(Still not) Merry Everything

2024. Finishing the year strong. What can I say?

The photo is (was) our car, a 2006 Toyota Highlander. My husband pulled out of the parking lot at his job last week and someone left-turned right into his driver's side doors. Which now no longer work.

Shockingly, he's fine. Completely, other than a little shaken up. Cars made of plastic are still apparently safe.

But it's totaled, even if the insurance companies (the other guy stayed, admitted fault, etc., but it's Christmas and everything is moving slowly) haven't agreed yet. So it's sitting, as is, in our driveway, and on Saturday, we went out car shopping with my sister-in-law - in her car - to buy a new one. 

This time it's a 2010 Prius (we likey the hybrids, not ready for EV yet) with a good number of miels but in excellent condition. We never put more than 5,000 miles on our cars per year as it only gets driven back and forth to my husband's job, around town, and on occasional wine runs to NJ. It'll do.

In other news, I went to the doctor and got some tough love. I'll talk about that next week, because at least I'll have things to talk about in the quiet portion of the year.

Last Friday was my part-titme job's holiday party (fun, lots of food, crossing-guard Santa in a red suit and high-vis vest), then the mayor's birthday party (bar, buffet, music, more fun). Saturday was car shopping; Sunday was writing and rest. Monday-Tuesday, off for huband, morning work for me. 

And today, we'll be at sister-in-law's for dinner. Low key, quiet, good food. Then home, couch, something good on TV. I'm off the rest of the week, which is my gift to myself.

I hope you have a merry whatever-you-celebrate, and if you celebrate nothing (which is fine), I hope everyone leaves you in peace to do just that.

See you next year!

Not so merry everything

This has been a weird week. No, strike that it's a weird time. No end date in sight, and I can't really tell you when it started. 

My last big craft show of the season was supposed to be saturday. On thursday, we got an email from the organizers that the owner of the venue was afraid that some of the artists might be showing offensive or politically sensitive work, and threatened to cancel the show unless all the artists signed a waiver that they would show nothing that would upset anyone. 

Weird, right? Upsetting, but my first instinct, since my work doesn't fall under those headings was to sign. And then I immediately regretted it, contacted the organizers, and said "I'm in favor of going forward if you can, but if you cancel, I absolutely understand and support that, too."

They were in a rough spot. It's everybody's biggest, and generally final event of the season. But still, over 50% of the vendors refused to sign. Kudos to them, and again, I wish I hadn't been so quick off the mark and thinking about my business versus my morals.

It went on. The venue backed down, but then late on Friday, their attorneys came back with the same demand, and the organizers told them to get stuffed. They managed to pull a small version of the show together at several indoor and outdoor venues in the neighborhood. There wasn't room for everyone, and I backed out because I felt like the artists who had the guts to protest should also have first dibs on selling. 

All of this came about - probably, since we weren't told - because one artist had a Free Palestine t-shirt.

In a segue to my town's holiday celebrations, there's a left-leaning community organization in town that does a lot of good. They also had an informative program about Palestine, with presentations from all sides of the conflict, which was widely attended. And yet, there was a huge stink when they marched in the winter lights parade with a peace dove. Because peace is suddenly political? 

I'm over it all. Everyone is offended by something, and what I'm choosing to be offended by are the people who deliberately blow up an issue into something it was never intended to be. 

Show season done. Back to writing. I can see a long winter's nap in my future.

Inadvertent Christmas Elf

It's funny. I don't do much Christmas - my friends and I didn't do gifts, my I'm husband and I just cook a big dinner together to celebrate - and yet I get yanked into it again and again. 

One of my temp jobs after I stopped working full time was for a law firm, working the week before and after Thanksgiving. And for three years running, part of that assignment was to set up their Christmas tree and do all the decorating. 

Okay. If you really want to pay me that much to answer your phone and hang garland, I'll do it. 

At my new job, I got handed a budget and was told to buy enough lights and whatever else to make the entire building look festive - without being overtly Christmas. (There's a tree and a menorah in another space, but the borough hall likes to be non-partisan. Non-denominational.

As if all winter festivals aren't light against the darkness. 

So there's now a family of gold and white deer, and all the trees are being wrapped in white lights and strung with globes (not balls). The shrubs are netted with lights. And all 24 windows will have LED candles. 

Santa arrives on a fire engine on Sunday at 5, so it needs to be finished by then. I may end up putting in a little extra time to make sure it's done. 

Because apparently, no matter how I see myself, some people look at me and see a Christmas elf.

Unavoidable (?) Delays

BREAKING NEWS: Songbird is FREE on Amazon today only. (Maybe tomorrow, depending on how quickly prices settle back to normal).

Back to your regularly scheduled programming:

A while back, I announced that the pre-order was up for French Lessons, and that the release date would be January 31, my birthday. 

I regret to inform you - and even more, I regret to inform me - that that that is no longer the case. The book will be released in March.

It's not that I haven't been working on it, or that it hasn't been going pretty well. But I write large books, and they require a lot of research, and marination time so that I don't simply vomit that research back up on the page. When I started this coaching program back in the summer, I had a somewhat optimistic idea of what I was capable of, and that idea was, naturally, encouraged. 

That idea was wrong. Putting myself on a production schedule did the exact opposite of what it should. It made me feel less productive. And even when I'm down on myself for not getting things done, I understand that I am one of the most productive people I know. I worship at the altar of productivity. Pretty sure I had a blog post about that. So it wasn't the expectation of productivity, it was the deadline and the idea that I could accomplish something in that set period without feeling pressured or the book suffering for it.

