Anna Scott Graham's Blog, page 10

Quilt and novel excerpts

Between the row of low volume scraps and the center block will be more brightly hued prints. I am SO HAPPY with how this is progressing!

The relative end of my Kawandi Red Sky at Night quilt is looming, epp! The further inward I go, the less stitching remains, which isn't quite akin to manuscript revisions, but the sense of completion is kind of similar. If nothing else, by the time I publish Far Away From Home: The Enran Chronicles Book Three, my version of RSAN will be DONE.

While I'm not sure what story or Kawandi-inspired quilt will next be inaugurated, I am eager for both to commence. Probably the quilt will emerge first, but one never knows. Assuming anything at this point is a dubious undertaking.

Not sure how I'll work around the bird, but I don't want it to get lost in the shuffle.

Yet I can't help but ponder a different colour scheme, a new installment of a book series. I have more ideas for the fiction, but I've been pondering it longer than Kawandi, lol. Give me another year and how might the quilt list be increased!

What I have realized is if this quilt washes well and maintains its integrity, machine sewing a quilt will be far down on my list of go-to activities. I have ADORED making a quilt in this manner, embracing it with deep fondness for many reasons: 1) Fashioning the back first instead of last. 2) No binding strip required! 3) All those rows of close-set stitches proffer the super-crinkly look I never get with hand-quilting. 4) It's a new shiny, you know.

Upper right corner; I'm thrilled for how the hourglass blocks denote the perimeter.

Does #4 mean that after time I'll tire of making quilts this way? I HOPE NOT! I hope instead I'm inspired to make placemats, mug rugs, or whatever else is a quilty-creation. I love being untethered from my sewing machine, although this does eat into the EPP time. So far these hand-sewing treats have lived in harmony, so I'll just keep going as I've been, trading off here and there so every quilt receives my attention.

If only it was that easy with writing a book....

However in drawing near to publishing another story, I free up space for.... Well, for another book's release next month, LOL. Book Two of The Hawk is calling my name, thank goodness that series is WRITTEN, requiring only that I deal with book covers, blurbs, etc. I honestly didn't consider how trying to release two different series at once would crowd the crafting of new fiction. DOH! But I'll figure out something, because Kawandi quilting hit me like a soft feather pillow up my head, gentle and kind and like a brick but not bruising. It's so soothing, so JOYFUL. And right now I need JOY by the truckload.

Upper left corner; one block is upside down (hearts). That frees me up to not worry about mistakes that occur in what's left to design, lol.

Below is an excerpt from Far Away From Home, far more action/adventure prose than I usually craft. This novel is set in the twenty-ninth century in a cosmos indeed far from Earth, yet Humans dwell there. It was a distinct stretch, but I'm happy with it, and very excited to share it in full in a little over a week. Enjoy a smattering of where I've been lately, and have a marvelous and peaceful weekend!

From Chapter 10 of Far Away From Home: The Enran Chronicles Book Three

 

Ahuge crowd had gathered where Squee, Olmos, and Starn still sat in the diningcommons. Most of those hovering were Gonquils, a few Donsarets among them. AnAhlem that Noth recognized from the tailor’s shop stood on the table, wavingaway what wasn’t merely a throng of onlookers. Weapons were displayed, butSquee laughed as though nothing was amiss.

“Squee,”Sooz hollered. “Time’s wasting!”

Nothcleared his throat, then Sooz muttered, “Go to your quarters now, capisce?”

“What,no way. Hey, how’d you know that word?”

“Imean it Noth. Get lost.”

“Fuckthat!” Shaking off her grip, he ran toward the now bustling mob. Squee joinedthe tailor on the table, gesturing for Noth to leave. “No,” Noth shouted.“Fucking administrators won’t do jack, so let’s get it on!”

“Shit!”Sooz yelled loudly enough for Noth to hear her. Yet he continued toward thosenow turning his way. Rifles of various styles were pointed at him, otherweapons brandished.

Hesmiled, holding out his hands, then raising his arms over his head. “You thinkI’m afraid of you? One of you fucking lowlifes poisoned a friend of mine, thenseveral of you untaz beat the shit outta him. Now I’m here, so just kill metoo, then that fucking chicken-shit chief will either round allʽa you up or Iwon’t have to deal with your sorry asses another minute longer.”

Nothshoved fists into his sides, glaring at every person. Several walked away, butenough remained that Noth couldn’t see Starn or Olmos. Squee smirked at him, yet its eye twitched. Noth nodded, then smiled. “Go ahead and kill me, I fuckingdare one of you to….”

