Recipes To Die For is now available ... sort of

Okay, when I said I was shooting for October 1st, I had no idea things would come together so fast for my Victoria Square cookbook, Recipes to Die For.

Well, not exactly.  Amazon uploaded the book in less than six hours, which has to be a record.  Smashwords is always fast, but then you wait for a long time to see if you make it to the Premium Catalog (which means they distribute it to places like Sony, Kobo, Diesel and Apple.  Still waiting on that.)  As I write this, I'm still waiting for Barnes & Noble to upload it for Nook.  The last time I uploaded to them, it took three weeks.  I nagged and nagged, but they weren't going to put that story up until they were good and ready, I guess.

The print version could be ready as soon as next week.

I decided to do a print version because so many of my readers have said they don't have e readers and don't plan on getting them, either.  The only problem is, the price tag is higher than I would have liked.  And I decided NOT to make the book available to libraries and other bookstores simply because I would lose 23 cents for every book sold.  I just can't afford to do that.  So, the price tag is $5.99, which still seems high to me, but it was the cheapest I could make it and not lose money.

So, if you'd like to purchase the book right now, it's available on Kindle and (for all e formats) Smashwords.  I'll let you know when the print version is available.

I hope you'll like getting to know not only Katie Bonner better, but her vendors and friends on Victoria Square.  And ... maybe try a recipe or two while you're at it.

Thank you!
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And I Didn't Pay For Shipping!

Way back in 2008, I blogged about how I wanted a GT Express 101 counter top cooker thingy.  (And if you missed that post, you can read it here.)  It was being sold on an infomercial for $40 (for two) with an astronomical shipping price.  Suffice to say, I didn't buy it.  I figured I probably couldn't use two of them and didn't have anyone to give the second one to.

I must've watched that infomercial at least 100 times. I could practically recite along with the hostess Cathy Mitchell and her pal Joe, who cooked all kinds of omelets, cakes (with bite-size Snicker bars in the middle), enchiladas, cornbread, and all kinds of neat stuff -- in ten minutes or less!

Boy, I really wanted one . . . but I got over it and moved on.

Earlier this summer, I saw a used one at a yard sale, but it didn't have the recipe book.  I came back a second time and looked at it longingly . . . but decided that at $3 and no recipe book, it wasn't going to come home with me.

And then ... last weekend I saw another one, BRAND NEW IN THE BOX for $5.  You never saw anyone peel off five bucks as fast in your whole life.  It had everything, the little flipper-overer, a bottle to measure pancake batter, and best of all, the recipe book full of 101 recipes.  Woo-hoo!

It was with great anticipation that I fired that baby up. Since the infomercial touted it as great for using up small quantities of leftovers, that's where I started.  I beat a couple of eggs, tossed in some leftover parsley potatoes and a half a slice of Swiss cheese to make my very first omelet.

The booklet said it would take 7 minutes to cook.  I peeked halfway and shook my head.  It was going to take a LOT longer.  But then the 7 minutes was up (I used my handy dandy kitchen timer) and gosh darnit if that little omelet wasn't done to a turn.  Of course, then it was time to get that baby out of the GT express 101. The flipper overer looks like it should be easy to use, but it felt awkward in my hand.  I had to use my left hand to get the omelet out of the left hand side of the cooker.

Was this omelet any better than I could have made in my omelet pan?  Probably not.  Was it easier to use?  Yes, because I didn't have to stand there and baby it. Did it taste better?  I would've tasted a lot better if I'd cooked it in a big gob of butter, but they tell you NOT to add more than cooking spray, and therefore you get healthier food.

Was it everything they advertised?  I'd say yes.  Of course, I've only used it once, but I have a feeling I'll use it again.  Maybe not tomorrow, but soon.  Will I ever use it for anything other than an omelet?  That's debatable.  But it is easier to clean than my omelet pan, so ... what the heck.

Have you ever used an AS SEEN ON TV product that worked?

Recipes to die for?

When I told my sister-in-law I was writing a cookbook, she laughed.  "You?  Cooking?  Telling other people how to cook?"

Now, wait a minute, I never said I couldn't cook, I just prefer NOT to, although I've always enjoyed baking. (And hey, since someone else was willing to do most of the cooking, I didn't object.)  Since I started writing the Booktown Mysteries (and one of the main characters is really into food and cooking), I've done a lot more cooking--and a lot of experimentation in the kitchen.  I've even successfully reproduced (or a reasonable facsimile) recipes of food that I've eaten in restaurants, something I wouldn't even have contemplated a few years back.

So, this summer I decided to write a cookbook for my Victoria Square characters.  And what we have is: RECIPES TO DIE FOR.

This was my "play piece."  As I've mentioned before, we had a rough beginning to the summer. (Beginning as in early April and plowing through mid-July.)  Having a play piece was fun--an escape.  It also didn't hurt that I was writing a novel with the same characters at the very same time.  I got to explore their lives, where they came from, and express it through the recipes they contributed to the Victoria Square Cookbook.