Now that the deadline has been pushed back, I feel so much better. The words are coming more easily, and last night, one day after the official date that I should have been done this draft, I completely restructured the first chapter and it works so much better. 

Know thyself. That's all. That's the post.

Flu shot

Last weekend, we got our flu shots. It's only the second time I've ever had one - prior to 2020, this needle-phobic writer had avoided all encounters with medical pointy objects since childhood. Then Covid happened, and boosters, and I sucked it up and held out my arm because a little imagined pain is nothing compared to the alternative. 

And I'd rather not get the flu, either, but it's not as big a worry. When I went to the pharmacy for my booster, they didn't have any Pfizer shots left and as I'd had a pretty severe reaction to the Moderna booster, I decided to wait. But as we were already there and had psyched myself up, I figured what the hell, I'd get the flu shot instead. 

We're both sick. Miserably so. And what's worst is that because of Covid and that long period of masking, we're out of practice at the perfectly normal activity of being sick.

My head hurts, my throat hurts. I have a cough that sounds like a German shepherd. All perfectly standard cold symptoms for me, but the last time I was really sick was Christmas 2019. 

I called out of work Monday and Tuesday. Not much good at answering phones if I can't talk. And I have a double header craft show this Friday-Saturday, plus a shift at the pop-up on Sunday. Because of course I do.

Right now if you asked me what I'm thankful for, I would say I'm thankful that we're not doing anything for Thanksgiving. Because I'm going to sleep through it.

Research Rabbit Holes

A motorized velo-taxi

One of the things I like best about historical fiction (reading or writing) is finding out things I didn't know. Sometimes they're big things, but most of the time, what interests me is the everyday. That's where the line is really drawn between then and now.

In my current project, French Lessons (coming 1/31/25), I've set my story in 1946 post-war Paris. Pearl, 25, is there for a year away from her "real" life to become a writer. Obviously other adventures - and other learning experiences (lessons) are involved - but the one thing she thinks she knows to expect is Paris. Her aunt lived there for a year, she's read about it in books, she's seen movies, etc.

But post-war Paris is black-and-white. It's Kansas, not Oz. There are still shortages: food and clothing are rationed, as is coal. No one but the wealthy has a vehicle, and even cabs are hard to come by. And plumbing. Plumbing is different in a way she hadn't expected, because even as someone who grew up relatively poor, there was at least privacy in your primitive bathroom. She's about to discover the Parisian public baths, which are the only alternative to the single hotel tub, with its legally mandated 3" of water, and a premium paid to use it. 

And the pedal-powered variety

I've attached a few of the research photos I've found, to give you a taste. If you're interested in diving further, you could sign up for my mailing list, where I do a research rabbit hole email on the 15th of every month. If and when I'm not writing a book (is that possible?), I'll dip back into previous stories, because I have a ton of photos and text stored up to share.

Public bath house with hours

Never busy enough

At least that's what I tell myself.

Writing. Job. Marriage. Friends. Deadlines. Holidays.

And a month-long pop-up craft shop in my town, just because.

Featuring 12 makers located in and around Lansdowne, we'll be set up at the Utility Works, which is a really cool maker space. They have a kiosk area in the front which is where we'll be.

Me. (toys/holiday stuff), Gillian (journals), Caroline (origami ornaments/cards), Eileen (ceramics), Mary (jams), Tamme (pillows), Courtney (art and fabric), Sara (candles), Jesse (soap), Eliza (found object art), Erica (house portraits) and Bill (photography).

There's a grand opening on Friday with drinks and snacks. Hopefully a lot of people will come out, because otherwise it's going to be a long month. At least it's next door to my job, so I can walk almost directly next door for my shifts. 

That's as much of a win as I have at the moment. I need a nap.

So

So. 

About yesterday. 

I know I make a living with words, but I don't have any right now.

I'm worried for people I care about, who are justifiably scared. I worry for my own rights. 

And I worry that so many people couldn't bring themselves to vote for a qualified woman.

I know some of you will disagree, but I'm not ready to have that conversation. People I love are scared and in pain, and they are my priority right now.

Five years (almost)

It's hard to wrap my head around the fact that on November 2, it will be five years since Songbird was published.

Five.

Years.

It feels like six months. It feels like a decade.

Because Covid happened during that period, it actually has been both six months and a decade, because that stretch of time did literally stretch. And drag. And reinvent itself. 

Maybe that's why I've been able to write so many books since. Time has no meaning; I can accomplish as much as I can cram into a single day.

But anyway, to celebrate the anniversary, Songbird is on sale for $0.99 (all markets) on November 2. 

I'm also doing a giveaway of three sets of the entire Tudor Court series on my newsletter and over on my author Facebook page. Paperbacks for those in the U.S. and ebooks for everywhere else. So if you're interested in a chance at that, please reply to the newsletter or comment on a Facebook post about the anniversary giveaway to be entered.

Happy spooky season to those who celebrate ... or indulge in a bucket of highly inappropriate sugary snacks if the kids don't show up when they should. It's the best reason to buy candy you like. Just in case.

Because things tend to happen at once - to test us, I'm sure - I had company last week. My writing friend, Marian Thorpe, came to visit from Canada on Wednesday and stayed through Saturday. I pushed my work hours from 9-12 and we got together at lunch and started talking and kept going until one or both of us ran out of energy. Usually both, usually simultaneously, usually well after dinnertime.

