCfHWC2Gp6RFcLx-eMb1ALzLlByS15g2WuM7P8cnY5uMBBV9OjwAHiOKZpagk1MBYl6P86ijJa8/s320/_e591476e-0301-47c0-ab3b-78aa4449a655%20(1).jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />So <i>Coming Together</i> launched into the world this time last week, and I'm blown away by the response. Thank you all <i>so</i> much for your purchases, for your comments and reviews and reactions. <p></p><p>Since I'm not capable of much yet, I thought I'd share something I've been playing with. Recently, my computer updated and gave me Dall-E for AI image generation. I wasn't going to try it but I was so mentally exhausted from book launch activities that I gave it a try.</p><p>My prompt was: "Please make a b/w photo of two women in their mid-30s, dressed in clothing from the 1930s. They are obviously sisters. Woman on left is taller, slightly thinner, prettier, with light blonde hair. Wearing a v-neck dress & pearls. One on right is shorter, light brown hair, not as pretty, not as well-dressed but not shabby. Both women have pleasant expressions and are obviously close."</p><p>Everyone, meet AI Ava and Claire. I'm not sure what to think. It's a bit glam for Ava (and there's not enough of their Irish mother in these faces) but the result is still so much better than I expected. I may continue to play with this as I reassemble my brain and start work on what's next.</p>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00449229622474314815noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1278085019370560632.post-68561156517028957972023-10-25T12:00:00.006-04:002023-10-25T12:00:00.146-04:00Plot Walking<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA-tCait2H4tib3AZL8myDpI7-KJNDUY0OmN4dVXlvCCmS4jUJoFD0nBSF-J8FvCKxI3QSL9QkZofGuQ_8IhEMMAdx3HJE8JWD_SM4mf-AOf3QQkCirz7hhAaCQYwXsQKDJ0vTaJ5RvQ47B2pIdXtmPAYsabDevXPxDo9OyUUYtxrgpuQqQVOgP4M6uB8/s1226/longwood%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1226" data-original-width="921" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA-tCait2H4tib3AZL8myDpI7-KJNDUY0OmN4dVXlvCCmS4jUJoFD0nBSF-J8FvCKxI3QSL9QkZofGuQ_8IhEMMAdx3HJE8JWD_SM4mf-AOf3QQkCirz7hhAaCQYwXsQKDJ0vTaJ5RvQ47B2pIdXtmPAYsabDevXPxDo9OyUUYtxrgpuQqQVOgP4M6uB8/w300-h400/longwood%202.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />Last week, in addition to a book release, I had a visit from my friend Marian Thorpe, whose <a href="https://marianlthorpe.com/" target="_blank">books</a> I've spoken about here before.<p></p><p>Marian is one of my favorite writers, and also one of my closest friends. She drove down from Canada and we spent the better part of four days eating and talking and walking off all the food while talking some more. We both have our next books fairly firmly in mind because of all that plot walking.</p><p>One day we spent at the John Heinz Wildlife Refuge. Another was spent at Longwood Gardens, which I have somehow managed to never visit before this. I think part of me had waffled because of the $25 admission fee, but we ended up spending more than five hours there, so it was certainly worth it. All the photos here are from Longwood, because I forgot to take any on the other days.</p><p>It was absolutely perfect October weather - just cool enough, just sunny enough, leaves just beginning to turn.</p><p>By the time she went home, we had worn ourselves out. But is there any better way to be tired than from spending time with friends?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ-mNTMus7iIa55deArS2JHqHZvxtjPMuDyBgP77yAllGIo-YXMKYJTbvewyOnmQeMIasHOE6AWjNNzHiLdXPC3q4LKWqLf3UbUx460oTNMgvGuQhZG6TCtkwid_QDnEwOXqdpBaw4BSxAnrQGmHKuaIua_Zs15Tt4Rt_c5JEKcqlpqygbRuHbMbzXyY8/s1228/longwood%201.