A Contemplative Life

I chatted with the giver of fabric today, and asked what was the idea behind those 1.5" strips? At the end of a fabric's life, if an inch and a half remained, a strip was cut, then put in the bag for a possible log cabin quilt. I simply ADORED the process! I've never made a log cabin block quilt, though I made a large log cabin top earlier this year. I still want to make a scrap strip quilt, but this afternoon I dove into the bag, retrieving lighter-hued strips, then pressed them smooth. Being only an inch and a half wide, at times when ironed, the fabric curves a bit, making for a perfectly imperfect block, especially when paired with Kaffe Fassett jelly roll cuts I've had for more than a few years. Blues and greens worked amazing well with the neutrals, as did the random black and pink batik scrap. All those were two and a half inches, but it was marvelous to cut off the pinked edges, making for relative smooth sewing, curved pieces notwithstanding. A quilt in the ma...

 "The sunrise is not relevant to the treeline or the marine layer." What I said to my husband at 6.57 a.m. today referring to when I was going to feed the hens this morning. I'd checked my phone for the time, announcing said time, but he thought that was when I was heading out to feed the chickens. Nope. Far too dark in our slice of the North Coast for such activities, in part due to the sun isn't rising until seven thirty and because of the treeline which obscures it as well as the marine layer that darkens the horizon. A tad grainy but true colours to what I saw this morning. Might I say that when I woke a little after five today the sky was CLEAR! Stars sparkled, Jupiter rose proudly, the Big Dipper lingering over the western edge of the landscape. Those clear skies lasted until well after six o'clock, maybe as late at six thirty. By then I was having breakfast, not gazing at the heavens. When I did glance at them, welp, the marine layer had muscled in, I could...

Today's view of Peace Round the World. More about that soon! Writing not as a career but not keeping novels in a drawer either.... Maybe another twenty years of writing post. Oh and an update on chickens, Owl in particular, the poor scraggly hen. Let's begin with Owl Chicken; she looks, um, sad. Terrible actually, even in this chickie-mama's opinion, lol. None of the hens who have molted have lost as many feathers as Owl and I wonder if when Camilla molts, will she somehow try to appear even less appealing, in her I'm the Alpha Hen even in the worst circumstances sort of way. Pullet-sized Owl a few hours ago, bless her! I have no idea as Camilla is keeping a tight lid on her molting timeline. Regardless, Owl is getting the bulk of it done before weather gets chilly. Good on ya Owl Chicken! As for the writing, or rather revisions.... I'm nearly a third of the way through a read-aloud with The Deadfern Miracles . It's always revelatory when reading one's stor...

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 ...

18 June 2006, probably American Mother's Day, lol. Enjoying a spot of afternoon tea before writing reared its amazing head. Twenty years of crafting fiction that is. Ahem.... I feel like Future Me, writing this post. Then suddenly.... I am Future Me. Whoa! It's twenty years since my eldest daughter mentioned a writing gig, not a competition, but a collection of those who dream of crafting fiction. And I'm standing beside Past Me, watching as the future unfolds. I see her excitement. Curiosity. Uncertainty. Which quickly turns into unbridled thrill, bordering on zeal, as a plot emerges as though out of thin air. But many notes are made, character sketches too, as November is less than two months away. Two months that aren't only prep time, but the last two autumnal months Past Me and family will live in Britain. Not only does Past Me begin to write her first novel, she starts to unplug, albeit slowly, from an idyllic life in England. Twenty years on from 2006 saw A LOT O...

My Lavender quilt-in-progress.... How now, suddenly, my heart is drawn to the Lavender EPP quilt when not long ago I didn't think I'd ever finish it. (And now that translates to other things, like certain novel series, Enran ahem....) Over five years ago I started basting shapes for Jodi Godfrey's Lavender quilt . It's from her book The Seedling Quilts , and in Godfrey's pattern, the EPP is surrounded by negative space. I first made the pattern with her Seeding Quilt sampler and I FELL IN LOVE with it, once I understood it. That took a while, staring at this beautiful design but not quite able to get my head around it. Then it was yet another English paper pieced quilt I just HAD TO MAKE. Several of those over the years, lol, but I've completed some. Yet for all my initial love of Lavender, other shinies overtook it. Shunted it to the end of the queue. Demoted it into a tote that despite being feet away from where I sit at night to stitch, it might as well hav...

