Anna Scott Graham's Blog, page 40

Alternate universes

A sample of my efforts from this past week, the center of a Myrtle block.

Currently Gracious Mysteries, the second novel in my That Which Can Be Remembered series, is available at no cost on Smashwords during their annual End of Year Sale. I had planned to release the final book in the series to immediately coincide with the sale, but I am still away from home and hope to have That Which Can Be Remembered released perhaps on Saturday? Fingers crossed for that publication. This series does take place in a different.... Universe, planet, solar system, you make the call, however their tragedies and triumphs are closely aligned to what we on Earth experience. There is no moon attached to their planet, which isn't a major plot point, but something I paid attention to while writing when a character trekked outside to admire the night skies. Only stars shone, proffering a distinction between our world and that of Brynn, Pollette, Finn, Strivek, Timral, Mo, and the rest.

This past week while staying at my daughter's home has been a sliver of living in an alternate realm, and I'm sure she feels the same, having traveled to the Midwest to support family enduring their own version of.... I'm not sure hell is applicable, because one so loved is still living. Yet for his wife, immediate family, and those of us in the extended circle, hell applies not merely for the pain and suffering they have known since cancer was diagnosed earlier this year, but the uncertainty of what happens next. Next has been counted not in weeks or even days, but segments of time so small that afternoons are wholly changed from what occurred in the morning. Wait and see is the mantra to which we all cling; treatments are proffered, then rescinded, then again placed on the schedule while one aptly called the sweetest human pops in and out of consciousness, that of slumber and his own mind. For thirty years I have enjoyed the extreme privilege of knowing this marvelous soul, someone I assumed I would grow old alongside, and maybe I will. Miracles occur, but again it's all about wait and see.

The Possibility of What If begins with the worst of circumstances; a life ends and those left behind are struck by engulfing sorrow, crushing bewilderment, and the hollow sense of what now? Yet the title suggests another option, which opens a door to a different future, which Brynn, Mirella and Ava eagerly choose, while Pollette and Finn remain skeptical. It's hard to have hope when one's heart has been trampled so thoroughly, yet hope is all my family has right now, that our beloved will somehow emerge from this illness, that his wife can remain strong, that all of us tender our hearts to one another and to the possibility of.... A world so changed, regardless of what happens next. In this season of joyful expectation, I pray for healing, wholeness, and peace not only for my clan, but yours as well. And that love fills us with the necessary strength and hope to wait and see.

Being in the moment

A scarf in the making for a granddaughter now since completed.
Due to a medical emergency in my family, the release of my next novel will be postponed a few days. I don't take my work with me, other than it being stored on a flash drive. And while I could jury-rig a publication while I am away from home, my thoughts are elsewhere, considering one so loved in the thick of a valiant battle against cancer and his wife, along with the rest of us, hoping for a miracle.
Situations like these remind how fragile is life, how important is to cherish the present, how telling those we love that we love them is vital. 
I really don't know what remains to be stated. I didn't sleep well last night, am very weary now. As soon as my granddaughters are unconscious, I will be too. In the meantime, hug those you love and communicate with beloveds.

A slice of time

One quilt from 2017, not for my granddaughter but a dear friend who welcomed her first grandchild into their family that same year.

Time's passage is often considered in decades and their multiples; five years ago my youngest granddaughter was about to enter this world. If I peruse what has occurred since, inevitably I consider my mom's death next, followed by the birth of my youngest grandson, the pandemic, our move north alongside my husband's retirement. Some big personal events within the space of a half-decade, many quilts sewn, quite a collection of words written as well. Back in 2017, I couldn't have fathomed where I would be today, not that I pondered much of what else has happened. Nor do I presume to imagine what 2027 will present. I'm more than happy to be right here, 7 December, 2022.

