Anna Scott Graham's Blog, page 19

What will happen to Callie Mac?

 

Folders I kept.

The last few days I've been steeped in novels I wrote over eleven years ago. I'd been listening to the playlist connected to these stories, and well.... Pulling up 2007-2013 in the books not currently under construction folder, I clicked on Forever of One Heart Part 1, scrolled through the manuscript, then began to read. I didn't read anything else until I reached the end of Part 2, which happened last night. Then I went to bed.

After breakfast this morning I got dressed, wearing warm-ish clothes because we're actually receiving rain today. Then I breathed deeply, and from the closet I retrieved a box where I store notes from previous books. The big question was if I had purged the folder for Forever of One Heart a few years back when I did a massive clear-out of that box and another, fully aware I didn't need to keep information for drafts I had no plan to revise and release. Apparently Forever fell into that category, because to my chagrin, no folder with that title waits in the box.

Huh. Hmmm. Fascinating, spoken in a flat Mr. Spock tone. Yet, the stories remain, tucked safely in my computer, laptop, and several flash drives. Other drafts do too, but this one tickled my fancy, and to my surprise, was in decent shape despite not having been edited. I wrote it a few months before I started The Hawk, which signifies that by spring of 2013, I kinda knew what I was doing prose-wise.

Yet, the story isn't complete, a cliffhanger at the end of Book 2 in desperate need of resolution. So: Will there be a Book 3? What is going to happen to Callie Lathrop and Evan McCandliss? He calls her Callie Mac, high school sweethearts with one break-up in their past, but far more waits under the surface. Evan struggles with gender dysphoria, while Callie's parents are fundamentalist Christians. Evan's family are Christian too, liberal Lutherans. Faith is as relevant in this tale as gender dysphoria, set in 1989. Yeah, lots going on in these novels.

If asked at this moment would I write a third book.... Past Me shudders; she's stuck in the middle of crafting The Hawk, praying for strength to conclude that behemoth. Future Me smiles, but gives no indication of counsel. That leaves Present Me with much to consider. Currently I'm revising the seventh book of The Hawk, three left to go. Then there's the fifth installment to write of my current series, as well as prep the second book for release. Where in the world am I supposed to fit in writing/revising yet another series???

And will I weed these poor amaryllises?

But that's not the real query. Because it's not about how or when, but to merely close my eyes and pray. Or leave eyes open and pray. But prayer comes first about the writing, sewing, lack of gardening, ahem. I write books that contain elements of faith because I have faith and it's through that faith I manage anything at all. Or I don't get around to it, in the case of my poor iris bed and amaryllises. The Naked Ladies, as amaryllises are colloquially called around here, are usually well weeded before they emerge, however ours are cloaked in dead foliage and aggressive blackberry vines. If I can't get to clearing that mess, how in the heck am I supposed to....

"Stop right there," Future Me huffs. "It's not about you."

I grimace, then nod. "I know that but...."

"No buts," she smirks. "Exactly how have you written all those books, huh?"

"Not in my own strength," I softly say.

"No shit," she glowers.

"Hey, watch the language," Past Me interjects.

I smile while Future Me smirks again. "Yeah, okay," she grunts to Past Me. Then to Present Me she shoots a wicked grin. "As for you, don't worry about it now. There's laundry to do and two chapters of The Hawk to read and...."

"What, why's she reading The Hawk?" Past Me blurts. "Oh my goodness, don't tell me you actually finished it!"

Future Me squirms. "Uh, well, maybe," she says, coughing hard.

Meanwhile Present Me again breathes deeply, aware at the very least what will happen to Callie Mac isn't what I had originally envisioned over a decade ago, if only because those notes are long gone. If Callie and Evan's world goes anywhere, it's through the eyes of who I have become in the last eleven years, both as a person and author (and quilter and mediocre gardener, lol). Which doesn't really answer today's title, but fleshes out me a little more as well as giving myself perhaps one more thing to do....

Seeing clearly through the fog

 

[image error] One of three EPP blocks I finished yesterday after the kids left, hehehe.

Weather along California's North Coast is wholly unpredictable. Meteorologists might provide an outline of temps and conditions, but truthfully living here joyfully means embracing the alterations that can slip away in less time than it takes to enjoy a cuppa.