Theblast emanated from a tall Gonquil directly behind Squee, making the Donsaretflinch and Sooz scream. All Noth felt was someone having bumped into him. He glancedat his unharmed right shoulder, which had taken the brunt of the pressure, thenlaughed wickedly, stepping forward as others now scattered from the commons.The Gonquil fired again, then was attacked by Squee, who jumped from the table,landing right onto the would-be assassin. Starn and Olmos grappled with threeother Gonquils as a security force finally joined the melee. None of thosefighting approached Noth, although Sooz now stood beside him, grasping hisshoulders from behind. “You should be dead,” she murmured.

“Maybe,”Noth muttered, feeling nothing but a cold wave of hatred that Sooz’s touchdidn’t alleviate.

“Whyaren’t you dead?” she whispered.

“Tyrahweapons,” he said flatly.

“What?”Sooz turned Noth toward her. “What are you saying?”

“It’snot really a Gonquil.” Noth gestured to the being now on its feet, guards atits sides.

Soozgasped, then led Noth to where Olmos and Starn were hoisting Squee from thefloor. Three other Gonquils were being slapped with what to Noth looked likehandcuffs. The one who had fired at him screamed manically, the sound remindingNoth of when one so deranged was apprehended. Dorvuun, he considered, yet thisTyrah hybrid wasn’t as sophisticated as the one Jeannie and Caroline feared.

Theshrieking creature contorted wildly. Flinging a limb outward, it knocked away oneguard, then grabbed a nearby rifle, shooting another. It spoke in a languageNoth didn’t recognize, but the tenor was vile, then threatening. With a wicked smile, it raised theweapon, pointing it directly at Squee.

“NO!”Noth raced toward the creature, knocking it down, then throttling it. Nothscreamed at the being, yet it no longer resisted. Then Noth inhaled sharply,dropping the body from his hands. He stared at the figure, its tiny eyes,miniscule nose, and O-shaped mouth distinctively Tyrah. Noth trembled, scootingaway from who he had just killed. “Jesus Christ,” he murmured, pulling his legsto his chest, pressing his face against his knees.

Soozsquatted beside him, stroking his shoulders as guards inspected the body.Squee, Olmos, and Starn knelt between Noth and the corpse. “I owe you one,”Squee said softly.

“Ryderowes us all,” Olmos smirked.

“Whatwas that thing?” Sooz asked.

“It’sdead now,” Starn grunted.

“It’sa Tyrah….”

“Getoff the floor, all of you,” Renavier ordered, interrupting Noth. “I’m going toquestion you here so no one can bitch. Take those three to the brig,” Renaviershouted to the guards. “Contact the Gonquil home world and tell them if theydon’t collect them soon, I’ll eject them onto the landing pad.”

“Ithink The Other will take care of them if need be,” Squee muttered, brushing awaydebris.

“Thelack of air will be enough of a threat,” Ryder said, offering a hand to Noth.

Nothglared at the chief, instead grasping Sooz’s outstretched hand. He also brusheddust from his trousers, then closed his eyes, trying to recall exactly how hehad…. “I killed him, so what happens to me now?”

“Itwasn’t a him,” Squee interjected.“Most certainly an it.”

“Whateverit was, it was trying to harm Squee, and you prevented that,” Renavier said. “Nocharges will be filed, let me assure you of that.”

“Ohthat’s rich,” Sooz barked. “You can’t assure anyone here of anything resemblingsafety with whatever that thing is or was running around. Was that whatkidnapped Melor or….”

“Thishas nothing to do with Melor,” Renavier said, looking straight at Noth.

Nothglared at the chief, then studied its eyes; now they were purple and beady, butlarger than the Tyrah’s eyes. “If you’re not charging me with anything, what aboutinvestigating why that thing killed Andah?”

Renaviersighed. “I’ll tell you right now why. Andah knew what that thing was. Andah wasworking for me. There’s been an infiltration on this station. Now whatever isleft of that subversion knows everyone here and elsewhere is mindful. It won’tbe an issue much longer.”

“Ohyeah?” Noth sneered. “How many others are gonna die because you’re too lame toget things under control?”

“Don’tlecture me kid,” Renavier growled. “Now get your ass outta here before I do chargeyou with something.”

Olmosand Squee flanked Noth. “He makes a very good point,” Squee said. “Are things undercontrol?”