But I don't mind examining pictures from 2017, sometimes it's nice to peer through a momentarily opened window, breathing in what was, exhaling what has become. Grandkids were wee and when not caught up in their delightful adventures, I was writing a saga and sewing. Not all that different from what I do now, minus the descendants, but no longer are they tiny. Five years old is a watershed of sorts, that granddaughter in T-K and enjoying herself very much. She bikes to school with family and friends, loves puzzles, Legos, and My Little Pony, also enjoys collecting flower seeds and walks through the woods when they visit Humboldt. Maybe one day she'll sew a hexie flower, or write a story. The world is full of possibilities at that age.

It remains a curious realm even if you times five by ten and add one, although my granddaughter has already told me I'm old, LOL! At her age, I was surrounded by aged relatives who weren't much older than I am now and oh my goodness I thought they were ancient! Recently my husband and I have been watching Ken Burns' Baseball on the random evenings when the Golden State Warriors aren't playing. Baseball was released in the mid 1990s, and most of those offering commentary have since passed on. Many were the age I am now when the documentary was filmed, and I bet when I first watched it I thought those men and few women were, well, old. Several of them lived for a number of years after Baseball was released, and in investigating them, I was taken aback at how those who lived a long time no longer resembled who had been captured in the early 1990s. In photographs or on film/video, images don't change. We do certainly, yet in those slices of time, a face and voice remain exactly the same despite how many decades have past.

The back of the blue quilt.

We take for granted how ridiculously easy capturing images has become, phones acting as cameras stuck to our hands. But I often find that when visiting the grandkids, I take few pictures, instead rightly caught up in being with them. At times I lament the dearth of photographs, but time is better spent making memories that I hope will last longer for them than they probably do for me, hehe. Perhaps one day I'll write a novel deconstructing time's fluidity, but for now I'll revel in the expectation of spending a long weekend with beloveds. Hopefully someone will take a photo or three while we're together (insert smiley face here).

Gonna, wanna, gotta....

Christmas coasters begun months ago, finally finished in time for the holiday.

Having spent the morning formatting a manuscript into what will be uploaded as a published novel, I have scrolled through that story a few times, adding page breaks between chapters, centering chapter headers and making the font large as well as bold. I added the title and end pages, and for now have included the first chapter of my next book, we'll see if I'm brave enough to release that into the wild, lol! Then there's the scan where I'm looking for any extraneous misspelled words, underlined in Word's red squiggle. Plenty of gonna's, wanna's, gotta's, lotta's, dunno's.... But fortunately nothing other than those colloquial uses within dialogue. Lots of them to be sure, plus a horde of then underlined in green. Word suggests and then instead of my preferred solo then. I don't bother changing that trove of alleged errors. Anything underlined in blue gets investigated, (and) then the whole enchilada is saved, stuck on a flash drive, and in a week I'll pull it out again, tweaking the Liner Notes at the end.

Thus is how I prep a manuscript for release, altering a document long considered as an under construction draft into a final version. These three novels were originally written in Open Office, but after my Ubuntu machine died, revisions took place on my Windows machine. The first two books uploaded just fine, and I'm hoping That Which Can Be Remembered does the same. Open Office didn't alert me to the gonna's and wanna's, nor did it point out grammatical mistakes. I enjoyed using it, yet I also appreciate the finer points Word possesses when it comes to spelling and grammar. I don't like how cranky Word gets because I'm using an old version of it, ahem, but beggars can't be choosers.

We're heading out of town at the end of the week to spend time with our eldest and celebrate some birthdays in that family. I had wanted to get this novel in a formatted state before our trip, and am pretty pleased to have made so much progress. December might seem a strange time to release a book, plenty of other items on the docket, yet I like the idea of ending the year with a new story for readers to enjoy during the holidays, as well as the finishing touch to another twelve months of my life as an author. Assuming I include the first chapter of my next book, I'm sort of committing to writing its sequel, ha ha, which theoretically sets up my first fiction project for 2023. When I get home from our travels, I'll sit down with that draft, then decide how committed to it I truly am. Thank goodness there are a few days between when we return and the release of TWCBR.

