In A Bookish, Quilty Mood

 "So what are my stories?"    Stories in song, in cotton, in prose. Been cutting (slicing) fabric for stars, their alignments altered. Merged into one, clouds and solids, crazy mix of wild Tilda prints and other decorative ideas dwelling silently in a tote for weeks, months, maybe years to come. (Strum guitar strum, "Ricetones" by Subaqwa) An epub made, reading, read. Typos caught, maybe missed, this novel looking as though already published, but merely ticking away in my phone. Did novelists dream of such shenanigans in 1892, in 1904, in 2003? Did I dream of this arrangement when writing my first novel or my first book  (which came long before the fiction)? Captured words and deeds ("Ricetones" fades back in, plenty of reverb) held in their own kind of flash drive totes, pretty damn small compared to where the EPP lives.   (Then sneakily, as though it's not there arrives the music....) "This Mountain Is Closed" by Subaqwa a 90s indies band w

Sometimes I forget key moments in my life, like the first book I wrote (and finished) after my brother Joe died, autobiographical in nature. It's tucked away in my computer under the file name enchilada , as in the Whole Enchilada, if you get my drift. I thought about it recently, not sure why other than Joe died when I was thirty-one, which isn't far from when I was twenty-nine, which indeed has been rattling around my gray matter. Maybe if I gather the guts and gumption to read that over that someday, I'll post my thoughts, but that's not what this entry is about. Today I'm rambling about lost EPP blocks, which perhaps subconsciously is connected to someone long gone. Just a sample of a project from what feels like eons ago.... These Lucy Boston blocks are super scrappy, hardly fussy-cut, and languishing at the bottom of a tote specifically for orphan English paper piecing blocks. I had spare minutes before leaving for the dentist this morning, so first I Googled

  I wash my dishes. We don't have a dishwasher, although we're planning a kitchen remodel, and at this point it is looking to be a 2025 project. Which is fine, because if I'm happy manually washing mugs, silverware, etc, I'm doing pretty well. Revisions have been my morning focus, as I wash dishes in the afternoon. Every other day I work on Enran Book #2, mixing it up with an older novel that I might or might not publish. I didn't plan to alternate the edits, but in the last several days, that's how it's been going. It's refreshing, both in the switching round and the spontaneous nature of how that evolved. I'm chalking it up to the twenty-nine times two theory, not stressing out about it. But if I wanted to analyze it, just a little bit.... LOL, that's what this blog is kinda about, looking at my life, from writing to kitchen maintenance, through an altered lens. Or a lens rarely considered while I'm poking at prose or scrubbing teacups. Or

  Bright pretty quilt-to-be! Okay, so yes I have a new shiny waiting to be sewn together via my machine, which, ahem, has been under cover since the beginning of March! There has never been a time, when I've been home, that my sewing machine has sat so silently, but at least it's not gathering dust. Not sure when I'll remove the cover, might not be today, although if the Warriors play poorly this afternoon, I'll hide out upstairs while my husband witnesses the carnage. It's the last day of basketball season, not that we have high hopes for Golden State going far into the playoffs. More is this a time of transition, one sport leading to another as spring drips from the sky in precipitation that is good in the overall sense of rainfall, but WOW we are ready for warm, sunny days. This morning I made a fairly comprehensive list of all my novel WIPs, even a couple that might never be completed. Or started, lol. But they're accounted for, for better or worse. And yeah

One example of aging; I have to stitch a dark thread on a dark square during the daytime because at night even with extra lighting, it's still not bright enough for me to see what I'm doing. Recently I had a chat with Future Me about this semi-retired business. She rolled her eyes, smirked, then spoke. "Did you really think you'd remain this ambitious ALL THE REST OF YOUR DAYS?" I cleared my throat, then shrugged my shoulders. "Well no, but...." "But you assumed you would. You know what happens when you assume things, right?" I smirked back. "Yeah, I know." She grunted, then patted my shoulder. "It's okay, you know, to SLOW DOWN. You're not beholden to anyone to produce anything at this date or on that deadline." "No one but me, myself, and I," I said under my breath. Again she grunted. "Look, I don't care how long it takes you to edit a novel or make a quilt or get your backside outside to deal wi

While visiting my daughter, a social media site informed us that back in Humboldt County a respectable pie establishment was featuring several new items for April. I salivated over the mention of mocha pie, and as they were closed on Monday, Tuesday was the first opportunity for me to taste it. And I did. Delicious! I told my husband we'd need to get back to A Slice of Humboldt Pie before the end of the month, and he agreed. He had the chocolate silk, it's also marvelous. Aside from that, cows returned to our homestead this morning; they had traipsed along a pathway that leads to our property last week while I was away, proffering my hubby plenty of photo ops as well as smiles. Their owner herded them home, but apparently today they decided to make another break for freedom. I grew up around Hereford cattle, so it was a sweet memory to find them munching grass as though they had adopted us. Helping my hubby keep the yard tidy I proffer these amusements in part that the pie tru