“Ofcourse they are.” Renavier huffed, then approached Starn. “You can tell themnow, and anyone else interested.”

“Thankyou,” Starn said.

“Youknew about this?” Squee clucked.

Starnnodded.

Soozgrasped Noth’s hand. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’mfine. I need a masca though.”

“Mascais the last thing you need,” Sooz said.

“Agreed.”Squee patted Noth’s shoulder. “A margarita and nachos instead, in the alcove.Come Noth, we all will imbibe. Sooz, please join us.”

Soozshook her head, then approached the chief. She thrust a finger into its chest,then slapped its face. Then she slowly walked in the direction of theinfirmary, swearing in English under her breath.

Peace in this slice of time

Nine of twenty rows of my Mr. Carter quilt stitched together. Another six rows were laid out last night, waiting in bags to be sewn, then added.

Today begins Lent. I've been reading The Cost of Discipleship by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, started last night How We Learn to Be Brave by Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde, then cracked open this morning Letters & Papers From Prison, also by Bonhoeffer. I keep two bookmarks in Letters & Papers, as plentiful notes for each chapter demand quick access. Right now I'm using the dust jacket as my bookmark in How We Learn; perhaps I'll find a better solution, then that marker will forever dwell within that book as it happens for all my favourite tomes.

Yesterday was difficult; the trade wars with Canada, Mexico, and China are hard to digest, yet those aren't the only wrenches thrown by the president. Disabling as much governmental infrastructure as is possible compounds the chaos, as well as my lamentations. By evening's end, despite enjoyable stitching, I was low.

Sleeping was also difficult; I stirred with leg cramps, took over the counter medications, then drifted off, but not for as long as I could have used, waking at three a.m. I remained in bed for half an hour, got up, then sat at this very computer, not finding/doing anything conducive to rest. Finally I returned to bed, sleeping until a quarter after six! That for me is a lie-in, lol, and I was grateful for the daylight emerging like a welcome friend.

Letters & Papers From Prison also lifted my heart; perhaps that sounds weird, but what I took from just the introductory essay, entitled "After Ten Years", written in 1943, made me realize that while I wish anything else was true, my nation's decline into fascism isn't new on this planet. Why did I, and countless millions of others, believe America was above such brutal autocracy? We're certainly NOT, yet I hope for a peaceful outcome. I have no idea how/what that result will be, or if. Yet, I maintain hope.

Hope during Lent is one element of the journey. Another is rekindling the relationship with Christ. Focusing not on self, but on a spirit of Love, Compassion, Grace, Forgiveness.... These are what I draw upon when my heart is heavy. Peace one sliver at a time.

Despite yesterday and how badly I slept, today has been better. Brighter. Far more personable than perhaps this section of time could/should be. I have peace in this slice of time, and a joy no one can take from me. Hopefully someday my nation will again be calm, hopefully....

On this first day of Lent, that is my prayer. Peace for all, peace in all. Peace for myself. Peace everlasting.

Patchwork progress

All the hand-quilty crinkliness I could want without having to sew together the top separately!

Been working on the Kawandi project lately, as well as another flag, which I'll post about soon. More to my heart is this hand-sewn eclectic lap blanket that could very well change the way I make quilts for the rest of my stitching days.

Sometimes life is like that, kind of how quilting took precedence over eleven years ago. Last year I was going to make a big deal about my decade behind the sewing machine; that never really happened. In another decade, will I wax lyrically about how for the first ten years I employed technology, then reverted to the less complicated method of needle and thread?

All I know is plotting out this quilt on my work table, then sewing it by hand has been EXHILARATING! I *might* even like it more than English paper piecing, LOL. Hmmm, another post for later methinks.

For now, other than a slightly sore right hand at the base of my thumb, the joy to emerge from a Kawandi-inspired manner of sewing is HIGH on my list of happiness. Non-harmful happiness is a must these days. I adore the colours, I love the simplicity, I don't even mind using heaps of pins to keep it all together. That's MY manner of Kawandi, at least for a large project. I'm curious if that alters in the next quilt.

The next Kawandi quilt might have an elaborately pieced back, courtesy of prints I threw on the design wall some weeks ago, and stare at daily while doing my stretches, where the design wall lives. Yesterday while studying it, I came up with the currently brilliant notion of finishing it, then using it as the back for my next Kawandi quilt. (I use the term Kawandi VERY LOOSELY, merely to denote the hand-sewing similarities I apply to a method I'm grateful to have just discovered.) It would also be lap-sized, yet bigger than what I'm currently stitching, also a good experience to gauge what I think of sewing through a pieced backing. And it would get those fabrics off the design wall, not that I have anything immediately I want to put on it.