This morning is one such example; about half an hour ago the fog erased the nearby treeline, obscuring the roadway by our home. Within minutes, the fog began to lift, and while the mountains are still shrouded, I can see the treeline and street. I wouldn't hazard to guess if sunshine will make an appearance, but it might. Life is full of surprises you know.

#2....

The grandsons left yesterday, the week full of trampolining, trail hikes, books, art, card and board games, a wee bit of Bluey, and other pleasant pastimes. Before they departed, a momma possum trotted through the yard, at least four babies on her back! None of us had ever seen that, although a possum pranced around our property last year, no idea if it was the same one. While I miss my family, I am grateful for the quiet, lol. They know they are always welcome, and another visit might occur before the end of the year.

Three years ago my husband and I moved permanently to Humboldt County. I say permanently because we'd bought this house the previous year, with no intents of leaving Silicon Valley immediately. Yet happy circumstances colluded to expedite his retirement, which was reinforced by a death in the family that reminded us life's length is precarious. The move was sort of sudden, and the house remains a work in progress, yet life along the rugged and unpredictable California coastline is.... A gift. It's indeed a precious treasure to call this place home, as well as my beloved no longer spending his days tethered to a computer or office cubicle. It's a treat to wake to fog, mist, clouds, or sometimes even a bit of sun, hahaha. Yes it's a drag to live far from family, but this is sometimes the way of life. Sometimes parents carry their offspring on their backs, but eventually those babies find their own paths.

#3; maybe it's time to count how many blocks I have accumulated!

An hour ago I considered pulling fabrics from my stash to make a vibrant new quilt top, not that there's any room on my work table for such an endeavor or that I have nothing else to do, HAH! Yet after breakfast, once a load of guest bedding is in the washer, perhaps I'll clear off that table, then choose some pretty prints, spreading them out, then placing them appropriately. I feel like a flag, or something flag-shaped, needs to be fashioned to celebrate the fog, all those possums, and this treasure. Life is a gift, and I want to embrace it with all manners available.

Early morning revisions

 

Speckled fabric by Rashida Coleman-Hale: I LOVE this!

Years ago I spent the pre-dawn hours seated at my computer working on revisions. I used those moments to slowly grasp a new day as well as fit in necessary edits that allowed me to casually embrace writing without overtaxing my brain.

Those were days before I was into English paper piecing, before I became a grandmother. Those were years when I thought I needed to squeeze activity into every spare minute to justify being a stay-at-home spouse even if the most of the kids were out of the house.

I still don't like being idle. I'm terrible at meditating, or even watching TV as a relaxing pastime. My oldest grandson finds that hard to comprehend, lol, but I explained that as a kid we only got three channels and television never seemed the be-all end-all.

In the last few days, I have returned to those early morning screen hours, but not spent in the office. Instead I'm seated in the living room where the laptop lives, heavily invested in The Hawk. I don't turn on the lights, using the laptop's bright glow to make notes in my journal, where I describe the shrinking word count and any pertinent details on that day's edits. Thankfully the sky brightens up around, well, six a.m., and I'm not having to squint more than is necessary. I might still have the gray matter to read early in the day, but my eyesight isn't what it used to be.

Yet.... The desire to immerse myself in the world of noveling remains keen! Perhaps it's enhanced by a need to do something for me, when the rest of the day is spent enjoying the company of youngsters. I've even manged a wee bit of hand-sewing, in part to repair my eldest grandson's jacket, as well as a dabble in EPP, making a simple six-point star with some gorgeous Speckled in sorbet by Rashida Coleman-Hale. It will be for my Flock of Stars quilt, but was fashioned to see how easily Speckled fabrics lend themselves to hand-stitching, as I'm seriously considering Jodi Godfrey's Red Sky at Night sampler quilt. Not that I need another project, but....

But I do need time for me to do things that feed my soul. Not sure when I'll post this; my youngest grandson just came downstairs, ready to start his day. Off I go to make breakfast for him, and I'll post this as soon as the youngsters allow.

Pre-post update: It's 1.27 p.m. and my youngest grandson just laid down for quiet time. I'm glad I wrote this earlier, as blogging also feeds my soul, hehehe.

Familial interlude

My grandsons will be visiting, along with their folks, for the next few days. The stuffie pictured above is Peanut, an old fave of my eldest grandson. Peanut has been in our family for probably over twenty years, and is waiting to be claimed. I thought about putting Peanut on my grandson's bed, but that lad is nine and a half, better for him to do the honors, lol.