Author Ellery Adams, now known for ther Books by the Bay mysteries (and for the Supper Club Mysteries under the name J.B. Stanley), will soon be known for her Charmed Pie Mysteries.  Ellery/J.B knows her way around the kitchen.  So I was thrilled when she gave Recipes To Die For an enthusiastic two-thumbs up.  She said:

"Cozy readers everywhere have fallen in love with Lorraine Bartlett's A Crafty Killing and the inhabitants of Victoria Square, a charming and sometimes dangerous berg featuring one-of-a-kind businesses like Artisans Alley. In Recipes To Die For, Katie Bonner and the rest of the locals from Victoria Square invite you into their kitchens to share tantalizing recipes and intimate stories about food, family, and life. So tie on your apron and sharpen your knives, because Recipes To Die For is chock full of culinary treasures such as Andy Rust's Cinnamon Rolls, Vance Ingram’s Barbequed Ribs, and Sweet Sue’s Toffee Squares. And you don't want to miss Aunt Lizzie’s Cream Scones. They're to die for!"

So, when will it be avaiable?

October 1st.

How will it be available?

In print and as an ebook.  First, on Kindle and Nook, and within a week or so of that date, all other e formats.  You'll be able to order it from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or any independent bookstore.

Would you like to read a Victoria Square cookbook?
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CHARGE IT!

by Guest Blogger Sylvia May

When Lorna asked if I’d like to guest blog on Pet Peeve Thursday, I replied with a resounding yes. Trouble was, I couldn’t think of any Pet Peeves. Not one thing to complain about. Aren’t I lucky?

Nevertheless, I settled into our comfy chair with my laptop, figuring inspiration would hit eventually. Turning on the computer, I was greeted with a message telling me there were nine minutes of power left on my battery. Oh yeah, I’d forgotten to plug it in the night before. Annoyed with myself, I scrambled out of the chair to get the charger and realized that I did have a Pet Peeve to write about.

A few mornings ago, after virtuously dragging myself out of bed at 6:00, I donned my running clothes, grabbed my cute little iPod Nano (which has on it an invigorating and motivating playlist) and went outside. Did my stretches, put in the earbuds and turned on my Nano. Except it wouldn’t turn on! You guessed it; I’d forgotten to charge it.

That same day (same day!) I was out running errands when my cell phone rang. “Hi Sylvia,” my sister began. “I wanted to ask you—” and then the phone died. Really? Had I forgotten to charge that too? (And this one is crucial, since our cell phone is our only phone.)

You’d think I would have learned my lesson. Not so. The other night I climbed into bed with my iPad, which I primarily use as my e-Reader. I was eager to devour a few more chapters of the wonderful book, Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese, before nodding off. Alas, before I’d gotten through a couple of pages, the battery died. Then I remembered that my daughter, who was visiting us for a few days, had been playing Fruit Ninjas on my iPad, frantically trying to beat her own score of 564, an activity that had apparently run the power down.

I am obviously dependent on my portable electronic devices—for work, for reading, for play. But I seem to forget that they only work when they’re charged!

So now, I’m trying to make it a habit to plug everything in before going to bed. Well, I plug in my iPad in the morning, since I actually use it in bed. I’ve been at it for three days. So far, so good—everything is fully charged when I set out to use it.

Have you run out of power recently?
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Sylvia May’s emotionally charged debut novel, The Unraveling of Abby Settel, was released two weeks ago. A women’s fiction novel, it is a story of mid-life reinvention and the importance of friends. Watch the trailer (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yNZvTaIOIZE), visit her website (www.sylviamay.com) and her blog (http://sylviamaysblog.blogspot.com/).

Keeping the lights on

I often worry about the wrong things.  One of the things I worry about is losing power.  Worse--losing the Internet because I've lost power!  But wait, maybe after recent events, this isn't such a wrong thing to worry about.

During the time we've lived in this house, we've lost power--for days at a time--twice.  We've lost power for hours at a time five or six times.  In the summer . . . it's not so bad.  Although after a tremendous thunderstorm (microburst) we were without power for five days.  It was heartbreaking to see the streetlights on, but the every house in the neighborhood shrouded in darkness.  (And wouldn't you know we had just stocked our freezer a couple of days before the storm.)  At that time, I had a day job, so I could go to work and cool off and surf the net.  My self-employed husband could not.  And with no power, he couldn't work, either.  It was a long five days for him.  And we (and the neighbors) were furious to find that it was the turn of a wrench that powered up our neighborhood once again.  They just didn't have a crew available to come do it ... FOR FIVE DAYS.

When we lost power after an ice storm and the house went down to 44 degrees, it was a nightmare.  We couldn't get a hotel room because we had cats.  We weren't going to leave the cats, so we stayed at the house.  And FROZE.  That's when Mr. L channeled Scarlett O'Hara and said, "As God is my witness, I will never be cold again!"

