Posts

Love in all sorts of guises

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This shot has nothing to do with 1963 Manhattan, but it's pretty, and there you go! Snapped in June of 2006 while we lived in Northern England. When writing a saga, characters emerge that at first seem like bystanders. Stanford Taylor, an aloof New York art dealer, came on the scene early in The Hawk , but little did I know how vital would be his role, and certainly how little did I know him, hehehe. Yet over the course of, ahem, MANY chapters, Stanford became one of my favourites to write, to display, to move along the story in his rather formal, detached bearing that alters significantly within the novel. Today's chapter that I just read aloud to myself is a perfect example of how a fictional soul turns into one far more than two dimensions. And how love weaves all through us, even when we believe ourselves incapable of it. Keep sparkling; our lights make all the difference in this crazy world!     Chapter 98   On the third morning of Stanford’s vacation, he woke al...
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A quilt locked deep in my heart(space)

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A top is finished. Photographed a couple of days ago when the sun shone brightly, lol. Now it covers a guest bed as the wall harbors what will be the back. I'm not writing more than these posts, but the sewing is going full tilt! I don't have much more to say about this rainbow quilt top, other than I will add a border because it's a tad smaller than the back, and when using the Kawandi method, both top and back are about the same size. And this way the rainbow perimeter squares won't be smaller than the rest; with Kawandi, you fold in the back and top edges about half an inch, the batting tucked under the back fold, if that makes sense. When I begin that process, I'll include some photos, or maybe in a few days, when the mystery quilt reaches its destination, I'll yammer about it in that post. I truly LOVE not dealing with quilt bindings anymore, and I don't mind at all the slower, hand-stitching manner which Kawandi promotes. Something very old-school and...
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Not so under wraps, but not quite done yet either

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From yesterday afternoon once I attached the last two rows to the lower section. However, I am itching to write about this quilt, maybe because I've been silent concerning the surprise cozy. So despite having to sew together the first seven rows and the last six rows, here's a post about a saturated colour quilt that has captured my heart in a very intense manner, as though it's the last quilt I'll ever make. Hmm, that's a bit of an overstatement. I glance around, searching for Future Me. No sign of her, which is for the best. Because this post isn't about Past Me or that all-knowing aspect of myself, ahem. Nope, this is about a highly beloved bunch of rainbow squares that were arranged with barely a second thought nearly two weeks ago. Before Renee Good was murdered. Which I mention because her death certainly impacted how much I adore this quilt, yet not in a melancholy way. More in a how vibrant was her existence, how meaningful. How lively and warm and how c...
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An Under Wraps quilt finish

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  Strange to complete a quilt, yet not share a single photo of it. Yet, as safety pins gathered in their container, I knew the end was near. All those pins pictured above were used in basting this quilt. A few nights ago I took a good look at how full the container was becoming. Yet, it seemed like a finish was days away. Isn't that how life works sometimes? We anticipate or expect this or that to happen far off in the future, like chickens laying eggs, lol. But occasionally we are caught off guard by immediate responses or occurrences, which throw our worlds into realms odd and surprising. That's what this quilt finish is, quite a surprise. Eggs from earlier today. Again we are gobsmacked at how prolific are our hens! A few of my novels have ended that way, in the crafting of a draft. I'm aware The End is nigh, then a chapter emerges and so does a story's All's Well That Ends Well, assuming the tale has a happily ever after. Most of my books do, I like happy ending...
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More necessary heartspace

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First seven rows are done. The next two are on the work table, awaiting one from the bottom section. So, heartspace . The word came up in conversation a couple of weeks ago when I was pouring out my heart to my beloved. The issue was minor in the grand scope, yet meaningful, in that what we discussed didn't tax my intellect, but severely strained my, well, heart. Certain things we can wrap our brains around, but that inner chest muscle is a different organ entirely. When I put the above fabrics on the design wall, it was merely to decorate the space, and that stack of fabrics was within easy reach; I cut them last year when making a banner in October for probably the second No Kings protest. When I cut fabric, I tend to CUT FABRIC, because it's a process. It's gathering various prints that make me happy, then placing that stack near the ironing board, where I'll press them, cut them, and repeat until it's time to do something else. It takes a few days, in that it r...
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Necessary heartspace

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All that I write is a gift from God. Here's a sample of what I mean, a chapter from Nothing More Complicated: The Hawk Book Four .       Chapter 90   In the small room, Stanford paced between where his sisters sat and where Laurie stood, but Stanford didn’t approach where his father leaned forward in his chair near Constance’s bedside. Stanford kept his distance from his parents, in that he didn’t wish to disturb his dad, and his mother was near death. Stanford had never seen anyone die and hadn’t wanted to begin that ritual with one of his own relatives, much less his mother. Yet, there had been no way to excuse himself from this place at this time. Late on Monday, March eleventh, Constance Margaret Houseman Taylor would leave this world, but Stanford had no idea where she might be going. He’d had to cancel his appointments, well, Miss Harold had cancelled them, all but one. Stanford had personally called Dr. Walsh, but they would meet again on Thursday, at t...
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