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1228" data-original-width="925" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ-mNTMus7iIa55deArS2JHqHZvxtjPMuDyBgP77yAllGIo-YXMKYJTbvewyOnmQeMIasHOE6AWjNNzHiLdXPC3q4LKWqLf3UbUx460oTNMgvGuQhZG6TCtkwid_QDnEwOXqdpBaw4BSxAnrQGmHKuaIua_Zs15Tt4Rt_c5JEKcqlpqygbRuHbMbzXyY8/w301-h400/longwood%201.jpg" width="301" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqvOEK-A8kokUrioaLdye2H6sxWV8OCML23AYeJ8JSsLRnreaZ9dFupVq5-Lguavyw-R89nvVkIHe3_j0hBH5hTGWpRCQACmNFVXLQQbHGaamJGW5R6WP1pVRQ_VcST_fZVAdvsAYV7GnsWn_0Rt-tJFqqg-H6VKjvszyyat5ecLU45oRi1wDFFYx_y3o/s2048/longwood%203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1329" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqvOEK-A8kokUrioaLdye2H6sxWV8OCML23AYeJ8JSsLRnreaZ9dFupVq5-Lguavyw-R89nvVkIHe3_j0hBH5hTGWpRCQACmNFVXLQQbHGaamJGW5R6WP1pVRQ_VcST_fZVAdvsAYV7GnsWn_0Rt-tJFqqg-H6VKjvszyyat5ecLU45oRi1wDFFYx_y3o/w260-h400/longwood%203.jpg" width="260" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div><br /></div>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00449229622474314815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1278085019370560632.post-9461363221236095402023-10-18T11:30:00.001-04:002023-10-18T11:30:00.195-04:00Today's the day!<p><a href="http://Books2read.com/coming-together" target="_blank">Coming Together</a> is officially out in the world, and I'm so happy and excited and exhausted and proud to bring you this last book of Ava & Claire's adventures. A few early reviews are in, and I'm going to share them with you and then go and collapse in a corner. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtOBSuoIM1BnlRW0iIqvxYm6rrdyjyh5NeZWHChafZxsaCVtM6zsHLh2Mlae25wKHV4TK4rnvl4HSzULp30sUnvn7iAPUCSTLMgvNWsnxy6yuKzeZslEJ-hnjX1a38k2boHf0L7She45tQ_sFgxyS9eZKuvzPRd1YsiWyWVrt9XT3b4DxgQPQCrRoytPA/s1600/mock-00643-29334%20copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtOBSuoIM1BnlRW0iIqvxYm6rrdyjyh5NeZWHChafZxsaCVtM6zsHLh2Mlae25wKHV4TK4rnvl4HSzULp30sUnvn7iAPUCSTLMgvNWsnxy6yuKzeZslEJ-hnjX1a38k2boHf0L7She45tQ_sFgxyS9eZKuvzPRd1YsiWyWVrt9XT3b4DxgQPQCrRoytPA/w400-h268/mock-00643-29334%20copy.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVeMR7VRJvZJbV8-yKHTPBJV7tO4SW1w8BBulWZ0EMqTOgaWV0T8_37S3L2fJ4SFeUQUIt_YHnb1LlvNq3EOwBRUpIu9z870vHlCvDpyjFSeSOihSi-u84wbf4mTEmiVoJn8b7C6xos4f5jLXj_iwmFPQYEMLNpOBk3c0tI1aldEu9pI7Gpk2vootMr8c/s1600/mock-00643-29334%20copy%204.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVeMR7VRJvZJbV8-yKHTPBJV7tO4SW1w8BBulWZ0EMqTOgaWV0T8_37S3L2fJ4SFeUQUIt_YHnb1LlvNq3EOwBRUpIu9z870vHlCvDpyjFSeSOihSi-u84wbf4mTEmiVoJn8b7C6xos4f5jLXj_iwmFPQYEMLNpOBk3c0tI1aldEu9pI7Gpk2vootMr8c/w400-h268/mock-00643-29334%20copy%204.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKEtY_IWOw5TeUqTQKNHs75YvNlv8JKkjgf_gUIj9slH_jPpEsAVoDVTghjHyRV0tufC3xu51Wq0rt2IiG5VnSmPoYKNBqwxM7dxvgNduZNip9-TZ-5zD-xzHDryui-ois8CVu56Vm8mtLJiBKsGeUXwcfBMscjAu6bK-ea-c_c41odFP-SHl21pv92RA/s1600/mock-00643-29334%20copy%203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKEtY_IWOw5TeUqTQKNHs75YvNlv8JKkjgf_gUIj9slH_jPpEsAVoDVTghjHyRV0tufC3xu51Wq0rt2IiG5VnSmPoYKNBqwxM7dxvgNduZNip9-TZ-5zD-xzHDryui-ois8CVu56Vm8mtLJiBKsGeUXwcfBMscjAu6bK-ea-c_c41odFP-SHl21pv92RA/w400-h268/mock-00643-29334%20copy%203.