Perhaps that sounds a bit flaky, but I know better than to overthink things. I wanna write that story, but I gotta feel good about it. It's gonna be one of those kinda things that, oh I dunno, really grabs me. Maybe it has, perhaps I'm fooling myself. But if nothing else, That Which Can Be Remembered is in the homestretch, and in ten days you can claim your copy on Smashwords, hehehe!

Tweaks and timelines

The innards of a Christmas coaster; not sure if I will get around to adding a border, as well as the rest of the quilt sandwich, before the end of this year.

I'm powering through the LAST revision of That Which Can Be Remembered, its probable release slated for the fifteenth of this month. I'm a little dismayed to still find a few typos, sigh. However, better to locate them now than later, ahem.

A final edit is for my own peace of mind; well that and fixing the previously unnoticed gaffes, lol. I still need to format this document, then decide if I will include the first chapter of my next.... It would definitely be a series, the length of which is wholly unknown. Upon completion of the formatting, I will then decide if a teaser chapter will close TWCBR, something I have never done in any other of my published novels, not even The Hawk, which would have benefited from such a move.

Independent publishing permits last-minute alterations; I'm bound by my own personal goals for every project, and each novel/series is different, and I mean DIFFERENT. Genres are all over the place for me, standalones mixed with lengthy sagas, although truthfully the sagas now outweigh those solo stories if only in the word counts. But while TWCBR is fantasy, the next theme is sci/fi, and those two aren't on opposite ends of the spectrum. So hopefully a reader (or three) won't be opposed to some science fiction tacked onto their fantasy/women's fiction tale.

As for the timelines aspect of today's title, by aiming for the middle of the month, I am possibly missing out on other retailers getting my book in time for Christmas, but coordinating alongside Smashwords' annual end of year sale. That Which Can Be Remembered will be a freebie; its predecessor Gracious Mysteries is ninety-nine cents, but will also be free during the two-week sale. The Possibility of What If, the series' starter, is also free, and yes, I planned to release TWCBR to coincide with the sale. I don't do much marketing, but when the planets align, what the hey?

This means making certain I have synopses written, but the cover is ready, woo hoo! I don't think of all of this as a career, in part that I don't spend eight hours a day focused on my writing. And that I prefer the freedom of puttering about with the mantle of an author. Yes I write books, and I take that blessing with a healthy amount of respect. Yet being that it is a gift, the ability to craft stories and release them at no cost to myself, and a nominal fee because I chose to publish Gracious Mysteries as a pre-order, would sully such a treasure by slapping upon it the career label. Not that I think what I write isn't worthy, but not everything requires a price tag.

But that's fodder for another day perhaps. Today's authorial joys are merely to denote that yes, another book is about ready for release! Here's a little excerpt between teenagers Finn and Lon. I truly enjoyed crafting their travails, this series a multi-generational affair.

Finn’s tears dried as she rode the horse hard, the wind warm against her cheeks. Finally she brought the horse, still unnamed, to a trot, sweat streaming down the animal’s body. “I’m sorry,” she said in Vodali. “I didn’t mean to be so….” She swore in Vodali, words that she had heard cast her way by youths of her age. “How they can learn those epithets and not bother with the rest of it,” she muttered, then she sighed. “Roque knew those words too, but the worst I ever heard him say was mulka. Maybe that’s what Krowe thought of us, who knows?” Finn let the horse wander, houses to her left, fields to her right, what looked like a forest straight ahead. “Shall we Nana?” Finn smiled, patting the horse on its star. “I’m gonna call you Nana. It means….”

From the left another horse and rider tore across the landscape. Finn trembled as Lon slapped Jeson’s backside with a hat. “Oh Nana, I’ll never ride you that way again.” Finn leaned over her horse, caressing its neck, then mindlessly braiding its mane. She remained stationary until Lon was out of sight, then she gingerly allowed Nana to canter forward.