I was going to read a chapter of The Hawk, but in twenty minutes my hubby and I are off to run errands and get lunch. I probably won't have time to read that book, or write blog entries, while family is here, and I can write a post more quickly than peruse a chapter. I *might* get time for revisions, but only if I wake up super-early and my youngest grandson doesn't, hahaha.

In the meantime, enjoy the weekend in whatever manner is most pleasing! More tales from Humboldt County next week....

A novel family reunion

Last night's EPP finish.

After a six-week hiatus, I sat down yesterday with The Hawk. OMG, how I missed those.... Characters is the correct manner to describe them, but honestly I felt like I'd entered a village hall, stepping into a warm camaraderie of family. It was silly, lovely, sentimental, and just what I needed. My goodness I'm glad I wrote that saga!

At the end of June, I wrapped up what will be Book 6, as well as finishing Volume 2. I left home feeling pleased for how much I have read since the beginning of the year, hoping to complete these revisions before the start of 2025. That's still my goal, although if I spill into January, no worries. Especially since reading this story brings me incredible joy, which wasn't what I'd considered when initially choosing to revise this, this, this.... It's a LONG tale, originally released in thirteen sections, but they were novellas for the most part. In this re-release, for which I have yet to decide a start date, I've split the story into ten novels. Months ago I thought I'd begin publishing perhaps about now. Yet, right now I barely have time to do more than laundry and replenish the Clorox wipes!

This is where being an independent author matters; my work timeline is set by me. While I'd love to have a book to link to within this post, instead I'll wax lyrically about how I can't wait to share these folks with anyone interested in recent historical fiction, spiced with a liberal dose of magical realism, and of course anchored by some awesome love stories. That's a pretty succinct tag line; I'll need to return to it when I do publish Book 1, lol.

In the meantime, I'll enjoy the cast's exploits, wholly drawn into their dramas and thrills. I know them well certainly, but it's been a long time since I've reveled in their lives, proffering this writer nice surprises as well as comfort food. Hopefully later today I'll sit down at one of their tables, then let their hearts and minds seep into the story-hungry cracks within my authorial skin. As I said in my last post, it doesn't take as much as before to make me happy. This novel goes well beyond the call of joy.

Ends and beginnings

 

The mug pictured above is a pleasure, and a bit of a disappointment. This morning I noticed some of the print is starting to flake off; I just bought this in June for my husband, oi! Yet the messages on this Fred Rogers cup are timeless, and we'll treasure it as long as the words remain.

Despite being partially disfigured, the quote in white struck a cord in me today, hence this early morning entry: Often when you think you're at the end of something, you're at the beginning of something else. Wow! I'm truly feeling that in my current getting over illness, merging back into my house state. Mostly this sense of newness is related to, ahem, accepting my age. Not that suddenly I'm ancient, but OMG I am certainly not as young as I was, um, previously.

How previous? Earlier this year, last summer, pre-covid 2020? I'm not exactly sure, but for discussion's sake, let's say March 2024, when I decided to dip my toes into semi-retirement. When I was still fifty-seven, but aware that fifty-eight was more than five decades and three years. It was two times twenty-nine, the last time I had a bit of a kerfuffle when approaching a birthday. But months later, finally settled into being fifty-eight, that numeral takes on a different meaning. An altered sense of who I am has emerged, perhaps enhanced by experiencing covid, or at least not dimmed by it. Not shaped by it, but.... But boy I am not the woman I used to be.

What does this mean? LOL, I'm just starting to grasp that I'm different. The urge to write is there, but not enough that I'm retrieving story notes and adding to them. I want to finish some machine-necessary quilts yet my machine remains under cover as it has been for NEARLY TWO MONTHS. I put that cover on before I went to visit my youngest daughter in mid-June, didn't take it off when I got home because I was only going to be home for two weeks, and haven't bothered removing that cover since I stepped back into my office last week. I've been happily hand-stitching, realizing English paper piecing is my current love, and that's JUST FINE.

Myrtle block in progress.
 