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlxWnxOkcdXBhXF3-kIbK1MefAfBS7e3U6gKrCpGzWxD8TyXXHCgNhflIlSUgyI9kCPfl9kCvZCTIGwkBBvM_erlBiY9oS3KexqyqRFB4t1kRLbwxHv-cPUjEc0mYkh1perPFqYU0oj82DbxkHNe0PvRI5SdVSsMjj-t_3Frrd90OLDd29s9Dc1mLDbic/s1600/mock-00643-29334%20copy%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlxWnxOkcdXBhXF3-kIbK1MefAfBS7e3U6gKrCpGzWxD8TyXXHCgNhflIlSUgyI9kCPfl9kCvZCTIGwkBBvM_erlBiY9oS3KexqyqRFB4t1kRLbwxHv-cPUjEc0mYkh1perPFqYU0oj82DbxkHNe0PvRI5SdVSsMjj-t_3Frrd90OLDd29s9Dc1mLDbic/w400-h268/mock-00643-29334%20copy%202.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00449229622474314815noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1278085019370560632.post-12500979579646420272023-10-11T11:56:00.007-04:002023-10-11T11:56:00.139-04:00Update<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr0_ab8iW0RgwJ7YwngR88S8P7FKtcZeuUxP599kXIW4YaG4wwCif_AG513wsHxLeazjLEZt9iUlufBKPnCA7IcYiZJjdzUkOnKof5twzbz5HAqF8xXzdPOmRCAFrAF0-ZTYRPb3yMyCW3uFkCbWJ6zMqOdo2NpDyD7VUz1PUgeUc5-H18O518xAOJHZM/s2000/Ava%20&%20Claire%20collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1560" data-original-width="2000" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr0_ab8iW0RgwJ7YwngR88S8P7FKtcZeuUxP599kXIW4YaG4wwCif_AG513wsHxLeazjLEZt9iUlufBKPnCA7IcYiZJjdzUkOnKof5twzbz5HAqF8xXzdPOmRCAFrAF0-ZTYRPb3yMyCW3uFkCbWJ6zMqOdo2NpDyD7VUz1PUgeUc5-H18O518xAOJHZM/w400-h313/Ava%20&%20Claire%20collage.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />It's been a week, folks. I might not have had a craft show this past weekend, but I had an order of custom bears, several Christmas stockings, and a doll to get finished, along with finishing a slightly overdue freelance editing job - the client understood because he hadn't been scheduled, and he was fitted in around another job and the completion of my own book.<p></p><p>But it's been a lot. Still, <i>Coming Together </i>is now ready for its release on the 18th. I just got the paperback files loaded, and the hardcover is almost done. I just need to get the full wrap cover from my designer and that's the last thing checked off the publishing list. For now.</p><p>All this to say I don't have much to say, so I will leave you with a link to a really cool historical fiction blog. Tony Riches had me on last week to discuss the fun and challenges of writing a series set in my hometown, and I got to blather on about all the interesting things I learned about a place I thought I knew well. <a href="https://tonyriches.blogspot.com/2023/10/special-guest-post-by-karen-heenan.html?fbclid=IwAR0pktIiqADE09DRl8LYqT5oDk65-pXq82UMriU9UpRXKzLZr0AnwAhujHs" target="_blank">Check it out</a>.</p><div><br /></div>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00449229622474314815noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1278085019370560632.post-18280643546669395232023-10-04T12:49:00.001-04:002023-10-04T12:49:00.147-04:00Not as young as I used to be<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgovhWLqdEnOVamLXVZR3pl-j91xDrUPgApq3K83XeQpm8l24Zv-vwFf51Ct_yJGleQtNeXDpFLFhyphenhyphenXcnPwczPHtnRas7o1SbuWEyK_lhANyJGYIN5kz2IoKcRdIRJdLQatGaWpfXZFwyZvTNYuHRcem7KoswrBU9SxIgfpb2AOt7WAREfvWw6UXCtTeLw/s2048/lansdowne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgovhWLqdEnOVamLXVZR3pl-j91xDrUPgApq3K83XeQpm8l24Zv-vwFf51Ct_yJGleQtNeXDpFLFhyphenhyphenXcnPwczPHtnRas7o1SbuWEyK_lhANyJGYIN5kz2IoKcRdIRJdLQatGaWpfXZFwyZvTNYuHRcem7KoswrBU9SxIgfpb2AOt7WAREfvWw6UXCtTeLw/w400-h300/lansdowne.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>This was a big weekend. And I wasn't happy about it.<p></p><p>For the most part, I no longer schedule back to back craft shows because they just beat me up too much, and usually by the second day I don't have the strength for people. </p><p>But this weekend was an exception on several fronts.