Points to my very patient husband for listening to the two of us through several meals, talking about our stories and our characters and what might or might not happen next. We know each other's characters well enough that we can talk about them, which is very helpful until it gets confusing, as in when Marian showed up on Saturday and said, "I dreamed about Pearl last night." Since Pearl is my character, that's not helpful for her. Nor is it helpful for me, since she couldn't actually remember what she dreamed.

But anyway, a short message this week because I'm trying to catch up to myself. Work is still throwing me off a bit, but so is trying to catch up with all the things we worked out over the last few days. 

Back to the grind

I started something new last week. New, at least, in that I hadn't done it in over 5 years. I went back to work. 

Not full time, and not for lawyers. Never again for lawyers. 

I live in a small borough in Delaware County, Pennsylvania, small enough that I know the mayor and most of the people on council. I also know the New Borough manager because she used to be with the arts organization that ran our local craft shows.

About 6 weeks ago, I ran into her and the mayor at the farmers market, and they told me that there was a job opening as her administrative assistant. It's 3 hours a day, 5 days a week, and it's walking distance from my house. 

One of the things I've realized is that, despite my constant busyness, I got as much done when I was working full time. It's impossible to do creative work for an entire 8 hour day, and having flexibility, my creative brain dips in and out all day long. So this seemed like a really good idea. Even with the walk, it's only 4 hours out of the day, and it takes me near the post office and the market, should I have to run those errands anyway. 

And it's not so much money that it makes me greedy, but it's enough that it will take the pressure off the books to earn. Which, knowing how life works, will probably make the books more successful, just to prove some obscure point. 

Anyway, the photo is of my new place of employment. I've done one week so far, and as far as working outside my house is concerned, it's been lovely. The hardest thing is getting accustomed to a routine that isn't mine.

Do you hear what I hear?

So, I have a bit of news. My sisters trilogy is going to be made into audiobooks! 

A bit of background. Last November, when I went to that writing conference in Las Vegas, the first day was all about meeting author service vendors. It is amazing how many services there are out there help us with things we don't want to or can't do on our own. 

I spoke to three companies which do audiobook production for independent authors. None of them had a specialization in historical fiction, but all three said to reach out when I got home and remind them that we'd spoken in Vegas.

So I did. 

Crickets. 

But you know what crickets mean? Try again later. 

I put it on my calendar, and every 3 months I would pitch them again. After hearing about a friend's negative experience with one company, I cut them from my pitch, but continue down with the other two. 

In August, it bore fruit. An acquiring editor got back to me, said that the pitch was interesting, and asked to read the first book. A week later, she offered a three book contract on the strength of that. 

What this means is that I have licensed only the rights for them to produce audiobooks - I'm still in the author, and everything still belongs to me. And that's how it will stay, because I am an only child and a bit of a control freak. But they will produce the audiobooks and release them - and promote them - and while my royalties might not be as large as if I done the books myself, the books will be done and out into the world and will certainly make me more money that way than they ever have sitting on my computer waiting to be turned into audio. 

All that to say, persistence is a superpower. Use it to your benefit.

Another brief update: I am starting a new feature in my newsletter where I discussed the research I'm doing for my current historical novel. If that's something you think you'd be interested in, you can sign up here.

Books, Free and Discounted

So Coming Apart is free through Bookbub today through Friday (or through Amazon, Bookbub is just the distributor who lets the world know about the discount.

If you haven't tried one of my books up to this point, maybe now's the time. You won't get a better price. :) 

Also in free/discounted things to read, I'm part of a group promotion this month with other historical novelists. This is a newsletter builder promotion, which means if you sign up for their newsletter, you get to download anything from a short story to a novel, depending on what they're offering. Just like with my list here, you can unsubcribe at any time - as much as I like having newsletter subscribers, I'd prefer that they be people who actually want to be there. Not to mention the fact that after I get to a certain number of subscribers, I have to pay for the list, so then I really only want people who want to be there.

Here's the link for the promotion, and again, here's the link for Coming Apart.

Short and sweet this week because there's a lot going on. 

To be continued....

Put 'em up

It's that time of year again, when the fruits of my garden become the fruits of my labor. I've officially canned so much tomato sauce that I can't even look at the plants anymore; if I see red on them, I call a neighbor and she comes and picks them. 

This past weekend it was figs. Fig jam, specifically. I'm not a fan of figs, to be perfectly honest but I like making jam. And I was given a little sprout of a fig plant in fall 2021 that has grown into a 10 foot beast that's trying to take over the driveway. 

We've been picking every morning and sticking them in the freezer until there was "enough" to make jam. The recipe called for 3.3 lbs. We had just under 10. So, triple batch.

It turned into 17 half pint jars and a few of the itty bitty ones. 

It took about 3.5 hours, start to finish (excluding all the sticky pots and pans, which my husband washed because he's a good man and also the one who eats most of the jam). 

That's a lot of jam for the price of a bag of sugar, some lemon juice, a few tablespoons of balsamic, and time. 

I like canning, even when it's hot and melting in the kitchen makes me cranky. I enjoy bringing the garden indoors and turning it into food for later. But I can't imagine how hard it must have been when this was a necessity and not a choice, when canning meant the difference between eating and going hungry in the winter.

Unreal

I know I've recently mentioned the new book covers and I shouldn't be beating this horse - which is not dead but which you may be tired of - but I got a box of books the other day with those new covers and I was just speechless for a little while. 

