A Contemplative Life

Left corner of the Mandolin quilt attached! No commas required. Oh my goodness, I'm removing HEAPS of commas! Heaps. But it is my way, when writing, to slap a comma here, and here, and here. Not that the and's drip everywhere, but commas, oh my goodness.... And ellipses too, LOL. Lots of those, some of which I have removed. Yet those commas, why do I do this to myself? I think, and I'll leave that comma, it's because as I write I insert internal pauses, both in the prose AND the dialogue. Is that necessary, I'm not sure, but I do it and.... And WHOOPS, there's another comma. Hmmm, gotta have a think on this. Anyway, revisions on Deadfern continue. The Deadfern Miracles , Miracles ala Deadfern. Why Deadfern? I don't know. When I plotted this novel, well, there wasn't a lot of plotting. I've pantsed stories before, but not like this one. This one is unique in many ways, not for all the commas certainly, but in how it meandered through my brain to my ...

  In working on the Lavender quilt, end blocks need to be constructed on the fly, so to speak. The one above, with its corresponding block, was actually fun to make because Past Me had cut in half triangles and half hexagons, so all Present Me needed to do was to choose appropriate fabrics, baste those shapes, then sew them together. The low volume decisions were easier than the vibrant prints for the triangles. Why did I save those scraps, I now consider, but I don't ponder it deeply, mostly because much of my life is currently about trust. Learning to trust even more thoroughly than I ever have previously, not due to poor health or other erroneous situations, but merely that trusting in God is what God wants from me, ahem. Like prepping a manuscript that might be queried. I say might because I'm still reading it, but in a manner not previously done, other than for agents. I set aside the first fifty pages double-spaced, read through it, and made a few changes to the original...

During a lovely chat with like-minded friends this afternoon, I was hit hard but kindly with the sense that telling stories is truly my destined.... It's not a job and I used called in the title. It's my manner of using a God-given skill to touch as many hearts as its supposed to. Not that lately I've been pondering why I write or its intended audience. Sometimes the pings on our hearts and souls are merely to remind us then and there what we're doing that might seem unimportant to us or others does carry weight, have meaning, own a purpose. And to know that within my soul meant a lot to me, means much right now, why I'm typing this entry. I don't know if it's related to the story I'm revising, but certainly The Deadfern Miracles possesses a deeper layer than the tagline I came up with yesterday: A love story about miracles, marriages, best friends, second chances, and grace. Grace figures heavily, yet receives last billing. That's probably becaus...

Yours truly from a few days ago with my Peace Around the World EPP WIP. It's not done, lol, but my novel sure is! In a most unexpected fashion, churning out THREE chapters yesterday to complete The Deadfern Miracles . (Heads up - this is long, but not as lengthy as the book, lol.) So, I guess I still can pull words outta my backside, hehehe. 8954 words thereabouts, as I just checked the document. The first chapter was only twenty-five hundred words, which I completed at nine thirty Friday morning, having gotten an early start. Yet I wasn't plotting more than dealing with laundry and attending last night's May Day protest at the Humboldt County Courthouse. In fact, I ate a quick lunch before beginning the next chapter, which I knew would either be the last or penultimate. By one thirty p.m., that chapter was done, but The End had yet to be found. One thirty, hmmmm. One thirty seemed early enough that if I sat at my computer and let God do his thing, The End would e...

Maybe indicative of the old quilt Trevor places over Jamey. From February 2024, sort of when this novel takes place. Sometimes I truly realize how it's not me writing these novels, but God. Because sometimes I take a break in the middle of a first draft, that of a few days perhaps, but not ten days. And actually now it's been twelve days since I last wrote. And below is the chapter that emerged this morning. And I like it. It's an answer to the cliffhanger of Chapter Nineteen, ending with a cliffhanger all its own. It's indicative of how we here in Humboldt County occasionally view our special little corner of the planet, and indicative of how I see my life lived as a child of God. And, well, here it is....   Chapter 20   After the CHP inspection, what was left of Trevor’s truck had been hauled to Harbaugh Automotive , merely as a way for those closest to Trevor to begin to grasp what seemed more than a miracle. It was miraculous that he was alive, all accepted, also ...

29 December, 2025; yours truly at the north jetty of Humboldt Bay. Photo courtesy of my husband. I should be doing several other things, like prepping for possible weekend guests, spending time in the glorious sunshine, making the bed, putting away laundry, etc, etc, etc. But a few days ago I wrote a scene about coming down from the hill of Anger. And since I had posted a previous scene about the perils of climbing the mountain of Fury , well.... Anyway, here's the scene. It's another reminder that love is better than its opposite, and always will be, insert heart emoji HERE.       Half an hour later Shauna lay on the sofa, two cups of weak tea on the coffee table within arm’s reach. Rickey remained in her bedroom, scrubbing the floor. She ached hearing him huff and cluck, Spanish spoken under his breath, but not bitterly. She knew some of what he said, how nasty was bile to clean from anything, how her cleaning products were too harsh for the delicate wood. She didn’...

When I can't hand stitch like before, nor can I use my machine daily (or I SHOULDN'T use it daily), how do I fill those minutes previously spent DOING.... Oh, and we learned recently that according to the chickens, rice straw is NOT the same as wheat straw. Mostly in that wheat straw contains tasty little kernels of wheat, lol, while rice straw is merely, well, straw. Once we can acquire a bale of wheat straw, the hens will be happy. They LITERALLY were clucking and complaining vociferously when we put out the new straw....   Nadia and Owl permitted me a few shots yesterday afternoon.... But back to the topic at hand, ahem. I'm definitely a Do'er. I have lists, I like to be busy. Not that I don't like to relax, but relaxing at the end of the day used to mean sitting with a trove of English paper piecing or hand-quilting and I was happy as a dustbathing hen. Today the chickies found a new place in the sun to dig and dust themselves, all eight cloistered together like...