We bought a gasoline-powered generator.  What a great piece of insurance.  After we bought it, we didn't lose power for several years.  But last winter we did--for more than three hours.  That was the first time we had to use the generator.  First, Mr. L had to crawl around in the snow and plug the generator into the circuit.  Not so easy when you have had two knee replacements.  Next, we had to endure not only the roar of the generator, but the fumes.  (And yes, it was stationed outside and well away from the house, but you could still smell it.)  I was convinced we'd die of asphyxiation. But the furnace did run.  We could use the microwave and toaster oven to make supper.  (But we couldn't run the computers.  Mr. Generator was good, but not that good.)

Today (well, if we don't have a downpour), we're having a natural gas-powered generator installed.  Oddly enough, we'd made the decision before Hurricane Irene struck and left millions in the dark for days.  We've got a lot of problems in this country, and one of them is an aging infrastructure.  Why did so many people lose power during Hurricane Irene?  Because the power lines are above ground--running through trees, that break and fall during bad weather.  (Think about it, this is 19th Century technology we're talking about.)

The next time the power goes out, I want my lights, heat (or AC) and I want my Internet.  Hopefully, new Mr. Generator will deliver it for me.  (Think of it this way:  a Thomas Kincade painting vs. Bob Cratchit trying to warm himself over a candle?)  And yeah, this is taking a BIG bit our of our savings, but it's also bringing us something equally important:  peace of mind.  You can't put a price on that.

Taking a Day Off

Tuesday I took the day off.  Believe me, after the summer I've had, I needed a day off.

Mr. L and I drove across the border to Niagara-on-the-Lake, a lovely little town on the Niagara River.  While my fictional village of Stoneham, NH doesn't look much like NOTL, I wish it did. (And I'm coaxing it, I'm coaxing it.)  By the way, if you click on the pictures, you should see bigger versions of them.


Our first stop, the Prince of Wales Hotel for afternoon tea.


The tea room was gorgeous.  We could have sat at the outer edge to watch the people on the sidewalk go past, but chose instead to sit "inside" and enjoy the lovely tea room itself.



The tea came out first.  Isn't this lovely china?



And next came the most delicious and fattening food . . .


After lunch, we walked around the town and just took in the lovely homes and other sights.


I think Mr. Horsey would have preferred to be standing in a meadow in the shade instead of pulling tourists on a hot day.


All in all, it was the perfect day.

Have you had a perfect day lately?
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Calling Haven't Got a Clue!

Last week at the garage sales, I found what's been on my treasure-hunt list for years:  an old black phone.

Years ago, my Dad bought one secondhand. We always said it could be used as a murder weapon.  So, when I started writing the Booktown Mysteries back in 2006, I decided that Tricia should have a classic phone on the cash desk of her mystery bookstore, Haven't Got a Clue.  (Hmmm ... maybe it'll be a murder weapon some day.  )

Anyway, I've seen retro phones for sale on Amazon for about a hundred bucks, but I wanted a REAL one, and I didn't want to pay $80-$300.  (I saw a refurbished phone similar to mine online for $299 plus shipping.  It's a Kellogg 1000 series phone.  If you're really interested, you can read about it here.)

When I staggered to the car under the weight of a big box AND this phone, Mr. L's lip curled.  "What is THAT?"

"It's Tricia's phone.  I have to have it."

"It's DIRTY and DISGUSTING."

"It's Tricia's phone.  I'll clean it up."

Only it sat in my minivan for a week before I plucked up the courage to touch it again.  It really was disgusting.  It must have been stored in a barn or a garage for a L-O-N-G time. (Note the ex-spider home on the receiver.)




 Here's a front view:


The first thing I did was wet a paper towel to get the majority of the crud off of it.  Again.  DISGUSTING!  Then I tinkered with the dial.  I took off the part with the finger holes and figured I'd just move it.  Oh no.  There's a whole brass thingy with lots of cogs and stuff that was jammed.  So I messed with it with a screwdriver (and I'm sure my Dad, the tinkerer, was standing over my shoulder the whole time), got it unstuck, and then squirted it liberally with WD-40.  Voila!  It started moving again.  I put the thing back together and started on the receiver.

Ugh!  Even more disgusting!  I removed a outer ring and the mouthpiece cover and found it filled with yucky yellow stuff. I  don't know what it was, but it went into the trash PDQ!  Did the same to the earpiece, but that wasn't as bad.  Then I dug out the Murphy's Oilsoap and gave it a thorough going-over.  And . . . don't you think Tricia would be proud to have this phone on her cash desk?

Mr. L said, "You're not really going to use that, are you?"

Truthfully, I don't know.  I would need to go to Radio Shack and see if I can get some kind of adapter, but if I can get the old girl working, I'd like to install her in my office.

It's not the same phone as we had when I was a kid--that had a more Art Deco handle--but for now, I'm pretty happy with old Black Beauty.  And by the way, I paid $5 for it.



Don't you just love a bargain?
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Mr. Wasp Builds A Nest

And so as we left the cottage last week, Mr. Wasp flew in.  Mr. MONSTER Wasp.  Of course I screamed.  I scream whenever there's a bug bigger than my big toe and if it's flying around --I scream REALLY LOUD. (And for some reason it annoys Mr. L.)

