In A Bookish, Quilty Mood

Hand-quilting the rainbow extravaganza is going to be a LONG PROCESS, but better than no stitching on it at all. And sewing! Although that's being managed like I'm on a minutes restriction. Sometimes writing feels that way too, half a chapter here, another half there. Yesterday, however, I wrote an entire chapter, which felt AMAZING. While today, ahem, this entry will be it. (Heads-up: Long post, lol.) Part of my stop-start fictional output relates to morning activities. Tomorrow we're celebrating a birthday with friends, sharing lunch as one of them turns eighty-one! I'm hoping to get a scene written before we meet with them, might be half a chapter's worth, possibly two-thirds, what I accumulated a couple of days ago, woo-hoo! Not quite as thrilling as turning eighty-one, but certainly noteworthy as sixty keeps knocking on my door, dude.... Didn't I just get into this writing gig, wasn't I just in my forties? Um, NO. Sometimes that feels like a LONG TIME A...

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...

That writing a novel about miracles feels to defy the heartless and predatory natures currently wreaking havoc on our planet, which must be deterred as best we are able. I was going to write this post in the morning, Saturday morning. It's still Friday evening in California, Pacific Standard Time, lol. The time change occurs this weekend, we'll lose an hour. I've whinged about it already, far better things for me to blather on about tonight. Like how I wrote a pretty nice chapter this morning, hehehe! My novel about miracles is about a third-ish of the way there, or here, or somewhere. It's in a place virtually, existing on hard drives and flash drives, yet firmly wedged in my heart, giving me strength at a time when so much feels uncertain. Ironically, I ended today's chapter with a bit of a cliffhanger, HAH! My poor characters, put through various wringers with only 32K words accumulated. But as I said a post or three ago, writing about miracles means a fair amoun...

A year ago I was IN LOVE with Kawandi quilting. Hand-stitching thoroughly grabs me, and this was a way to make the quilt top WHILE quilting, what could be better? I actually thought I'd give up machine sewing, lol. Because I was delving into a method so THRILLING, as well as making my Heart English paper piecing quilt top ; it was like hand-sewing heaven. By early summer, my right shoulder was achy. I kept hand-stitching. By late summer, I was nearly done with a Mandolin EPP quilt , and I had a second Kawandi quilt underway . Yet that shoulder.... An X-ray in early October showed no visible issues with the shoulder, WHEW! I had cut WAY back on the hand-sewing however, finding myself in a routine of using my sewing machine every other day. Why every other day? Because even when using earplugs and noise-cancelling headphones, my ears would ring if I used my machine daily. Talk about FRUSTRATING. As well as not being able to get any PT for that right shoulder, sigh. Fast forward to 2...

Another shot from 2023; I think my husband took this one. If life was perfect, miracles wouldn't be necessary. I've been pondering this since starting a novel about miracles, and of course current events make stark how badly this world needs miraculous occurrences. As a writer, I conjure drama within every story; plots don't turn without it. Yet manufacturing said melodrama is at times wearying. Balancing the lesser parts of life with joy matters as much in fictional realms as in our corporeal stances. With that said, here's Chapter 9 of my novel. The first scene was written yesterday, the second about ninety minutes ago, with time allowed for me to read it again, clearing the obvious errors. It was slightly unsettling to craft such vitriol, but the grace which follows eased that trauma, partly based on my own experience. Hearts mended by love are indeed capable of furthering deep joy, all I ever wish to do as an author.     Chapter 9   Three women spoke in the hous...