They went as far as the last house on the left; Yoson Phile lived here, Mo having taken Finn and Seti out this far right before…. Finn sighed; if Nasri fell ill, then she scoffed. “He shouldn’t have done what he did. Now Aunt Polly’s gotta relive all that and….” Tears stung the corners of Finn’s eyes; her father had recalled her mother, but Brynn hadn’t inferred the return of other memories. “My dad is dead,” Finn whispered, then she repeated the statement until finally she screamed what in her heart she knew wasn’t true. Yet it felt good to say it, although as she swallowed, her throat ached. “Stupid parents,” she muttered in Vodali, unaware that from behind Lon was observing her.

“Your father isn’t dead,” he shouted.

Finn whipped around, Nana turning as well. “Would you stop stalking me?” Finn grumbled.

“I was here first. Stop following me.”

Finn shook her head, then tried to rein in Nana, who began heading for Jeson and Lon. “Nana, don’t, hey, I thought you were a good girl.”

“What’s Nana mean?” Lon asked.

“Why do you care?”

“Because if I don’t like it I’ll call her something else.”

“It means….” Finn sighed, patting Nana’s forehead. “Beautiful unexpected gift. Well, that's the basic explanation.”

“Your language is complicated,” Lon muttered.

“Maybe. But it requires few words once you know the gist.”

“I guess.” Lon put on his hat. “Is he dead yet, were you sent out looking for me?”

“Not that I’m aware. Do you always beat your horse with your hat?”

Lon stared at the ground. “Never until today.”

Finn released the reins, allowing Nana to touch noses with Jeson. Then she stared at Lon. “What’s on your forehead?”

He wiped it with his sleeve. “Nothing.”

“You’re a terrible liar.” Finn squinted. “Who put ashes on you?”

“Timral.”

“Huh. I had to sprinkle them on her flower garden. Adults are so weird.”

“They can be.” Lon raised his eyebrows. “Is there any left?”

“A little. Grandma probably told her to do it.”

Lon sighed. “I don’t want Da Miri to think I’m being disrespectful.”

Finn sniffed, then looked toward the forest. “You ever been out that far?”

“With my…Dad.”

“Oh. I’m sorry about….”

“Don’t be. He’s nothing but a mulka.”

Finn grimaced. “Do you know what that word truly means?”

Lon shook his head.

“It’s the worst thing a Jolem can call a Yunka. Just want you aware of that.”

“They’re all dead now, what does it matter?”

“You said it. It matters.”

November wrap-up

A slimmed down version of Jodi Godfrey's Alexandria Quilt design; we'll see what I end up with hehehe.

I usually don't write end-of-month posts, but due to my NANOWRIMO participation, albeit limited, I felt it necessary to jot down a few sentences. And give a little outline of what lies ahead for the rest of 2022.

Let's start with National Novel Writing Month; I started a draft that might end up in my books not currently under construction folder. Or maybe A Rose Blissful is merely waiting for a less crowded time of the year to flourish. We'll see what 2023 has in store for that plot, but I did learn that November is no longer the best time of year for me to write, birthdays and holidays making for a busy month.

But I managed A LOT of revisions, lol, and am mostly on track to release the last book in my current series. And I made some good headway on what I am hoping to write next, in the context of editing the prequel to a manageable size. Manage figures heavily in this paragraph; I feel like I did a lot of managing this month in writing and sewing. Not so much in the garden, ahem; I really need to cut back the gladiolus, yet I did string Christmas lights on our front fence yesterday afternoon, a big win! However, one cannot manage a novel in relation to furthering a word count, only in trimming it. So I am anticipating January, when I might actually write more than the 20K accumulated for A Rose Blissful.

As for handcrafts, I finished the Honeycomb Stars and Mandolin quilts, then tackled a repair project for my eldest daughter; in October she brought a queen bed comforter in need of a new binding and some patching. That was quite a process, mostly for the size of the quilt, and I'm nearly done, which is good because we're visiting them next weekend, ha! Otherwise I spent many evenings indulging in the Lavender EPP project, both basting shapes and sewing them together. And I got back into crocheting, making some cowls. And just last night I finished plotting out what I am hoping to start sewing perhaps before the end of this year, an Alexandria quilt designed by Jodi Godfrey from Tales of Cloth. More about this quilt in future posts, but wrapping my head around the probable colour scheme was another big win, setting me up for a few marvelous afternoons of going through my stash to match fabrics to shades drawn in colour pencils.