But I opened the door and Mr. Wasp flew out to dive bomb somebody else.

Only it turned out it wanted to dive bomb us.  Him and a LOT of his friends.  They were flying in and out of a little strip of metal above the gutter right over the front door.

"We'll get some wasp spray," Mr. L said.

Okay.  He bought it and since I decided to go back there to write he handed it to me and said, "Good luck."

Gulp.

Mr. Wasp and friends were very busy when I arrived.  Going in and out and (presumably) building more rooms in the nest for their friends and relatives.

Gulp.

But before I did anything I did what I never do.  I READ THE DIRECTIONS ON THE CAN.  It said to wait until dusk when Mr. Wasp and friends were turning in for the night.

It was a L-O-N-G day, and I went in and out the back door.

At long last almost dusk arrived and I went outside, set up the ladder (this time wearing shoes with traction.  I didn't want a repeat of two weeks ago when I fell down the rain-slick steps and received a gigantic bruise the side of Puerto Rico).  Perched on the ladder, I took aim and SQUIRTED.  Wow--that can really could expel its poison for 20 feet.  But was I in a good position to actually get the nest, which is completely invisible?

I squirted again.  Mr. Wasp and pals were getting a little upset.  Suddenly there were about 20 of them hovering madly outside their home.  I jumped off the ladder and backed away, sure I was about to be swarmed.  But the wasp family was more interested in defending their turf than turning on me.  Still, I squirted a couple more times from the ground and waited.  Nothing seemed to happen, but I did hear some odd buzzing.  I looked down and a couple of wasps were wiggling around in agony.

I felt like a murderer.  I stomped on them to put them out of their misery and hurried back inside.

Okay, I worked in a chemical factory for over 25 years.  I know what poison does and wasp spray is poison.  These wasps could have lived long and happy lives if they'd built a nest in the tree or in someones barn far away from me.

I have a feeling they're not finished.  They're big.  Like Terminator wasps.  They'll be back.

Next time I'm going to let Mr. L deal with them while I hide at a safe distance.

Have you ever dealt with wasps or other really big bugs?
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Where'd I see that picture?

So there I was with NOTHING to read.  Oh, there's an old issue of Coastal Living, from April 2006, sitting on that pile of magazines in the corner.  (I got it at a yard sale for FREE!)  I think I'll read that.  So, I'm paging through it and come to an article about an enclave of cottages to rent on the Maine coast.  (Very pretty.)

Then I got to page 147.  Hold everything!  I turned to Mr. L and said, "I've seen this picture in the last couple of weeks."

He didn't bother to look up from the crossword puzzle.

"In fact, it was in an issue of Romantic Homes Magazine."

Still no reaction from Mr. L.

So I turned to the pile of magazines on the little table between us and sure enough--there it is, the new issue of Romantic Homes and darned if that picture from a 5-year-old-issue of Coastal Living isn't the cover of the current Romantic Homes.

Mr. L says to me, "You do this all the time.  Find a picture in one place, and then go show me where you've seen it before."

He's right.  I remember beautiful pictures on home interiors--and for some reason, I remember where I've seen them--even if I haven't seen it for a while.

Why couldn't I remember more important stuff like where I left my keys or my hat or my glasses?  No, I have to remember pictures in decorating books and magazines.

Has that ever happened to you?

I auto sign my E autograph

One of the complaints I've heard about e books is that authors can't sign them for readers.

Well, forget that one, because someone has figured out a way to do it.  (It was only a matter of time.)

Like a bunch of my author pals (Deb Baker, Doranna Durgin, Tonya Thomas, Becky Barker, Michele Hauf, and more), I've registered at Kindlegraph and with all three of my names:  Lorraine Bartlett, Lorna Barrett and L.L. Bartlett.

What's Kindlegraph?  A website where readers can request an electronic (pseudo) autograph from their favorite authors. (Well, the one's who've registered, anyway.)  It's quick, it's easy, and it's free!
Can an author REALLY autograph an ebook?

Well, not exactly.  Instead, the author can personalize a message to a reader.  What you get is a PDF file with a copy of the book's cover and a message from the author.  (Remember to include your name in your request if you want the autograph"personalized".)  You can then attach the file to the e copy of the book.  And although the name of the site has Kindle in it, these PDF files can be attached to the files for e books on just about every other e platform. (Think Nook, Sony E Reader, Kobo, etc.)

So, what do you think of this latest e innovation?

OR

Packing up a life . . .

A couple of weeks ago, my mother asked me to assemble some boxes for her.  My brother got them off Craigslist for free.  Someone had moved and the moving company gave them far too many boxes.  So they offered them up to anyone who wanted them.  Since we were moving my mother-in-law from her apartment to assisted living, my brother thought we could probably use them.  He was right.

Packing up the mother-in-law's clothes wasn't so bad.  Her clothes are in her new closet and dresser and her pictures are on the walls and scattered around her room.  We even hung some cute things in the bathroom so that where she now lives would look more like home for her.

But then there're those boxes for my Mom.