The beauty of Kawandi is there's no need for a design wall. Organizing such a quilt happens on the fly, scrap by scrap, making for a gorgeous arrangement of surprisingly copacetic prints. That it's improv lends itself to a random but at times arranged design, which I realized last night. I'd planned to add low volume prints on the next round of fabrics, but instead I'll continue with vibrant hues, wanting to highlight the corner EPP blocks even more.

Made from leftovers of Red Sky at Night, the border sports low volume prints. Perhaps one more inner round of bright scraps, then I'll stitch lighter hues.

It's been lovely immersing myself in this quilt, necessary too. I hope whatever you do today brings you JOY and PEACE. 

8500 steps (or Why I am [briefly?] stepping away from the fight for liberty)

My last flag? Time will tell....

I dreamed last night I could squat. Not that I could do them, like an exercise, although subsequently in the dream I did do them repeatedly, but initially it was that I merely COULD do one. One squat turned into maybe ten? And I was so surprised/thrilled/curious. How in the world did my measly daily stretches allow for SQUATS?

(And what exactly does this have to do with the step count?)

[And the more pertinent question: Why am I pulling the plug, perhaps only temporarily, on my seemingly thorough dedication to raising as much joyful hell as possible?]

I've been sleeping poorly, until last night. This past night I got nearly NINE HOURS of slumber, badly needed and gratefully received. Why did I rest so decently, other than eventually sleep wins? Maybe because last night I made the executive decision to unplug from Bluesky during Lent. Actually, I'm going to begin that Lenten fast a little early; I'll be done tomorrow after posting the last Black History Month entry. In fact, I plan to uninstall Bluesky from my phone today, using the computer for tomorrow's addition. I'll be folding my flags, carefully storing them away, probably on hangers in a closet. It's not just Bluesky I need to flee, but reality itself.

How did this happen? Future Me just admonished me to raise a little hell! How did she stand there, lying through her teeth, fully aware that a few days later I'd throw in the towel; maybe that's why she's not been hanging out lately, unable to view up close my activism that she knew was about to come to a sudden HALT. I don't fault her for that; spoilers are hard to keep to oneself. She said, "Raise a little hell." I did. Now I need to decompress.

Will my dearth of activity last all of Lent? Easter is on 20 April this year, that's an ironic coincidence, especially here in Humboldt County. I can't say, I'm barely grasping that 1) I'm making this huge decision, 2) I slept well, and 3) Could I actually do one squat?

Can I truly do squat concerning America's current political horror show is another meaningful query. All I know is this morning I woke after so much decent, necessary rest! And that the call on my heart to dial WAY BACK is sincere. I can't ignore that, not even when future marches, boycotts (Of which I will participate!), and who knows what else lingers on the horizon. I will assuage my lack of engagement by noting within how much I have done; protests attended, calls made, letters written, etc, etc, etc. Am I fearing burnout if this pace is continued, is this some kind of preparatory reset button being pushed? Maybe. But more is that my life, for as much as I love it and all I despise occurring within my nation, is also claimed by Christ. And if Lent isn't the best time to abscond, then reflect, when is?

Abscond is an intriguing word for this situation, for it mildly insinuates I have done something wrong for which I need to flee. Being a Christian currently in America carries a stigma when viewed by the left, for how duped Christians on the right are. Duped or purposely ignoring the tenets of what Jesus Christ claimed is certainly debatable, but I sense how misappropriated is my faith, both by those who share it and those who find it deplorable, meaningless, as without reason like all that is happening in Washington D.C., except those savageries have PLENTY of meaning. But what does being aligned to an invisible and unproven deity matter when millions of Americans claim that same belief system yet harness it to evil? Maybe that's what my Lenten journey will be focused on, praying for all those who are using Love to cause harm. 

Maybe it will also be about not judging others, ahem. Maybe.

All I know is that this week I thought I needed to get 8500 steps, but actually I only needed to accrue eight thousand. I've been slowly increasing my step count for the last month, adding five hundred per week, and I assumed one reason was to make my protesting efforts less traumatizing to my legs and feet. And it did alleviate aches and pains; I've been feeling pretty damned good while out on the pavement, woo hoo! But yesterday I saw on my kitchen calendar that I'd misread last Saturday's goal. Instead of 8500, all I needed to achieve this week was 8000. Maybe five hundred fewer steps doesn't seem like much, but this week it felt MASSIVE. And it was, because inadvertently I had increased by a thousand last week's goal. I will dial it back today and tomorrow, then on Saturday hit that 8500 with gusto, because maybe after Lent I'll return to my yappy activism with necessary impetus. I don't want to dive more deeply into the future than that. I *MIGHT* need to be wholly committed to whatever protesting activities are necessary. As long as squats aren't required, I will probably be all in.