That doesn't really make sense, because I've been working with the designer on them for the past six or so weeks (and they're up online), so they shouldn't have been a surprise. But opening the box and seeing those jewel toned covers staring up at me just stopped me cold. 

They look like something I would see in a bookstore. And while being in a bookstore has never been a big part of my plan as an indie author - it's even harder than you would think to get them to take us seriously - looking like something that belongs there just adds another layer of validity, even for me.

I said to my husband that they didn't even feel like my books anymore, which is probably partly because Songbird is almost 5 years old now, and I guess there has to be a separation eventually. But it's also because these covers are far beyond what I expected of myself. I'd had the old covers for so long, and I really like them, and when it was suggested before that I update them to something that was on trend, I pushed back. 

Maybe I just wasn't ready to be seen in the way that I'm ready now? I don't know. Therapy was years ago and it didn't deal with putting myself out there in a professional sense. I'm a work in progress, but then, aren't we all?

Busy busy

If you're a long time reader, you  know that I like to keep busy. But it's more than liking to keep busy. It's that if I'm not busy, not checking things off and endless to-do list, I feel like I'm slacking. 

Someone once told me - and it wasn't meant as a compliment - that I worship at the altar of productivity. They probably weren't wrong. I do judge myself by how much I accomplish. The last thing I do before bed each night is to make a list for the following day. If I manage to go to bed without making my list, it will keep me up until I go downstairs and do it. I know that's not particularly healthy, but it works for me. 

When I added writing professionally to the mix of things I needed to accomplish every day, the list got longer. Because I break tasks up into small pieces, both for the rush of checking off multiple things, and because it's more realistic than thinking I'm going to get an entire book edited and formatted in one day. Much more realistic to put "edit five chapters" on the list, and if I do more, I'm ahead. 

With all this, there are still times when I think I'm not doing enough. If I'm sitting on the couch at night with my husband, watching a movie, I'm also reading on my Kindle or doing a bit of hand sewing, or scheduling social media posts. It's hard to switch off. 

And yet the voice is still there, saying, "You haven't gotten all that much done today. You should keep going."

The solution to that - and I offer it to you if it's at all useful - is to change the story I'm telling myself. We all know the power of stories. If you say you're unproductive and disorganized, there's a good likelihood that you will be unproductive and disorganized. If you tell yourself that you're productive, you will be. We believe the stories we hear, even if we're telling them to ourselves. 

Now, go forth and accomplish something. That's what I'm going to do.

Behold the pretties!

So. These are the new covers for my Tudor Court series and I can honestly say I didn't expect anything like this when I set out to do new covers. 

I liked my old covers. Or so I thought.

No. I did. But they weren't these.

And of course, the old covers weren't the original cover, which I also liked when I first saw it. Because it's my book and it has a cover and people are going to see it and maybe (?) buy it. Of course I liked it.

But these... The designer has knocked it out of the park. I'm so so so happy.

Where I started/where I'm going

Moving along

Things are moving along this week. I'm not quite keeping up with them. 

My husband started a new job on Monday after being laid off back in February. Severance package was good so no worries there but it's good to get back to normal. 

Tomatoes are still threatening to take over the house. I'm watching a neighbor's cat in the afternoon so I took a big batch to her house to process in her (larger, air-conditioned) kitchen. 

Work is going well on the next book, and I just finalized a set of new covers for the Tudor books with the designer. A proper reveal is coming soon. 

Speaking of Tudors, I found this lithograph of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn recently on eBay. I'd first seen it years ago and lost the auction at the very end, but this had a solid 'buy it now' price and so I did. Once I find an appropriate frame, it'll go up in the bedroom with the rest of the family. 

I'll check the basement. There's a very good chance the perfect frame already exists and is just covered in dust.

It's tomato season again, both my favorite and least favorite time of year.

After a start that was both slow and late, the tomatoes are kicking in and giving me far more than we can possibly eat. With larger tomatoes, like plums, I would score them, throw them in boiling water, and remove the skins before cooking them down. With the Juliet tomatoes which are primarily what I grow, the skins are very thin and the tomatoes are very small, which makes the job both pointless and a royal pain in the butt.

I cut them in half and deseed them, and then cook them down overnight in the crock pot before hitting them with the immersion blender. There may be tiny shreds of skin left, but they're almost too small to notice and that's good enough. 

On Monday, I reheated the batch I finished over the weekend, scalded my half-pint jars, and canned a small batch at home. When the sauce gets out of control and I need to bring out the quarts, I'll borrow a friend's kitchen. Ours is too small to keep water boiling for almost an hour when the stove is right next to the fridge (which makes rude noises when it gets overheated).

Of course when I woke up Tuesday morning, it was 65 and breezy - the perfect day to can. But I did it Monday, because I've learned not to trust the weather report.

 

Technical difficulties

Argh! Amazon!

I'm not sure if you know this, but part of my business model is advertising my books on Amazon. It works pretty well, as a rule - who knows what we like better than Amazon? 

About 10 days ago, however, that changed. Amazon had what they're calling a "glitch" with their US ads. They claim it's been fixed and will just take some time to trickle down, but I'm skeptical. Forgive me.

Normally 75-80% of my sales are in the US; currently it's 40%. And that's not because the other countries have stepped up. 

Right before things crashed, I started a new automatically-targeted ad for my Ava and Claire books. When it spent my full ad budget for 3 days running without a single sale, I checked the targeting (the search terms Amazon applies to the book) and WTF??