It's been almost two years since my Dad passed.  My Mom wasn't ready to part with his things until now.  So for the past week or so she's been going through his clothes, washing them, and packing them up for Goodwill.

Yesterday I stood there and looked at his things and it made me cry. He isn't here anymore.  He has no use for any of them.  But . . . it just makes me so sad to see them go.

Dad would've been practical.  "Get rid of them!"  In fact, he did say that while he was in the nursing home.

I used to like to go to estate sales, but I find it hard to do these days.  Somebody died.  We're all picking over what the deceased might have loved and valued.  It all seems kind of ghoulish. And yet ... if no one has use for these things, maybe someone else might love and value them, too.

What do you think?

No soup for me!

Lately I've been thinking a lot about the Soup Nazi episode of Seinfeld.  Not that I particularly liked any of the the episodes but that nasty line of dialogue, "NO SOUP FOR YOU!" keeps repeating in my ear.

Why?

Because I love soup.  I've been making a lot of soup these past two years, and soup and hot weather just don't go together.

Don't tell me to make a chilled soup.  Ick!  (And some of them are just plain weird.  Chilled watermelon soup?  Why not just say watermelon slushy?)

I've got a hankering to make black bean soup.  And 16 bean soup.  And I've been afraid to make my own dahl (lentils) just . . . because.  (Have you ever seen the yards-long ingredient list?)

But in the last couple of days the weather has gotten . . . nice.  We're talking not horribly humid, and not devastatingly hot.  And what am I thinking about?

Soup!

I love leek and potato soup and included the recipe in one of my books (Bookmarked for Death?).  I haven't made that one in a while.  Seems to me there's usually snow on the ground when I make it, although the last time I made it was in October 2009.  I made it for my Dad who'd just been transferred back from the hospital to the nursing home.  It was the last real meal that he ate.  (And I fed it to him, spoonful by spoonful.)  Maybe that's why I haven't made it.  It's too painful remembering.  But I made it with love in my heart and he was grateful to eat it.

But back to that 16 bean soup . . . I only recently found out I can BUY frozen ham hocks at Wegmans.  (Who knew?)

I'm not in a hurry to see summer end (especially now that the weather has calmed down a little), but ... I'm ready for a nice bowl of hearty soup.  (And no, not made with any kind of animal hearts.  Ick.)

What's your favorite soup?
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I have no sympathy for rodents

Last week I posted on Facebook that we caught a bunny in our Havahart trap.  Presumably the bunny that has destroyed 75-85 percent of my bean crop.  Never mind the woodchuck that has destroyed ALL of my gladioli, potatoes, coneflowers, and shasta daisies on the other end of the yard.

I was surprised so many people were sympathetic to Mr. Bunny and not to my plants.

Hey, plants deserve to live, too!

Pity the farmer behind our house.  I estimate that the animals that have been having dessert in my yard have been dining three meals a day on his soil and have destroyed a very big portion of his crops.  THEIR LIVELIHOOD.

Yes, Mr. Bunny and Mr. Chipmunk (I found one munching one of my tomatoes last evening) are "cute" but they aren't Chip and Dale or Peter Rabbit.  Give them skinny tails and they are what they are--RODENTS.

RODENTS = RATS.  Do you think rats are cute?  Are tiny mice, so cute in fiction, sweet and nice when they are running around in your silverware drawer crapping on the forks and knives?  Because I sure didn't think so last winter or in June when it happened again.

RODENTS = DISEASE.  The plague.  The Black Death.

Excuse me, but I don't find rodents in any form to be cute, nice, or Disney-esque.

The bunny we caught in the trap was let go in a rural area.  We did NOT kill it (unlike my rural neighbor down at the cottage who would catch critters in his Havahart trap and drown them in the bay--guaranteeing they would never eat his flowers and veggies again.)  I'm perfectly fine with relocating them.  But I'm not perfectly fine with them destroying crops, be they my own or my farmer neighbor's.

I realize this attitude will not win me friends with those who read Beatrix Potter -- but I'm sure the lady farmer wasn't happy when these pests ate her kitchen garden, either.  She just wrote about the "cute" side of rodents who wore waistcoats and spoke in full sentences--not squeaks that only a cat can hear.  And that was her livelihood.  Pity the poor farmer, already dealing with this year's intense weather conditions, who won't have money to feed his/her family this winter because not-so-cute rodents ate a big portion of his/her crops.

I am an animal lover.  (You wouldn't believe how much money I send to animal charities.  And not just those for cats and dogs--but a farm animal rescue, too.) But I draw the line at crop-eating, disease-ridden rodents.

This is just one subject where some of us just won't see eye to eye.  I'm afraid we're going to have to beg to differ.

I'm sure those in the rodent court have never planted gardens.  Maybe they should try.  I see a garden as eco-friendly and trying to limit my carbon footprint.

I can't do that if rodents trump humans in this food chain.