It's JUST FINE that I'm not seated at my noisy sewing machine. It's JUST FINE that novels remain in hard and flash drives, as well as within my gray matter. It's JUST FINE because I'm fifty-eight years old and whether it's semi or, gasp, permanent, I'm retired from the sense of I need to do this right now. Being an indie author allows that freedom, not considering my sewing hobby a business is another. I write these posts when the mood strikes, and while it does hit often (hahaha), if I go a few days without writing, that's okay. I do these things to make myself happy, and lately the measure of output has lessened for joy to be achieved.

Huh. The measure of output has lessened for joy to be achieved.

Hmmm. That's a fascinating concept, which I had not previously pondered.

The measure of output has lessened for joy to be achieved.

Not that I need to put that on a coffee cup, although I certainly could, but wow. The measure of output has lessened for joy to be achieved. 

This is one of the reasons I write blog posts, to figure out my life. The measure of output has lessened for joy to be achieved. I'll leave this now, gotta cogitate on that sentence over breakfast and more tea.

The creative life balance

 

Sewing from two night's ago; oh good did this feel!

I'm back in the swing of most activities, although my beloved remains partially sequestered. We did enjoy Blake Snell's no hitter against the Cincinnati Reds last night, watching the San Francisco Giants' victory IN THE SAME ROOM. Social distancing is becoming a chore, but until the threat of covid has been erased, so be the power of six feet of separation.

In the meantime.... I've been deeply pondering a 2018 quote by Mark Beaumont, writing for the New Musical Express, concerning Kate Bush's life/work balance. To simply paraphrase Beaumont, Kate Bush has deemed life to take precedence over the work, not the other way round. Further in the article Beaumont notes how her later output never felt like comeback attempts, rather more like priceless views into the attic of Bush's creative soul. Again I'm paraphrasing; here's a link to the article.

Boy that quote whirled in my head! Earlier this year I made the conscious decision to dial back on the writing and sewing, semi-retirement I called it. Not that I have anyone breathing down my neck, other than Present Me, Myself, and I. I can hear Future Me giggling wildly while Past Me grunts; I think she mumbled, "Old people!" I smile, and continue with this post, in that yes, I have previously put a lot of pressure on myself to craft and sew because.... What else do I do? I am blessed to not work outside our home, and especially now being a long-distance grandmother, free time piles up like nobody's business. I don't like feeling idle, another reason I like having something TO DO. But OMG the last few weeks have taught me that I can want in one hand and have covid in the other and within the covid hand my cup runneth over.

When I was little, my dad used to say, "You can want in one hand and cry in the other and see which gets full the fastest." Jeez Louise it took me forever to understand that saying, but he was absolutely right. Despite my clean bill of health, my household isn't completely correct while my husband remains out of reach. Where does the creative life balance fit into all this? Well, I'm still working on that because 1) I'm not a retired pop icon. And 2) semi-retirement is still a very new consideration, even if I first pondered it back in March. It's now the third of August, and while I've managed some hand-stitching and a few baby quilts, my sewing machine has been under its cover since the middle of June, I've not written more than letters. I have grand plans, but life has muscled its decisive way to the forefront. What I wish to do is severely outweighed by external forces.

Not through tears, thankfully. Merely by accepting with a modicum of grace that stuff happens, throwing askew my nicely arranged plans. Okay, I nod to Future Me, now smiling widely. I shoot Past Me a kind gaze, but again she grunts, shaking her head. I'm not bothered, because I can easily recall her energy and enthusiasm. Which I still possess, if only in my brain, tempered gently by the realization of age, time, illness, and gratitude for the ability and wherewithal to want to craft more than the morning's cuppa. More about this as the days progress. While those days whip past at lightning speed, I'll be seated on the sofa, slowly stitching and pondering my next novel move....

A positive negative

I ate lunch in the dining room today, admiring simple chachkas on the plate rail that usually I don't notice.

Wow. That's all I can say, in one word. I tested negative Monday afternoon, not expecting it because I had one heck of a sinus headache that morning. Yet I was feeling feisty, sick of isolating, and low and behold, I was negative.

OMG, talk about liberty coursing through my veins! I don't mean to make a big deal of this, but I've been positive for SO LONG. I spent the rest of the day doing laundry, lol, and by bedtime I was tuckered out. I slept well, still had a sinus headache this morning, will see my doc tomorrow. My beloved feels much better, but he tested today and is still quite positive, which was a big negative for him. One of these days we'll both be done with covid, and the month of July (and part of early August) will only be a memory.