Dog training. Furniture refinishing. Psychological thrillers. True crime. 

Umm, no. That doesn't come close to my 1930s sister stories about hard times and resilient women. 

Anyway, this is a long way round to say if you've ever been interested in buying one of my books, now would be an excellent time because my income is going to be around my ankles this month otherwise. 

https://books2read.com/karenheenan

Kindle Unlimited counts. Library borrows count -- did you know you could request my paperbacks from your library? Actually, at this point, thinking good thoughts about the algorithm also counts. Thank you from the bottom of my stressed writer's heart.

Something different this way comes

Last week I did something I haven't done for a while. I sewed, for myself. 

Cold weather means yoga pants or jeans and sweaters, but some are - especially the heat and humidity we've had this year - means dresses. Preferably the larger, longer, and airier the better. 

Remember Mrs. Roper and her caftans? She wasn't wrong.

This is the Tessuti Eva dress pattern. I first made it in 2014, from a lightweight watercolor print linen that I bought at a fabric store that sadly no longer exists. I wore that dress until it shredded along the seams. 

I made another one two years ago, when the first one started showing its age, and because I basically live in it, when we went to the Salvation Army the other weekend and I found a really cool vintage sheet, I decided it was time for yet another version. 

At some point I will have to print out the pieces again, because they're getting worn from being folded and also because my post pandemic, post menopausal shapeshift has caused the bodice to be a bit snug across the chest. I solved that by just adding an extra half inch at the fold on both sides, but it would be better to just cut the next size up. 

The skirt is a lantern shape, two pieces flowing outward from the bodice and meeting two pieces moving inward toward the hem. It leaves room for air flow and is wide enough for everything but the largest of strides. If I'm wearing it in the garden , I generally tuck it up into my underwear, which also makes it easy to carry tomatoes. 

I love working with old sheets. Even if they're poly/cotton, they're meant for hard wear, they don't wrinkle much, and they last almost forever. Which is good, because I will wear this one until it falls apart, too.

Next...

The books are in charge. I know that now, and most of the time I accept it.

I thought I might be writing another Tudor book next, or maybe the more contemporary book that's been in my head for ages, but no. It's Pearl's turn.

Pearl is the eldest daughter of Ava Kimber, the main character in my 1930s series. In Coming Together, she is thwarted by youth and her mother and prevented from going to Paris for a year with her aunt. But now it's her turn. It's 1946, the war is over, and she's off to fulfill her dreams.

This is the blurb I have so far:

A city on its knees. A young woman with a dream.

All her life, Pearl Kimber has yearned to live in Paris and write. With the long years of WWII over at last, she’s traded the familiar for the intoxicating allure of the City of Light. She has twelve months to make her dreams come true. Nothing can get in her way - not even love. 

But as she wanders the streets of a city still torn by conflict, Pearl discovers a new Paris—a city of hope and endless possibility. As she falls deeper in love with the city and its people, she’ll uncover a story as captivating as the city itself, a story only she can tell.

Will Paris be the muse she’s always sought, or will the weight of the past be too heavy to bear?

It's only about 1/4 of the way done, but optimist that I am, I've put it up for pre-order for my birthday, January 31, 2025 (past the dumpster fire of election season and the recovery we will all deserve once it's over - I'm not guaranteeing how much brain I will have during that period, so January seemed safe).

The garden is really coming along. I made ratatouille this morning in the Instant Pot and the only ingredient I had to buy was onion. It feels good to have all that available. 

Also, in hot weather, there's nothing like coming with an instant pot instead of spending a few hours over the stove. When I first got the pot, I bought an extra liner, which makes labor intensive dishes like this a lot easier - I don't have to dump out the first stage of vegetables, I can just switch in another liner. And I have a silicone lid, so I can just put the whole pot into the fridge when I'm done. 

I like my ratatouille both hot and cold, so it doesn't matter to me.

What's your favorite straight-from-the garden dish?

Routine

Do you have one? Do you need one? Or do you drop into your day like the balls in a pinball machine, scattering everywhere? 

I'm a little of each. I have certain routines I like to follow - tasks on my calendar that get done each week, because otherwise I'd forget - and if I don't get my Monday morning at the coffee shop, I do get a little grumpy. The rest of the time, there's a list, and so long as the bulk of items on that list get done, I don't care in what order. 

A lot of writers like to sit down at their desk at a set time every day, staying there for a certain period or a certain number of words. That doesn't work for me. I've spent so much of my life writing in small corners of my life - at work, on the train, waiting in line - that a large stretch of time usually pushes me to do something that takes a large stretch of time to accomplish. I can do words in a few minutes, and come back to them later. It may not be the most efficient, but that's how I've trained myself to work, and this dog is too old to learn new tricks when the old ones serve perfectly well. 

This heat wave we've been having has definitely thrown off my routine. I haven't seen the coffee shop in 2 weeks, other than standard Saturday breakfast club after the farmers market. My daily 2-mile walks, which absolutely helped my writing brain, have also been curtailed. The only task I'm really keeping up on is the garden, because if I don't, it will die and we will have no veggies. 

So what's your method? Are you a list maker? A list checker? Or do you fall free form into your day and still get all the things done?? Or do you fall free form into your day and still get all the things done?

Long hot summer

It's hot. It's been hot for days, and it's going to be hot for more days. Philadelphia is good at heat and humidity, but we had August in June, and now we're having August in July.

The heat has sucked every bit of energy out of me, but since things still have to get done, I'm running on fumes at this point. 