Yet until Monday, the twenty-first of April, I require a break. Mentally, emotionally (although how untethered I can manage remains to be seen), even physically, not that I plan to incorporate squats into the exercise routine. I could certainly, or I could TRY, but I'm feeling good body-wise and don't need to wreck myself. Check yourself before you wreck yourself, I hear Past Me mutter, a refrain I learned from my youngest daughter well over a decade ago. Not that my efforts have been wrong, yet for now they must be curtailed. I will pray for all those continuing the fight, for that's what it is, a battle for the soul and sake of my nation. Some might scoff: What can prayer accomplish?

I don't know, but I'm about to find out.

Chit chat with Future Me

Flags, courage, gardening, and staying the course....

Future Me was hanging around over the weekend, especially on Saturday as I finished my Pride in the Flag flag. She has been conspicuously ABSENT for a good while, since Breathing space. I don't blame her in a way. I've certainly wanted to abscond to distant lands.

I do not have the luxury of time travel. She, however, possesses fairy-godlike abilities, usually for which I am grateful. This weekend her presence was minimal, yet soothing, as though she kept the rain from falling until I could photograph Pride on the laundry line.

She didn't say much, perhaps our conversations are mostly of an ethereal nature, absorbed like breathing. Sometimes her voice wafts softly, often she snorts sharply. She does a lot of snorting, smirking, eye rolling, as though I'm a truculent child in constant need of being upbraided. Or maybe she's weary of this on-off-on again existence, wishing she could retire to sew or write or garden until her heart cried UNCLE.

She gazes at me, not a frown or smirk. We don't like gardening, she says quietly.

No, we don't, I agree. I am thinking about planting flowers from seeds this year, I add, wondering how she'll respond.

She nods. You should. They'd be pretty.

Need to clear a space for them, I proffer.

He can do that for you, her voice almost a smile.

The he is our husband. My husband, whatever! Timeline conflabs get tricky, trying not to think of myself in the third person, or even as plural. Yes, he can, I say, not wanting to drive her away. She's here for a reason, or maybe I'm asking for trouble, hoping for information from beyond where I now reside.

She snorts, and I smile. She never gives up anything concrete, merely flitting around like a butterfly, wanting me to notice something other than my navel.

Now she clears her throat. Yet she hesitates. Yes, I ask softly, truly not wanting to know more than I should, nor do I want her to leave. Something comforting about oneself from the future, if for nothing more than imagining there is a future with me in it.

Lots of obstacles, she murmurs.

Really?

She shrugs, then nods, again clearing her throat. Just as she starts to speak, she pauses, then turns away.

Do I keep staying the course, I query with mild trepidation.

She faces me again, nodding with vigor. Oh yes, certainly. She smirks, then clasps her hands in front of her.

A long silence feels like knives, coarse words, grimaces, aching steps taken for no purpose other than gaining steps (a topic for another entry). I'm going to wave my gorgeous new flag in front of our local courthouse today amid rain, strong winds, and of course the outward foolishness of such an endeavor in my small section of the country, not to mention it's only a flag, no words of protest or clamor. Just one person raising....

A ruckus, she smiles. Raise a big ruckus, as large as you can. Dance in boots, fly that flag as highly as your arms can reach. Hold on to it, she then snorts. It's going to be very windy out today.

I nod, a fluttering within my chest like the heavens have opened right here in my office.

And keep raising it, she concludes, walking away.

Keep raising what, I call.

She glances back, her brassy smile like a shining star. Raise a little hell, she grins. Then she faces the horizon, heading into a virtual sun.

Pride in the Flag

I really LOVE how vibrant are these colours!

I just finished my second flag. I don't know how many I'll make, but I sure enjoy creating them.

I learned A LOT in sewing the first one, which I have belatedly titled, 'Stars and Swans-Reclaiming the Flag'. I learned that 1) Flags aren't hard to make, but unless you follow a well-written tutorial, best assume your efforts will be improv. 2) My flags are art as well as defiance tools. I want them to be pretty as well as functional. And 3) Just when I thought with Kawandi-inspired quilting that I was ready to give up my sewing machine, I was wrong.