</p><p>One of my best friends turned 50 this past week, and her party was Friday night. They were having a house concert, so we decided we would eat dinner at home, stop there for about an hour, and duck out before the music started. Nothing against potential music we didn't know, but it always feels rude to leave before it's done and I wanted to get home early.</p><p>Instead, we went early, assuming we would scavenge food there, enjoyed the entire concert, and hung around chatting afterward. needless to say, I woke up Saturday morning with a sparkling rosé induced spike in my forehead. I can't believe I used to do that for fun up until 20 years ago. Also, just like 20 years ago, I didn't eat enough.</p><p>After breakfast and much coffee, I set up in West Philadelphia for show number one. It had rained the night before; it was chilly and damp; I didn't get a single sale for the first hour. And then the sun came out and the customers came out and it was bedlam until 5:00 p.m.</p><p>That evening, I was supposed to go to an art opening in my town - where my pandemic lap quilt was on display - but because craft show number two was the next morning, I decided that it even vaguely intelligent woman would stay home, reload the car for the next day, and get some decent sleep. Which I did, except for a bit of last-minute sewing.</p><p>Sunday was busier, and yet less profitable than Saturday, in part because the Eagles game overlapped nad then went into hyper-dramatic overtime. But it was in my town, so that meant when it ended at 6:00 p.m., our car was loaded by 6:15 and we were in the driveway by 6:30.</p><p>Dinner and a glass of wine later, and I was ready for bed. I unpacked the car Monday morning as Mario was getting ready for work.</p><p>I'm definitely getting too old for this, and yet I have two more doubleheaders scheduled before the end of the year. Yay me.</p>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00449229622474314815noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1278085019370560632.post-72057061714995308132023-09-27T12:30:00.003-04:002023-09-27T12:30:55.607-04:00Bonus Content Question<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1MchTF_LNjx1XjK89Xkek8nZIBmYgWEr6HpSmNOFWqix4tgFoo2hKBKtT0PUwLkApYzbYk1KnpOfSfY5hsGbWQLATU_PmaTuaNfkpOeYyrVvNGyssh0Vdn-2FApQMr_F6eUkAjK9tvdc3zWDr7P8B2aNuzPWhxiLSj810tKbvbAu4B72c1kvdFS2s4z0/s1600/mock-00189-29334.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1MchTF_LNjx1XjK89Xkek8nZIBmYgWEr6HpSmNOFWqix4tgFoo2hKBKtT0PUwLkApYzbYk1KnpOfSfY5hsGbWQLATU_PmaTuaNfkpOeYyrVvNGyssh0Vdn-2FApQMr_F6eUkAjK9tvdc3zWDr7P8B2aNuzPWhxiLSj810tKbvbAu4B72c1kvdFS2s4z0/s320/mock-00189-29334.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />Have you signed up for my <a href="https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/g9n7e7" target="_blank">mailing list</a>? This isn't a request that you <i>do </i>sign up (although I would appreciate it) - I'm just curious, for those who have, what you thought of the bonus content delivered at the time you signed up. Currently, it's a prequel novella to the Ava and Claire stories.<p></p><p>Once I finish the series - October 18, coming soon! - I'm debating between an epilogue which didn't fit in the book, or a PDF of photographs of locations used in the books, paired with snippets of text and/or local history.</p><p>If you were to sign up for a mailing list, which would be more interesting to you, having read the books?</p>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00449229622474314815noreply@blogger.com0