Which means today's check-in is very low effort, but I did want to share that if you are in the UK, Songbird is on 99p sale for the entire month.

Are you a summer or winter person? I'm definitely winter - you can always put on more clothes, but I haven't yet figured out how to take off my skin.

Here's the link to buy, if you're so inclined. It says something about the heat level that I had to be reminded to do this.

Stages of grief

Last week I told you about the mastermind group I joined. A week ago today was the first zoom meeting - just the coach, his assistant, and nine slightly nervous writers. 

After some preliminary chat and an explanation of what was coming, he went over the goals section in each of our applications and gave us his thoughts on them. (The application was long - longer than most job applications I've ever filled out).

When he got to mine, he read out, "I'm confident in my books, my sales are decent, and I have a lot of good reviews, so what I'd like to learn is how to market them bettter and get them in front of a wider audience." 

That seems reasonable, right?

Right?

"Well...." he starts, and gives me an apologetic smile. "Your blurbs are doing a lot of the heavy lifting. Those covers, though, they aren't doing you any favors."

What?

The five stages of grief are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.

"No!"

"#%&@*$!!!"

"Can I keep the cool font?"

"This is the worst thing that's ever happened to me."

"Hmm. I wonder if that cover designer I talked to a while ago - the one who did the covers on books I bought, but whose covers I didn't want to be like - has any availability?"

So that's where I am. It's the Tudor books he's talking about, and while I do LOVE those covers, and always will, thtey don't sell the books the way they should. And I've paid a significant chunk of money for this coaching, and he warned in the application that there would be hard truths and apologetic smiles.

I just didn't think it would happen in the first week.

Help

Help.

There's a word. One I hate using. Always have. 

But.

Recently I had the opportunity to apply for a mastermind program for indie writers. I knew it would be good for me. I knew someone who was in the program just ending, who spoke highly of it. 

But. 

It's asking for help, right? Even paying for the membership is asking for help.

I don't do that well. Just ask my husband the stupid situations I get myself into because I don't like asking for help. Move furniture alone? Sure. So what if I can't stand up straight for 2 days? Transport 3 yards of mulch by myself? Absolutely - unless you insist on helping, and then I'll probably tell you that you're doing it wrong.

But it nagged me. I knew that this program - 12 writers at the same level, 12 months of intensive coaching, the kind of inspiration you only get from people who want the same thing as you, as badly as you - would work for me. 

Fine. I applied. It was a more thorough application than any job I've ever had. 

And then I got accepted. 

For a moment, I thought about making an excuse - too busy, not enough money. Something. 

Then I said, "Yes, thank you," and sent my payment. Because I do want to learn how to improve as an indie author, and I'm far more likely to do the work if I've paid for it.

But asking for help...it still hurts.

We're having a heat wave

Not much to say for myself this week. We're having a heatwave, highs in the 90s, and my motivation has leaked out of my pores.

The book released on Saturday to very nice sales, and I also set up at my local farmers market and sold a few more copies.

I also finished the garden rehab and finally have proper space to set up my hammock. It's really surprising that I've emerged from it long enough to write this and occasionally use the bathroom. (When the temps no longer drop at night, I'm pretty sure I'll be sleeping out there, as I'm lucky enough not to be attractive to mosquitos)

This morning, despite the heat, we decided to sort out the growing chaos on the back patio. It's a project that's been coming, escalated by a new neighbor with an escape artist toddler. We have melted and now I'm in front of a fan considering what - if anything - I feel like doing next.

Garden Therapy

So the book comes out on Saturday, and basically I'm spinning like a top. And what's the best thing to do when I'm spinning like that? 

Go to the garden.

I posted earlier this spring about rearranging the backyard and installing new raised beds. They're all in, they're all full, and they are all planted except for one, which is getting a late crop of seed potatoes because my peas, which were doing so nicely, got eaten by something and now it's too hot and dry to start over with any chance of success.

The beds have two kinds of squash, two kinds of eggplant, cucumber, Lima beans, a variety of peppers from sweet to Mexican spicy, and far too many tomatoes. I planted three deliberately, and transplanted another seven of the volunteers that popped up.

What I finally have to do next week, when there is a little more clear space in my head, is order the wood chips to cover the weed barrier. I hate walking around on that woven plastic-y stuff. But I need to pick a day with a good forecast, and after a few days of clear weather because I don't want to shovel wet wood chips and transport them around the yard.

Pomegranate flowers

In the side yard, the blueberries are about half done. I want to get two more bushes to plant this fall, because I have spaces along the drive where other things didn't do well and they will. The fig tree is taller than I am and covered in little hard green figs. Now, I don't like figs personally, but my husband loves them, and I like to make fig jam. So it's worth the real estate. 

In the front, flowers are blooming away. The cherry tree actually produced cherries this year, but we didn't get as many as the birds did. I think this fall we'll trim it back so that it's low and wide enough to get a protective net over. Right now, I'd have to throw it from the second floor window, and my aim isn't that good. The peach tree isn't having its best year, but it had so much fruit last year that my neighbors were finding squirrel-relocated peach pits all up and down the street.

Overambitious fig

My favorite - although, like the figs, it's not my favorite fruit - is the pomegranate. Just because it feels so weird to grow pomegranates in Pennsylvania. We got 11 last year, and I'm hoping for more this year, because the blooms are crazy.