First off, here are the measurements, all pre-sewing: Union rectangle measured seventeen by twenty-four inches. Short stripes were three inches wide, thirty-five inches long. Long stripes were three inches wide and fifty-nine inches long. I sewed some test strips to made sure the stripes were the correct width, and I could have increased the stripe width to maybe three and an eighth wide, but only if I really wanted to be picky.

This makes a flag that can be gripped at the corners and extended fully for someone with a wingspan of five feet, which means me, lol. But let me note that on Monday, holding up a flag for well over two and a half hours made for some SORE UPPER ARMS afterwards.

I chose mostly Kona solids for the stripes; the dark orange is a Connecting Threads solid, while the yellow is a bargain cotton from Joann. All the low-volume stripes are Art Gallery Fabrics. AGF is great for not fraying, as are batiks. I know the Kona fabrics will be a stringy mess eventually, but I didn't want those stripes to overwhelm the pink and blue union improv. The AGF prints aren't too busy, in my opinion.

Union block up close; twenty EPP hearts, plus more in the top fabric as a bonus.

As for that union block.... I gathered pink and light blue scraps and simply began sewing. I chose fairly bright prints so they wouldn't looked washed out when set against the vibrant solids. I thoroughly LOVED putting together that block; something so spontaneous and joyful about improv stitching!

Initially I was going to use one large-ish EPP heart for the center of the union block, but as usual, I didn't realize how large that rectangle would need to be. I had three-quarter inch jewel paper pieces, so I started with fifteen jewel hearts, then added five more once I had them laid out on the block. I hand-appliqued the hearts; I considered machine-stitching them onto the block, but that would have been 1) Loud. 2) Futzy for the short sides of the papers. 3) Loud. My ears truly don't handle machine sewing that well anymore; I wear earplugs and noise-cancelling headphones. But when spread out over a few days, machine sewing is doable. Especially when the colours are MARVELOUS and the reason essential.

I'm planning to display this flag in the coming week. I might sneak in my red, white, and blue flag on Tuesday after I give it a good pressing, as well as perhaps hemming the sides as I did Pride. While the backs of both flags are exposed, at least in hemming the edges I'm minimizing the fraying. And right now, the fewer frayed edges (and nerves) the better.

On the design wall. Not as fancy as out in the wild, but how it appears after I hemmed those edges.

Not sure what the next flag will express, other than my need to dive into bright colours while fashioning my interpretation of a symbol I've loathed for years. Yet fear and loathing must be set aside, and for some strange and amazing reason, making flags brings me immense joy and peace, a wholly unexpected reaction to this particular diversion.

As long as my ears hold out, and the need for a vibrant, meaningful banner remains, I guess I'm making flags. My sewing machine escapes its cover, living to see another day....

Nothing but book talk

The colours in this shot are referred to within my book. The birds aren't, but they are a nice touch. Photo from July 2024, taken at Humboldt Bay, California.

Okay, so this is MOSTLY novel chatter, but a heads-up: my latest fictional WIP, written in late summer 2023, seems to possess much ado concerning our current political climate. I can't escape that as I read over three chapters each morning, making me wonder if I should release it sooner than I had planned. Current launch date is for March seventeenth. Maybe writing this post will clarify that decision.

Or make known to me something other than outside noise; I've been trying to engage in beloved pastimes. With writing, all I can manage are revisions, which is as necessary as the drafting of said manuscripts. And I am TRULY GRATEFUL to have books at which to poke, not merely for the distraction, which isn't how I usually approach my writing. It's never previously resembled a distraction; for years (nineteen of them) it has been a FOCUS. It slipped from that top spot after my mom died in 2018, but in the middle of Covid I reclaimed it, or let it envelope me. In 2023 I wrote four new drafts, thought I had died and gone to authorial heaven! I thought 2024 would proffer at least a couple of additions to what had turned into a new series, but that didn't occur. I thought the beginning of 2025 would usher in a new story. AHEM. Now I'm *hoping* in May I will have the gumption/courage/wherewithal to write something NEW. I won't assume anything, but I can hope till the cows come home.

What I'd LOVE right now, among other things, is to be writing something new so I can get lost in it. Reading through a story is great, but immersing myself in a new world, now that's relief. I mean it's creative energy marvelously expended. Am I looking for a panacea, a placebo? That's not what writing has been in the past, or at least not that explicitly. Yet I've used my writing to deflect personal hoo haa, or at least wade through it in a safe boat that doesn't leak. Never have I tried to write while my democracy crumbles around me so vividly. So far, I'm not handling that well.