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...

Nadia amid the wishflowers, what my granddaughters call dandelions gone to seed. Our chickens are sneaky creatures; this morning as I finished breakfast, I peered out the window and there's Nadia strutting across the front yard. It's not even eight a.m. and she's already flown out of the run, exploring as she is wont to do. Lately I've had breakfast before I feed the chickens, as I'm up early and we don't feed them now until around seven o'clock. But this morning I was mesmerized by a band of heavenly light sandwiched between two pushy layers of cloud that JUST COULDN'T PUT OUT THAT LIGHT! (Lol.) They tried, those portions of the marine layer, squeezing with all their cloudy might, but that light was just like Nadia Chicken; stealthy, smart, powerful in its own not so little way. Nadia's merely a hen, and yeah, she scales the door, and can fly right back in, as my husband witnessed later this morning. But those clouds, that marine layer, my goodness!...

Probably. But you never know.... Because novels/very long short stories end as they are wont, both in the form as well as the content. The Deadfern Miracles concluded in a three-chapter marathon over the course of one day, DUDE! I didn't even know I could pull something like that outta my hat. However, this basically untitled tale is taking a more languid course, and equally I am JUST FINE with it. Because, um, the end of this story with no proper name has a slightly, no, definitely darker conclusion. Or the penultimate chapter is chaotic. The one before that one is also on the less stellar side of human reactions. Sometimes those sorts of stories emerge, because life isn't all roses and donuts. Having just read over the entire chapter, all twenty-six hundred-plus words, I'm pleased with the results, if not a little heartsick for the plotline, which I knew was coming from early on. Well, once I grasped this wasn't a short story, then.... Then the eventual end was going...

Seven of eight hens, as one was being camera shy. More about the chickens at the end of this post. While I've placed several excerpts of On Being Brave within this blog, now the end is nearing, so no spoilers. In part for myself, because if I change my mind and drastically alter a chapter, though usually I don't, I also don't need that recorded here. This novel, which wasn't meant to be a novel, carries great hope and some darker undertones. And sometimes it's tricky keeping my head above the rollicking waves, assured of my own safety. I don't write dark fiction. I do write tense, emotionally charged scenes. I write deaths, I write deep loss. But overall a Happily Ever After triumphs because that aligns to my core beliefs. A week or two ago the Sunday reading was about Peter walking on water to meet Christ, standing on the lake. Peter was doing just fine until he took his eyes from Jesus, then promptly began to sink. Jesus hauled him up, and the main takeaway i...

Hearts hand-quilted during this summer, including one from last night. I'm not posting an excerpt, merely wishing to get my head around a piece of writing, all seventeen chapters of it, that kinda emerged outta the blue, or the gray, as today along the North Coast it's seriously MARINE LAYER DAY. Like the marine layer is super-peeved at unceremoniously being shoved aside in recent weeks for plenteous sunshine and is asserting itself in a You Can't Touch Me sort of way. I could giggle at that marine layer, which won't last forever as it's already close to Mid-August, but this isn't a Where has summer gone? post. This is a How many antidotes are necessary? entry, as again I write a chapter littered with spiritual references and emotional upheaval. I have a post waiting, entitled The message of reconciliation . It's based on a line in an aged hymn, Praise My Soul, the King of Heaven , which like many ancient hymns is merely the first line of the lyrics. ...

Peace Round the World quilt yesterday on the work table. Well, I've read over the last five chapters of On Being Brave , so maybe tomorrow I'll write a new one. Once again, I am floored at how when allowing the Spirit to do the heavy lifting, some nice work comes together. Heavy on the character-driven fiction, a little sci-fi thrown in for good measure, pressed down, then overflowing with grace, forgiveness, and love. That's my genre-jam in a nutshell. For backstory, read Home and Far Away: The Enran Chronicles Book Four . Ignore the Book Four. Home and Far Away can be read as a standalone, though if you want all the backstory, read Far Away from Home: The Enran Chronicles Book Three . Feel free to read Book Four first. And have a wonderful Wednesday!   Chapter 16   Gilly and Ross arrived at SFO on Wednesday afternoon. Richard met them, but Gilly drove on the way back to Jumpville. Ross peppered Richard with questions about Hugh’s conversion to Catholicism while Gill...