So that has been garden tour 2024. Inconsistent fruit, far too many tomatoes, and a backbreaking effort to not break my back again next year. We'll see. The whole point of putting in raised beds is to not rearrange things - or at least that's what I said 5 years ago, when I put in the previous raised beds.

The Son in Shadow - Chapter One

 

Prologue

     My life has been spent in the shadows of powerful men. Some people flourish in shadows, but I have not; shadows are cold, and those concealed in their depths are not clearly seen by those who live in the light.

     I wish to be seen.

Chapter One

There was once a time when there were two queens in England. Whether I was fortunate in working for them both depended entirely upon your point of view. My opinion varied from day to day, but I had little choice in my continued service of two mistresses, and therefore tried not to think about it too often.
     “The queen will be there ahead of us at the rate we’re moving,” my man shouted as our horses splashed through a wide, shallow river.
     “I doubt it.” I looked over my shoulder at the group riding behind me. “They have to take care and choose a place where she’ll be welcome.”
     We were lately come from Scotland and our journey was by necessity more leisurely than if a royal warrant had been available to grant us a change of horse at each stopping place. As we made our way south, a pathetic straggle of men ostensibly loyal to a vanquished queen, I took careful note of what was said at the inns and in the halls of the great houses where we lodged.
     The other men of the party complained at our slow pace, but I had experienced far worse, and unlike the queen whom I had served until recently, no one on either side of the border was baying for my blood.
     It was by this time mid-May, and the worst of the spring rains had passed. The ground was boggy in spots but having made this ride in the torrential rains of autumn years before, my mind registered nothing more than weariness and a mild concern for our horses. I was glad to see a village appear below, with an obvious tavern by the side of the road.
     Handing our mounts over to an eager young lad whose hand flashed out for the coin I threw him, we ventured into the room—dark even on a bright day, with the remains of a fire low on the hearth. Several tables were occupied, and we settled at an empty one near a rowdy knot of young men, hoping for gossip. Sometimes we asked outright about the Scottish queen and others only waited for news to be dripped into our waiting ears. And news there was this day, as we quickly learned.
     “Defeated at Langside,” said a young man in a dirty brown coat, his elbows resting on the scarred table. “Not even a fight.”
     He had been there when we arrived, along with several others, already well into their cups. By their rough garb, they were apprentices or land workers cleaned up for a ride into the village.
     “Were they so outnumbered?” I asked, hoping for more.
    “Melted away into the hills is what I heard.” He slammed his empty cup on the table. “Left her standing there with her teeth in her mouth.” 
     We were told that even though her Protestant lords had made it clear she would never be permitted to regain the throne, Mary had nevertheless mustered a force of some six thousand men and faced down her son’s army. When they were defeated, she fled south with a scant handful of supporters and was rumored to be making for England—which, of course, we already knew.
     “Good fellows, not wanting to be associated with an adulteress,” Robert Sturgis put in, his voice insinuating. “Or a murderess.”
     “Ha!” The man threw his head back, calling to the maid. “More ale here for my friends.”

The right life

I was listening to a podcast the other day. An older female writer being interviewed, and she answered a question about why so many creative people give up on their dreams just before things get big. She said part of it is fear, because by that point we don't believe that good things will happen, but the other is that they reached a certain age and realized that they don't have a house or a 401k and they have no idea what their future is going to look like. And that's terrifying in a whole different way. 

That really resonated, and perhaps it's why I'm so gung-ho now. I did 30 years at a job - while writing for myself in my free time - and I had a house. I have the 401k. When we moved from Philadelphia to the burbs six years ago, we sold our West Philly houses and bought the new one for cash. It's much smaller than what we had before, but that's fine. Neither of us are extravagant. We don't need big houses, expensive cars, or nice clothes to wear for non-existent office jobs. 

So this later-in-life writing career suits me to a T. I may not have as many years as someone who starts in their twenties, but I've gotten the hard work and the bulk of the worry out of the way. We won't be homeless or hungry or wonder what the future will bring, other than the standard existential dread that afflicts us all from time to time. And I've lived a lot and learned a lot and written a lot in those intervening years. 

All in all, despite it having felt weird to be a debut author in my mid-50s, it's absolutely the right life for me now.

A little sewing on the side

Another day, another vintage wedding gown to give myself fits over cutting into.

This time the gown was from 1946, and the customer (daughter of the 1946 bride) wanted 13 drawstring jewelry pouches for members of her daughter's bridal party.

I love the passing down of these gowns into functional things.

There was a small problem, however. The gown had been stored in the basement - in a plastic bag. The mildew streaks on the underside of the satin looked like rust. I told her to take it to the dry cleaner and tell them to clean it as well as they could, not worrying about shrinkage or minor damage, and that faded it somewhat, but the resulting fabric was still somewhat rusty in spots.

I'm calling it part of its sentimental charm, and hopefully they will too.

The brief was for 10 small bags and 3 larger ones, lined with the gown's original slip. That didn't work, either. The numbers, yes. The slip, no. It was some kind of crepe and when I cut into it, it just dissolved into a pile of threads. I used a yard of white handkerchief linen that had been sitting in stash for years, because I'm never going to make a white blouse that will stay white 3 hours into its first wearing.

The last - and worst - complication was that I'd originally planned to embroider the 1946 wedding date by hand. I drew the numbers very carefully with one of those blue washable markets, which I had used recently on the pillows I'd made from another gown. I embroidered 2 pieces, didn't like the look of it, picked out the embroidery and rinsed the satin so I could use my embroidery machine, and while the blue rinsed out, it also took some of the age/stain color of the satin, leaving me with bright, ghostly white numbers that would not fade. I had to cut 13 more pouch fronts.