Except when I read those three chapters each morning; how did I craft a tale eighteen months ago that now feels so relevant? Often I note how the writing is a complete GIFT. I write from a place within my heart that is wholly attuned to grace. Splitting the Sky was originally written over a dozen years ago, but certainly speaks to RIGHT NOW. Is the third book of The Enran Chronicles similar? I feel like it is, and who knows what shape America will be in less than four weeks? Perhaps I should accelerate the release date for my next story. Maybe in another month I won't have that liberty.

Paranoid, maybe. Probably. I really don't know anymore. It's extremely hard to walk the line between despair and joy. Maybe even considering writing something new is folly; what is the point? Then I remember this quote: It may be that the day of judgment will dawn tomorrow; in that case, we shall gladly stop working for a better future. But not before.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote those words in 1943 while in prison. I am sitting in Humboldt County, unfettered by walls and chains other than those of my own making. I went to a protest on Monday. Perhaps I need to find the time and inner mettle to indeed write a novel, if only because I can. So much to ponder, where previously I left politics and revolutions for others to coordinate. Yet I must reconsider my activities to better reflect the times I now dwell within.

Not that I'm any closer to deciding when I'll release my next novel, but once I make the decision, I'll be sure to let you know, insert winking emoji HERE!

Three chapters a day

My vision of the American flag; she's weary after hours of being waved, but merely needs a good pressing for further activity.

Like I'm limping along with the revisions, but everything is currently meted out in what I am able to accomplish....

A little bit of this, a smidgen of that... Thus is not merely my day-to-day, which helps in knowing I'm not alone in feeling.... How am I feeling this morning?

From yesterday's protest in Eureka, California.

Good. I've read three chapters of the next Enran Chronicles book, which I am LOVIN'! Can't wait to publish it next month! (It has a timely message that I didn't foresee when I wrote it in late summer 2023, but I'm still aiming for a St. Patrick's Day release.)

I slept well last night; might be due to participating in a No Kings protest at the Humboldt County Courthouse, WOO HOO! (Though I wish said protest wasn't necessary, WHATEVER!) Being surrounded by so many patriotic folks was a balm on my parched soul, feeling the assertive PUSH to get people to give a damn! And they did; so many cars honked in support, so many made peace signs and thumbs up as they passed, such a marvelous and revelatory moment! Just as good was how our local news outlets, both TV and internet, reported the protest! Despite major news organizations ignoring the nationwide event, that we had local coverage makes me hope other towns and cities did as well.

Signs for others to display.

A dear friend sends me uplifting quotes and today's was basically: Do all you can do. Don't fret what is beyond you, because others will pick up those tasks. Every single action is MEANINGFUL!!

More balm on my soul that wishes a day lasted forty-eight hours! I have another idea for a flag, so despite thinking I'm kinda done with my sewing machine, I'll be seated at it as soon as I can squeeze in the time to....

Make a change. Raise my voice. To dissent and denounce and craft and create and rest and wash dishes and throw laundry in the wash but maybe continue to avoid cleaning the shower. Lol.

Yours truly yesterday at the protest.

But I should sweep the kitchen. And perhaps muck out the loo, or two. And those three chapters a day: Heck YEAH! Three chapters a day instead of five. Sewing a flag alongside hand-stitching on Red Sky at Night Kawandi-style. Getting my steps but not in front of municipal buildings, merely in the quiet of my little corner of our planet.

Every little step counts. Wishing you a great week, loads of peace, and heaps of We Got This smiles no matter how dark looks the night. The dawn always arrives. ALWAYS!

Reject Domestic Terrorism

I've been struggling with the term fascism; it's somewhat esoteric, not glamorous or eye-catching. 

Domestic terrorism leaves nothing to the imagination. All that the current administration is doing/threatening/stopped from accomplishing because of lawsuits is just that: Domestic Terrorism.

In my previous post, I lauded the need for JOY. Terrorism's main aim is to rob one of said JOY. To reduce one to such fear and powerlessness that one becomes inactive, feeble, incapable of existence. That is what the president is trying to do.

This is short post, merely to spread the word. Movements have been fraught with what to call the revolution. The administration has made its aims CLEAR. Let us do the same.

REJECT DOMESTIC TERRORISM! Especially when it emerges from the highest position in our nation.