99 Years Ago Today

Today would have been Julia Child's 99th Birthday.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JULIA

I confess, until I saw the movie Julie & Julia, I really didn't know that much about Ms. Child.  Now I've read a couple of books and obtained her book Mastering the Art of French Cooking (which I have not).  And it wasn't the cooking in the film that made it a hit with me, it was that Julie and Julia were both WRITERS.

What a cool lady.

The bumpy road to typing "THE END"

I'm often asked:  "How long does it take you to write a book?"

I glibly answer: "Six months," and that's the truth--most of the time.

I am notoriously s-l-o-w with the first 40,000 words.  That's how long it takes me to get into the story and to where the work starts to be fun instead of drudgery.

I've had a LOT (upsetting) non-writing stuff going on this summer, so even after I hit my 40,000 words, the work was still drudgery.  No matter what I did, I could not seem to get this puppy to run on four wheels on a straight road.

HOLD EVERYTHING!  Yesterday I sat down for most of the day and read the thing.

I wasn't as far off the main road as I feared, but I did have to dump a subplot that just wasn't working.  I worried that Katie wasn't doing enough sleuthing, but it turned out I'd forgotten half the stuff she was up to (mostly because I've written the book out of sequence).  Luckily, it does make sense and I'm hoping it falls together (that is, I'll be writing a LOT) in the next couple of weeks.

I've fallen in love with my characters and setting once again.  Katie has new friends, and new thorns in her side, and I think the book is going to be pretty good.  Of course, I just read The Walled Flower earlier this week (it's my favorite so far in the series, but by the time I finish this one, it may snatch that honor--that's what usually happens), so I'm well steeped in Victoria Square lore.

Now, if I could just straighten out the crap that going on in the rest of my life ... because I have LOTS of other stories I want to tell and no time right now to write them.

Is there anything that looked bleak in your life that suddenly found some sunshine?
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I fall down go boom!

 Sometimes when I'm falling behind on a project, I'll pack up a cat and go to the cottage to work.  It seems like I can get a lot more done there when I'm on my own and free from distractions than when I'm at home.  And boy have I got a lot to get done.  I'm behind on my manuscript (had to ask for an extension), had a copy edit to complete, and a blurb to write (all with looming deadlines).

So, yesterday I packed up my cat Fred and off we went.

Doesn't that sound ideal?  The problem is . . . it was raining.  REALLY HARD.  It was 8:45 and I'd already been to the grocery store, Home Depot, and filled up the van with gas.  We hit the road and the rain hit us.  What usually takes just under an hour took us 90 minutes.  (But we were listening to Bookmarked for Death on CD and that helped, although it was raining so hard at some points that I couldn't understand what the reader was saying.  No matter.   I know the story.  Heck, I wrote it!)

When we arrived, it was still raining hard, but I had a schedule.  First things first, get the frightened cat out of the car.  That went okay, despite the fact I was juggling a grocery bag, my purse, and the cat carrier, and an umbrella.  But soon Fred was inside and I grabbed my umbrella and went out for a second load.

Did I mention I was wearing my old (with NO tread), paint-stained Crocs?  I'd already mentioned to Mr. L that I had nearly slipped in the Home Depot parking lot, but I'd left my good shoes at the cottage the last time we were there and wanted to remember to bring my ratty old ones back.  I had not reckoned with the wet and slippery staircase.
I fall down go BOOM!

That had to be the most frightening split second of my life.  The stairs have four steps and I missed three of them and landed on my butt on the concrete pavers at the bottom.  I slammed both wrists onto the bottom step and was instantly soaked to the skin.

I must've sat there for a full 10 seconds before I could catch my breath to move.  Was I smart and did I go back inside?  No, I went for another load from the car.  I was careful and since the gutter over the door leaks like a sieve, got even wetter.  I dumped my load and CHANGED MY SHOES.

Once I had everything in, I called Mr. L.  I had promised I'd call as soon as I got in.  His reaction.  "Gee, it's good you're not hurt.  With no neighbors around, nobody would have found you."

That scared me.  (Thanks, Mr. L.)  Suddenly that commercial about the old woman who'd fallen and couldn't get up didn't seem so idiotic.

Lucky for me, I had used an icepack in the cooler so I alternated sitting 20 minutes on and 20 minutes off for most of the day.  I finished the copy edit (and handed it in a week early--Man, I like The Walled Flower!) and I even got a lot of reading in for the book that needs a blurb.  (Once I figured out how I could sit on my recliner without searing pain.)

And now all I have to show for yesterdays adventures are a LOT of bruises and sore muscles.


And the Crocs?  They still aren't in the garbage where they should be.  I still have some painting to complete.  THEN they're going in the garbage.

Have you ever fallen and couldn't get up?

The Exploding Spam Folder

During the last couple of weeks, I have received an inordinate amount of emails telling me that I've won contests; that a long-lost relative with millions of dollars (in Africa--if that isn't an oxymoron, what is?) has died and left it to me!  That I have won the British Lottery!  That a dear friend was held-up at knife point in London and now has no money for a ticket to get home.  That I can get all the drugs I want for pennies (most especially those that grow the male member).

Hold everything!