Consider, if you will, the tantrum. I knew that marker could sometimes stain. I didn't think it could remove color.

Anyway, they're done, they're pressed, they look lovely, and thety're being picked up tomorrow.

And it's done

The book. And the author. 

Okay, so it's not quite done. I still have to listen to the computer read it to me, and I have to send advance copies to a few trusted readers/friends to find all the typos hiding on plain sight that I'm no longer capable of seeing, but that's minor stuff, really. 

The words and the big edit are over. It's a book now. Champagne has been drunk, notes for that book cleared off my phone, desk tidied. Nap taken. Long walk taken. Another nap. 

A brief rest (otherwise known as a custom sewing project) and onward.

Who is that?

Have you ever stumbled across an old photo and not recognized yourself? Whether it's such an old picture or simply because it doesn't match the picture you have in your head?

That happened to me this week. I was rummaging around on my computer, trying to find a photo from a trip years ago. A friend recently lost her dog, and I remembered that I had taken pictures of him when we visited her. So I tried to find them. No luck, but in a folder randomly marked random, I found myself. 

None of these pictures were ancient - no childhood or high school, not even my twenties - but they were so different from the image I had of myself at that time that they might as well have been of another person entirely. 

The photo here is me with several other members of the University City Garden Club, taken just a few years after I moved to West Philly. So, approximately 2003, the year before I met my husband. I was 39. I remember thinking I looked older. I thought I was overweight. I had various other criticisms that I thought were valid. 

Looking at it now, I realize that I looked like a freaking 12 year old. Maybe 16. Okay, 20. My skin was good, my boobs were higher, and if there was a little softness around my middle, it was offset by everything else I had going for me at the time. None of which I saw. 

Between modern standards of beauty that we take on board when we're too young to know better, criticism - well-meaning or not - dealt out over years, and our natural tendency to be harder on ourselves than we would be on anyone else we cared about, I don't think there's a woman alive so at one point or another who hasn't had an entirely unrealistic view of herself. 

Generally we look way better than we think we do.

This somewhat out of body experience has made me take a look at myself now. Not necessarily in the mirror. (Those are still not my favorite things.) But maybe, at 60, I don't look like I'm 70. Maybe my skin isn't that bad or that wrinkled. Maybe I'm not as chunky as I think I am - and even if I am, my body still does everything I need it to do without much complaint, and in the long run that is what's most important. 

Have you ever had an experience like that, seeing yourself in an old photo and not seeing yourself at all?

Author Life

Not a lot of time this week for a proper post (edits, craft shows) but I wanted to share an Amazon review I got the other day on Coming Apart, the first book in my Ava & Claire series. 

It was a one-star review, but not the worst thing that could have happened. First off, it proves that people night want content warnings, but they don't always read them. Second, a negative review like this is actually helpful - it warns like-minded readers that they won't enjoy the book, and gives others a heads up that they will.

One of the things I love about historical fiction is that it shows how little people have changed - customs and costumes, but not in our essentials. Also, in every era there are "hot topics" which done people don't want to talkb it read about. 

"I know things happened back then, but I was not expecting to read about it." 

Interestingly, I've gotten messages from other readers who had similar feelings as the reviewer but who said the books made them think, and while they hadn't necessarily changed their minds, they had more empathy for people in difficult situations than they did prior to reading.

Live and in person

The other week, I did an author event at a local venue. It was the first time I had done something like that - I did a reading at a bookstore not long after Songbird came out, but covid put paid to live events and I never got around to trying it again. 

This event was interesting. Not very large, not very well attended, though I did sell a few books and, more importantly, made some local author friends. 

On the other side of my efforts to not return to cubicle life, I did a large craft show this past Sunday. Well attended, but it started very early, the weather was very damp and chilly, and by the time it was over I was remembering why I started to cut back on craft shows.

Not that there weren't good parts, not that there weren't sales, not that there weren't great conversations with crafting friends - none of whom were located within chatting distance, so we were all grumbling via text message - but outdoor shows are such a crap shoot. I've been rained out as often as I've had glorious days, but most are just in the middle. Okay weather, but not the sort of day that will draw people outside, and which make me think longingly of my sewing room or, better yet, my desk. 

But I can't give up craft shows anytime soon. I don't really want to, and it is still a source of income in the spring and fall. I don't do summer shows because I don't like sweating, and a lot of the people who would buy for me are off at the shore with their kids. So I can justify staying home in front of the fan.

No photo with me at Sunday's show but I'm really pleased with this one from the author event. Maybe I'm just more photogenic when surrounded by my books.

So pretty!

Just a short check-in this week because I'm up to my ears in craft show prep for this coming weekend, edits on the just-finished book 4 of my Tudor Court series, and the garden is calling pretty loudly.

The Son in Shadow won't be out until June 15, but the pre-order is up for the ebook (can't do pre-orders on paperbacks on Amazon, at least not yet) and I wanted to show off the new covers I've put on the ebooks.

While I love the paperback covers with their historic ceilings, I wanted to try something different, and it's very easy to change out ebook covers because they're a simple graphic, rather than tthe actual typesetting of a full-wrap book cover with spine measurements and text, etc.

I wasn't planning to do a re-cover, but these came out so well that I've put them up. Ebook only, for now at least. A Wider World is my favorite, but it's also my favorite of the books, so that makes sense.