Safeguarding the joy

Nearly finished with another small block for Alexandria. Fashioning another bit for that EEP behemoth is somewhat akin to keeping alive the flame of JOY right now.

While this blog remains about writing and quilting, something has altered. I have changed and no matter what emerges from the current political situation, my nation will never be as it was before.

I didn't wish to become a revolutionary. I'm fifty-eight years old, never wanted to be this damn strong again. But revolutionaries come in all ages, from all walks of life, performing tasks previously unconsidered. No one, or very damn few, take Revolutionary 101 in elementary, middle, or high school. And those who study such topics in college rarely have the opportunity to use all that learning in the real world.

The definition of revolutionary as an adjective is twofold: 1) Involving or causing a complete or dramatic change, and 2) Engaged in or promoting political revolution. Using it as a noun in this post feels odd, slightly liberating, almost peaceful. Not because I'm all hyped up to become a new person, but because in acknowledging this, I'm taking small steps to reclaiming my inner self, which needs to be lauded as much as everything else I do. My inner self, unlike Future, Past or even Present Me, needs JOY to thrive. JOY is the flame all I am and everything I do burns on, propelling me to love, write, sew, holler at injustices, craft this post. Crafting this post matters, especially when doing it with JOY.

A little bit of rain is currently falling, which assuages my heart that now is NOT the time to go out for a walk. I've been increasing my step count over the last few weeks, which has been good for my body, maybe helps with sleeping, but cuts into my time to do other things that are necessary, but right now time feels as squeezed as I have ever known! I require time to write novels-NOT HAPPENING! I need time to sew-kinda occurring. I ache for time to simply be a slug-that is DEFINITELY not happening, lol. Weeks ago all that mattered was spending time with my hubby, the fave hobbies, keeping abreast of family activities. Life was simple. Life was....different.

My life won't return to that previous mantra. Past Me has no frickin' clue of what's ahead, and honestly, Present Me doesn't either, which is truly for the best. No LOL's here, other than inwardly harnessing the essential JOY that will get me through what's coming. Future Me hasn't said jack since she admonished me to stay the course. That was over three weeks ago. In three weeks my country has been hurtled down a sharp, dangerous precipice, and we're not at the bottom of whatever awaits. Right now I'm steeled for that reality, or I think I am. Maybe I'm completely delusional, but at this moment, JOY must reign.

I'm putting JOY in all caps because JOY is what cannot be taken from me. Not in the loving of God, my spouse, family, and neighbor. Not in the crafting in all manners of creativity. Not even in the small protest I raise, and believe me it's minuscule in comparison to what hell has been stirred, yet even in my small abuela-way, noting the wrongs is imperative and doing it with lovingkindness is even more vital. Not merely for those to whom I entreat, but for MYSELF. In JOY I will stay the course. In anger, I would burn out tonight.

When Future Me told then-Present Me to stay the course, she didn't say: And do it with an honest smile. Perhaps she knew I'd roll my eyes hard, maybe even flip her off. Well, of course she knew; she's from the future and knows it all. Or most of it. She knew to merely tell me to hang in there. She knew I was going to lose it thoroughly. And she knows what I'm writing at this moment, although she's still keeping to herself. That's all right. Maybe to emerge would be too much for either of us, in what she'd have to keep under wraps, and for what I need to learn on my own via God's grace. That JOY has to be protected, nurtured, like a newborn baby. How precious and vulnerable are wee ones, and how much happiness do they bring to those in contact with them! Our JOY must be treated as such, because we're gonna need every last living ounce of JOY to withstand the domestic terrorism that the current American administration wishes to shove down our throats.

Fear. Oppression. Anger. Hatred. Bias. Hopelessness. So many despicable themes that will probably unhinge us for moments, but by maintaining a relatively keen grasp on JOY, we will be able to deflect the muck, warming and healing our hearts and minds (and maybe our physical selves) while we.... While we endure this assault on democracy, liberty, on our JOY. We will bend, and I have, but we shall not break. I don't need Future Me to tell me that. God's grace is more than enough.

Safeguard your joy. If that means taking a sabbatical from reading this blog, by all means do what you need to for your well-being. One day, hopefully soon, this site will return to previous topics, those of novels written and quilts sewn, of Future and Past Me never letting me forget they exist. Yet right now it's about the present. Present Me needs to keep alive the flame of inner me's JOY. If this stokes your JOY, AWESOME, and please share this will all you consider in need of JOY. And may you know JOY today!