If I didn't go into my spam folder at least five times a day, my computer would explode and there'd be emails stuck to the walls, the ceiling and the floor.

Apparently there are no end to the scammers out there.  (And the pirates stealing my books.  I'm sure my editor gets bombarded with emails from all his authors just about every day telling him of the newest rip offs.  We learn about these illegal copies via Google alerts.)

There have always been nasty, evil people out there, but the Internet lets them steal and scam with relative anonymity. And how many people fall for this crap?
I guess I have no point other than: STOP IT, PEOPLE.

And worst of all, real emails that I WANT to read get trapped in the Spam Folder.  My Williards from Susan Branch.  Emails telling me I have comments from this very blog.  Fan mail. Emails from my bank. And on and on and on. (Now you know why I check my Spam Folder so often.)  When people sign up for my newsletter, the confirmation note to them ends up in THEIR Spam Filters and without opening it, they won't get my newsletters.  (Next one slated for September.)

How tired are you of the spammers?
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The weeds and me

When I bought my first house (a converted chicken coop), one of the first things my Dad and I did was plant a garden.  It was a magnificent garden with tomatoes, peppers, broccoli.  It was the only garden I ever had that was cleared of grass and then we laid down a big sheet of black plastic.  I never had to weed it and I had fresh veggies for quite a while.

Fast forward.  I'm on my third house now, and I still have a veggie garden, but now I have weeds.  A LOT of weeds.  But weeding can be very therapeutic.  Lately when things get overwhelming, I go out there and yank 100 weeds.  (I told you there were a LOT of them.)  When I'm done, I'll have a nice clear little patch (which I know will be filled in again by next week).

When I get stuck writing, when I can't come up with one more thing to write, I'll go out and pull a few weeds.  Sometimes I talk over my writing problems with my tomatoes and beans.  They've not very helpful when it comes to story ideas, but they listen quietly and don't judge.

What do you think about when you're weeding?
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Escape (not the Pina Colada song)

Is this summer EVER going to end?

I never thought I'd say that about summer.  I love summer.  But this relentless heat . . . the mother-in-law crisis which seems to get better only to escalate again.  The book deadline that gets nearer and nearer . . .

Ya know what?  I wanna run away from home.

I wanna pack a suitcase, jump on a train and go somewhere.  Maybe the Canadian Rockies.  (I don't think I can go there directly from my city, but this is fantasy anyway, right?)

I want to eat gourmet meals in a fancy dining car while the tracks below me go clickity-clack. I want to see inspiring vistas and pink and purple sunsets.

And I want to laze back in a seat and READ for PLEASURE for hours and hours on end.

Anybody want to join me?

Ideas, ideas--send me your ideas!

Did anybody miss my blog posts this week?  Yeah, I know -- I missed Monday-Wednesday, and luckily my pal Kelly McClymer jumped in yesterday for Pet Peeve Thursday.  (Thanks, Kelly!)

Once upon a time Harry Nilsson sang a song called, "Here's Why I Did Not Go To Work Today."  Well, here's why I have been a bit haphazard with my blog posts of late.

It's the Summer Of Hell Part II.

Two years ago my Dad was sick and dying and that was the Summer of Hell Part I.  This year it's my mother in law who's having a rough time.
In early April, we decided it wasn't safe for her to live alone anymore.

But uprooting one 96 year-old-lady from a city 90 miles away and moving her here to assisted living was a lot more complicated than we ever could have imagined.  Even though her doctor (after MANY visits) finally signed off, she had heath problems we never suspected.  The poor woman has spent most of her six weeks in our fair city in the local hospital.  She's now been transferred to transitional care and we hope she's back in her assisted living place (where she only has spent 2 out of the past 6 weeks) by next week.

FINGERS CROSSED.

But getting her here was a LOT more work than just driving her from one city to another.  She had an entire apartment that needed to be addressed.  (Guess who got to do most of the heavy lifting and packing?)  We took three (or was it four?) trips across the western part of the state to clean out the apartment.  (And we've got one more to do before the end of the month . . . and you did notice that today is the 29th, didn't you?)

Mr. L has been on the phone for the past six weeks trying to put all The Mother's financial affairs in order.  The missing title for her car (and yes, she was still driving in May) has been a real adventure.  (We won't go there.)

Meanwhile, Mr. L's sister (who lives 1500 miles away) has come to visit  three times.  That means extra cleaning, laundry, food prep, and socializing (that's the fun part--and believe me, it was the ONLY fun part of this entire ordeal).  Plus the fact I've been painting walls for the past four weekends in high heat and humidity.

Bottom line: 
I'm burned out. 
BURNED OUT. 
BURNT TO A CRISP.

Remember those writing projects I told you I was juggling?  I'm not juggling any more.  Just working on one project and I'm far, far behind.  I'll probably have to ask for a deadline extension (fair warning, Tom), but the other day I solved a BIG problem that was snagging me (wonder why?) and things seem to be rolling along a lot smoother now.  But the blog has suffered.