As the daylight lessened, I spent more time indoors, appropriate for this time of year. Our Thanksgiving travels to Reno were pleasant, and with abundant snow forecast this week for the Sierras and elsewhere, I'm glad we were able to get away and return with ease. I'm also extremely grateful for the expected precipitation, so badly needed! I have warm attire and overcoats to brave winter's outdoor gifts and certainly ample inside activities to keep me entertained. And in this season of Advent, much to ponder about less tangible blessings that bring me to why I do what I do; to accept the love that is given freely, then share that grace in all possible manners. Wishing you a peaceful December filled with heartfelt joys.

Embracing the changing seasons

 

Christmas Eve 2021; I would love to have that much rain in the gauge by the end of this week!
 

The first day of winter is still a few weeks away but throughout November we have experienced a steep decline in the amount of sunlight. While I'm very grateful for Pacific Standard Time, our treeline inhibits what light remains; by two thirty p.m. the sun has dipped below the treetops, a little filtering through breaks in the forest around three thirty and by five twenty it's dark even on a clear evening. Our few days in Reno seem to have exacerbated the lessening daylight upon our return home, and another trip for next weekend to visit our eldest will further accelerate winter's arrival when we get back.

A bright and unfortunately dry October provided many warm afternoons to sit on the patio and bask in the warmth, which I did just about every chance that presented itself. I did so because I KNEW what was lurking ahead, not that we've had much rain this month, but the darkness emerged as though on a speeding train, lack of precipitation of no consequence. Merely as days ticked past, the solstice grows closer, nothing we can do to alter that course. I've decided to embrace these darkening days, for they offer their own spectacular brand of beauty, that of shade and dew, of chill and fog, of the need for hot drinks and cozy fires. We prepped a lot of wood, and every few days my beloved splits a little more. I load it in the wheelbarrow, which he carts to the house. We did just that this afternoon, most of it small sticks that required his attention and that of his saw. Those pieces wait in the carport, the rest in the garage for later this evening if we feel so inclined (and we probably will).

Rain is forecast for later this week, so I'm hoping to string some Christmas lights tomorrow, maybe even chop back the last of the garden, ahem. I'm working on a quilt design, having purchased a pattern from Tales of Cloth. I've gone back and forth within myself for more than a few years about that quilt, and am about ready to make the plunge. It's the same with a book I want to write next, a sequel to a novel originally penned in 2013. This is the perfect time of year to hunker in the house, indulging my love of pastimes that one really can't do well outdoors. Or I can't do them justice. Better to sit in the sun when it's warmly shining, then revel inside when the darkness falls.

But not in a frightening way, just how seasons alter, how life goes from summer to autumn to the tail-end of fall; Advent has begun, my candles waiting on our coffee table alongside a Christmas book by Martin Luther, from which I read a chapter each Sunday evening, then through Christmas week, although this year Christmas is on Sunday, so we'll enjoy the Nativity story well past St. Stephen's Day. By then the solstice will have been celebrated as well, yet there won't be much change in the level of light for another few weeks. Not until mid-January can I see the difference, the sun clinging to the south-eastern horizon. This is our second full winter here, reminds us of our years in the UK, although not quite that chilly or dark.

And not so wet, sigh. But we'll see what this week's storms bring, and I'll embrace the brief daylight and whatever rain lands. Time for indoor pastimes to keep me busy as winter knocks on the door.