I've been listening to a lot of music lately; yesterday and today have been a Kate Bush bonanza. I first heard her music when I was just starting high school, her album The Dreaming released in 1982. While folding laundry earlier today I played Hounds of Love, from 1985, which struck me as being one year shy of four decades old! My goodness, that seems impossible, about how I felt this time last week about not being positive for covid, and how my hubby feels now. Neither of those albums sounds dated, although I wouldn't say that about her first couple. Yet by 1982, Kate had matured (at the ripe old age of twenty-four, whoa!), making music that blew my fifteen-year-old mind, setting inside me a dream to one day travel to Britain. Funny how that wish came true only fifteen years later.

I mention Kate because, well, music means a lot to me, my first love well before I starting writing. Being sick, then bored, I delved into my digital music collection, and once through with my playlists, I dived into fave artists, like Roxy Music, Joan Armatrading, Fleetwood Mac, and Camera Obscura to name a few. In listening to Kate Bush, I was transported far back into my life, which when juxtaposed with Present Me felt.... Not particularly aging, quite cathartic actually. Enjoying songs from decades past, I was heartened by how modern the music sounded, how timeless. Roxy Music is like that too, but I didn't get into them until after I met my husband.

Tomorrow I will hang out in my office, making revisions on a few of my novels. I'll probably do some laundry. I might even sit in the living room and handstitch! Hopefully I will incorporate music in some of those tasks, maybe not the revisions, but certainly the sewing and laundry. I am exceedingly grateful for good health, and grudgingly I acknowledge the downtime as its own essential element. And one of these days I hope to start book 5 of my series. The notes are out of quarantine and, hehehe, so am I!

Further lessons on patience

 

I'm still testing positive. Yet that frustration is tempered by what's happening east of us in Butte, Tehema, Shasta, and Plumas counties as the Park Fire rages. Butte County is dear to my heart; it's where I met my husband. That the fire was deliberately set is sickening, about all I can consider on that aspect. 

My beloved now has covid too, but he's feeling a little better today having managed some decent sleep. Life here revolves around staying masked, hand washing, and social distancing. Other than mild congestion I feel fine, well, I'm annoyed but compared to the troubles others are facing, it's hard to get overly irritated.

I wish Future Me would give any tiny indication of how long I'll be hampered or how much further damage the fire will cause. She won't even glance my way. Past Me is also staying away, but I'm not aggrieved at their absences because sometimes life is a study in being in the moment. And not always are those moments thrilling or giddy or memorable in a positive way. Sometimes life is just layers of minutes that feel like eons. 

Today's photo is of a Lucy Boston block finished a couple of days ago out of my Go Bag hexie box. It's certainly scrappy, and I'm thankful to Past Me for carefully fussy cutting the outlying honeycombs, although they kind of clash with the inner papers. I have no idea what will become of the block, probably add it to the stack of other finished Lucy Boston blocks. Again, some parts of life are merely meant for RIGHT NOW. There's no big agenda other than breathing deeply, giving thanks for the ability to do so. And so life goes....

New perspectives

 

Sweet Williams that have escaped the deer's appetite.

I've gained an appreciation for hanging out, not something I'm very good at, but in still testing positive, there's not much else to do. Most of the congestion is gone, but I'm not a hundred percent, so lying low is my current occupation.

I told my husband that if nothing else I'm truly enjoying time in our room. I've never been the type to hang out in a bedroom; either I'm in the office writing or sewing, or in the evenings I'm seated on my living room sofa with hand stitching. I'm grateful for lovely views from our bedroom, as well as pleasant weather that makes for enjoyable afternoons seated in the sunshine.

Yet I'm wishing for a return to my usual haunts, also wondering if when I look back on this month, will I remember to appreciate the altered pace. I hope so, better than regretting it. Will I consider this as how I truly embraced getting older? Not that my age has any significant bearing on recovering from illness, although maybe it has, or more rightly just getting over my first experience with covid. Yet there are hurdles we endure that later carry certain hallmarks. This sure feels like one of them.

In the meantime, I'm grateful for good weather, improved health, and that nothing pressing is being missed, other than my husband rescheduling some dental appointments. Hopefully those are the only changes, and in a couple of days I'll test negative and move forward.