I don't want to give up the blog.  It's fun . . . at least when I have ideas, and I've temporarily run out of them.  So I'm asking you . . . what would you like me to talk about in the blog for the next month (or two or three ... always need new ideas).

Come on, don't be shy.  I'd LOVE to hear from you.
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Can you get cabin fever in the summer?

I hate being trapped inside by the weather. The temperatures are so miserable you can't step outside for fear of losing your life.  You don't want to go to the store because you'll have to go outside.

I'm not talking about the winter snowstorms we get just about every week here in Western New York, I'm talking the temps in the high 90s.

We're trapped inside because of winter for MONTHS AND MONTHS on end.  So when the good weather comes, I want to be out enjoying it, not trapped inside my air conditioned house.

Don't get me wrong, I LOVE not baking to death.  (I lived without air conditioning for most of my life.) But after waiting six months to sit in my screened-in porch, I hate having to be inside, looking out at the flowers and the in-ground pool (which we don't use because the water is too COLD).

This year we've spent more time inside than out on our porch.  And I'm suffering from cabin fever.

Our warm weather doesn't last long enough -- but this heat wave has overstayed its welcome.

How's the weather where you are?

Who's that skinny chick in white?

That was my wedding party -- yup, the whole thing -- 20 years ago today.  (I'm the one second from the right.)

It was the HOTTEST day of the year (which is why the best man and my Dad were holding gin and tonics)--102 degrees.  (They've prediced 101 for tomorrow.)

It was a good day.  A very good day.

The Long Wait For Waffles

Back in late May, my friend Janet sent me a bottle of her homemade maple syrup.  She and her husband tap the trees on their property in Michigan.  They get about 30 gallons of the stuff, which she says boils down to a gallon or two of maple syrup. It takes HOURS and HOURS to boil the stuff down.  They share this bounty with friends and relatives.  I feel really HONORED to be among them.

So, there we were at our cottage in early June, with plans to break open (although not literally) the bottle and have a terrific breakfast of waffles and bacon.  We'd planned that for Sunday morning.

Saturday morning Mr. L said, "I have a stomachache."  I didn't think much of it because as someone with frequent (although not so much anymore) heartburn, I always had a stomachache.  But if I had been really listening alarm bells should have gone off.  Mr. L is NEVER sick.  He NEVER has a stomachache. He hasn't puked in over 40 years.  (I sure wish I could say that.)

And so . . . later in the day Mr. L decided that his stomachache was getting worse--as in 'Take me to the ER" worse.  Except that he really didn't make a fuss.  By the time he got seen, the resident on duty said, "On a scale of 1 to 10, how bad is the pain."  Mr. L quite calmly said, "Ten."

Whoa!  When Mr. L had his knee replacement surgery, I don't think he said the pain was every worse than a five.

When they finally released him from the hospital two days later (yeah, he hand an infected gall bladder), they gave Mr. L a list of foods NOT to eat.  And what was on there?  Waffles. (He could have just mainlined the syrup--there's no fat in it, after all.)

So, seven weeks (and 24 pounds) later, Mr. L finally got his waffles on Sunday.



Yummy!  (Still waiting for that bacon.  Maybe next week.)
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What's wrong with this lovely picture?

What's wrong with this picture?

A lovely cat family.  Mama, two orange kids, a part siamese (the white one), and a little black kitty who was spooked and ran under the deck when we came out on our porch on Saturday morning.
Yes, what's wrong with this lovely little family group.

They're feral.

Why are they feral?

Because our neighbors think it's swell to have cats.  AND NEVER NEUTER THEM.  Consequently, there are constantly new litters of kittens being born.  The neighbors toss a bowl of dry food out on their deck, but that's as far as they go when it comes to cat maintenance.  The cats are outdoor cats.  And there are more than THIRTY of them running around the neighborhood.

According to the Humane Society there's no law that says this is cruel, but forcing cats to live outdoors in Western New York in winter is inhumane in my book.  Forcing them to bear unwanted litters of kittens is inhumane in my book.  Making them hunt for their food in an area filled with preditors is inhumane in my book.

Hmm...might need to write about book just about this.
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Go Away Mr. Groundhog!!!

Every year I (attempt to) grow beans.  I've learned in the past that once they start to climb, they're usually safe from critters.

Not this year!

I put down dried blood and that usually does the trick.

Well, I ran out and something ate all but two of my potato plants.  While waiting for another shipment to arrive (purchased via the Internet), something attacked my beans.  It just chopped them about six inches from the ground, but they're all withering and dead up above.

Grrrrr!

Now, I'm an animal lover, but not when it comes to wild critters eating my garden.

The dried blood arrived yesterday, and I gave the ground around the potatoes a good treatment, but not the beans.  Since the critter was discouraged in the potato patch s/he went straight for the beans. You can bet I spread a liberal supply of dried blood around today -- but it's a day too late.

Will we get beans this year?

I sure hope so, but I'm not confident.

What are the critters eating in your garden?


(P.S.  Today my character Katie Bonner is blogging over at the Killer Characters site--talking about her dreams for the English Ivy Inn.  Come on over and see what she's got to say.)