A year of mostly slow sewing

The latest from a growing collection of Lavender Quilt blocks.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone! My husband and I have traveled to Nevada to spend the holiday with our son. We're not having a traditional meal, but I realized recently that it's been several years since we shared the holiday with a plethora of kin, and doing something differently is kind of our style. We will be having pie for dessert, kind of a fave of my better half, and I'll treat myself not only with gluten but some accompanying dairy in the ice cream. It's a holiday, time to splurge a little. :)
I'm also going to splurge in retail, lol; I'm ordering a Mandolin quilt kit from Tales of Cloth; Jodi Godfrey has several amazing EPP quilt kits on offer for this weekend, and while I've just finished a Mandolin quilt, another beckons strongly. And I've decided to make 2023 a year of slow stitching, concentrating not only on getting a Mandolin quilt underway, but to focus mainly on paper piecing. Not exclusively, I don't think my hands could take that much of a workout, but if I don't attempt this now, my fingers certainly won't thank me later. I can make out Future Me's slight grimace, while Past Me giggles wildly; you should have done this a decade ago, Past Me smirks. But a decade ago I wasn't even into quilting, merely up to my neck in novels. Slow stitching won't hamper the writing, or so I hope. It will certainly tame the output of quilts, harnessing my attention on an altered level of detail. And hopefully put the brakes on fabric purchasing sprees. Prints go a LONG WAY when paper piecing.
I am quite excited about this endeavor; I have the Lavender quilt and Cornflower underway, and I might join in Jodi's Hexie Harvest quilt-a-long, although not in an official manner. When she released her Hexie Handbook a few years back, I purchased the PDF, sewing about a third of the blocks just for fun using scraps. I tucked away those blocks, and might add to them if I need a break from the above listed projects. I love how Jodi has added triangles to her Hexie Harvest quilt, accentuating the varied designs, and I have plenty of large triangles to use. My hexie blocks are larger than Jodi's; I've employed two-inch papers and will use four-inch triangles. So many options for a year packed with threads and needles and most of that not associated with my machine.
Having gushed about EPP, a few machine sewn quilts will see the light of day, including a baby quilt for friends of my eldest, and perhaps a few other baby quilts in the making, hehehe! I have a stack of autumnal scraps itching to be turned into coasters or even some new fall placemats, not to mention six twelve-inch blocks that need some solid borders that I want to fashion into a set of anniversary placemats for my hubby and myself. Our thirty-fifth anniversary is a few months away, that was when I wanted to have those ready. My sewing table is clear, but oh my goodness there are piles of scraps and EPP blocks elsewhere waiting to be sorted, dude! Perhaps if I do that while waiting for the Mandolin quilt to arrive, I will be all set to dive into 2023 not only with a clean sewing room but fresh energy and plenty of prints of all sizes waiting to be turned into basted paper piece glory.
Hopefully Future Me won't be too frightened by all this hand-sewing (nonsense, I can hear in her tremulous voice) hopefulness; while I'll imbibe in some naughty gluten this afternoon, I have basically excised it from my diet and wow, my entire body feels better! And as I said, my age won't improve the conditions of my hands, so if I don't try this now, the odds are poor of a better year to attempt it. I'm rather grateful to even consider something of this magnitude, indicative of what this day is all about; I'm thankful for more than I can mention here, my relative health and that of my entire family, save a few beloveds fighting cancer and other ailments. While California isn't getting any rain currently, sunny skies allowed us to travel eastward to see our son. I have a novel to wrap up when I return home, a plot twist for a new idea (again Future Me shakes her head; don't you have enough books already underway?), and faith that permits me to accept these gifts with the greatest of joys. Don't think I do any of these things within my own strength. All I sew and write and everything in between is in concordance with God's grace. May that grace fill you with all peace and exuberance, and again Happy Thanksgiving!

Reject hate

My heart aches for what has happened in Colorado Springs; another attack on LGBTQ Americans, another mass shooting. Another example of extremism within this nation that seems unable to wrench itself from gun violence and intolerance. The question of why is complicated, also in my opinion frighteningly simple; people are fearful and at times they choose to assume a mantle of power to combat their insecurities. Weapons of instantaneous destruction are readily available. And another community is shattered.

Slogans are rife, social media full of condolences and some backbiting. But what doesn't change is how fragile are human beings, ripped apart by bullets and loathing. Murdered by rifles and prejudice. In a week where we as citizens of the United States are to give thanks, a dark cloud hovers, and perhaps the most important element regarding our gratitude is our lives. Freedom and liberty are bandied about but not all experience that sensation. This is one nation, allegedly under God, but so hollow of a claim does that seem. So hollow.

My prayers are with those in Colorado Springs who were injured in the attack on Club Q, the families and beloveds of those murdered, and with all who share in their sorrows. My prayers are also with those who either by their support or silence condone this catastrophe; I ask those people to reject hate. Spurn those who encourage hate. Repudiate those who fear liberty truly shared by all equally. Rebuff those who are unwilling to open their hearts to every person.

Reject hate. Christ did (Matthew 22:39, Mark 12:31, Luke 10:25-37, John 15:12, 17).

Writing origins and memories associated with such

Writing that first novel, November 2006.

While I bailed on National Novel Writing Month this year, I am wholly grateful to it for sending me on my authorial way. But even more so, I am extremely thankful for the one who brought it to my attention, my eldest child who in the autumn of 2006 was seventeen and knew me far better than I realized. That young woman will celebrate her birthday soon, and here we are, sixteen years later, and yes, I'm still noveling.

Currently I'm in the last third of That Which Can Be Remembered, what's next on the publication docket, revisions that have turned up two typos, oops! I've excised about fifty-plus unnecessary words, just niggly stuff but imperative to releasing the best version of said novel. In doing so, I'm brought back to this time in 2006, my daughter having directed me to NANO in late September or early October of that year. I don't recall from where I came up with the plot for that first book, but I do remember plenty of prep-work, then diving into writing as though all my dreams were meant for that month. I collected over 100K, true facts! Finished the book the following spring, when we moved from Britain back to America, and by January of 2009, Drop the Gauntlet was published by a small press, dude....

Yet let me return to 2006.... I was using a behemoth of a laptop, squeezing in writing time amid homeschooling three teenagers, lol! I had turned forty earlier that year, how much that played into my decision to write a novel is probably more than a bit of incentive. I categorize my adult life as follows:

20s - I had kids (in America).

30s - I raised kids (in the United Kingdom).

40s - I wrote novels (in California).

Those are rough estimates, but certainly a fair assessment of how basically I spent those decades. And for what it's worth, my 50s is a mish-mash of grandmotherhood, writing, grieving my late parents, quilting, adjusting to my husband's retirement, moving to Humboldt County.... Too much going on to pin my life on one or even two topics. Sixteen years ago, as I was just taking the first steps into noveling, I had no idea what would occur. Yet my oldest had an inkling, she's also the one to introduce quilting to my life, so never say your kids don't know what you want to do, or what you could do, ha ha! While I had fantasized about writing, the time or inclination never emerged until it was plopped into my lap and from then to today, fiction takes up a lot of my time.

Which isn't a bad thing, although in print it's a dubious sentence. I used to joke that writing kept me out of trouble (and out of Target), and mostly it's true, on both counts. At times I get, um, a little obsessed with a story, but my family understands, especially my husband. Because now writing is as much a part of me as breathing, thereabouts. And as I've also joked, better to expend my emotional drama on characters than my own kin.

Where the writing goes from here, well, I hope a new novel appears sometime next year; either I'll rescue A Rose Blissful from the hard drive hinterlands or I'll start the necessary sequel to The Earthen Chronicles. Or begin something wholly different, always a possibility. But there will be something; since 2006 I have accepted writing as my pastime/hobby/occupation/sanity valve. And the thanks for it has to start first with Christ, then to my daughter. Thirty-some years ago I was about to begin the wonderful road to motherhood. Seventeen years later that young woman introduced another path, and how blessed am I that writing usually runs parallel to the main roads of my journey. My daughter's eldest has asked for a story that includes dragons. We'll see if the next generation gets her wish, as I begin yet another year of my life as a writer.