Anna Scott Graham's Blog, page 42

Sunny starts

Today's beautiful view.
 

The last two mornings have been full of bright, clear skies, a wonderful change to our recent grey horizons. Shocking to see how far south the sunrise has moved along the treeline; mid October is here in force, but I appreciate the seasons. And with NANOWRIMO just a couple of weeks away my writing mojo is emerging, or I think it is. Character sketches are coming together in a rambly sort of manner, although a timeline of familial events will probably be necessary. But it feels good to spin those kinds of details, dramatic elements as necessary as the blue sky greeting me today.

Years ago autumn used to mean big-time writing prep, as well as anticipating precipitation. Rain might indeed arrive this weekend, but I'm waiting a fortnight before diving into a new story. It's celebratory in nature, both the rain and the words, continued growth for me as a novelist as well as heralding what is so badly needed here in California. I recall plenty of soggy Halloweens from my youth, but now those memories seem vaguely unreal, or perhaps I'm uncertain due to climatic change.

But what remains steadfast is how eager I am for November, for writing a new story, for the infusion of literary thrill. It's a little silly, in that writing has become for me not easy but certainly a solid accomplishment, like acknowledging a bright morning, which previously was so routine; now I gape at the sunrise as though it's brand new. The commonplace becomes extraordinary, not to be taken for granted. Writing novels is marvelous, good to be reminded of that gift. And in just two weeks, I'll be ankle deep in fictional melodrama, hooray!

Piecing together many parts

Plotting out an EPP corner now, piecing together story ideas later.

Over four years ago I began a Mandolin Quilt, a Jodi Godfrey pattern. It wasn't the kind of quilt that needed to be immediately finished, which was GREAT in that instead it became the kind of quilt requiring a slow simmer, tucked away safely until time for it to emerge. Which is NOW, lol, as it is spread out over my work table. I'm down to carefully basting the corner blocks so when I take out papers and cut threads the seam allowances aren't sewn to the adjoining shapes, ahem. (Been there, ripped out those errant stitches....) I do one corner at a time, then sew the block as per my usual evening hand-stitching. Playoff baseball and the last pre-season Warriors basketball game will be the soundtrack for tonight as perhaps by the end of this month another EPP quilt is completed.

Not that I'll be bored when it's done; other paper piecing projects are waiting, in addition to a Honeycomb Stars Quilt, pattern by Rachel Hauser, that awaits my attention. I was going to work on that this morning, but first I need to baste shapes, so instead I sat back at my computer, HAHA, to write this post. I've spent the last two mornings reading over the last book of my current series, and that's been a JOY! Not only in that it's in very good shape but for the sheer pleasure of reading. Rarely do I peruse my past novels, but a few have a strong claim on my heart and this series is certainly one of them. But edits are an early-ish activity, I do like myself a routine. Hand-sewing at night, other than basting fussy shapes, sewing late morning/afternoon. The garden shrieks for my attention, and yeah, I'll get to it. But I'm an indoor girl at heart, good thing we live where theoretically the weather nudges one toward interior pastimes.

Which leads to me denote another yesterday activity; I signed up to participate in National Novel Writing Month, which starts on November first. That was a spur of the moment action, mostly taken not because I'll need help with the word count (or hopefully I won't), but because I sure could use a kick in the backside to just pick an idea, then get my butt in the chair and.... Working on the Mandolin Quilt has been a similar endeavor; these last corner blocks are futzy, requiring lots of on the table, off the table, back on the table kinds of attention. Yet until I invest the necessary time, that quilt will just dwell in a tote for.... For longer than it should, let me just say. The same goes for novel plots; unless I write them, they're filling up my brain and goodness knows I need EVERY spare cell to get done what needs doing. Yeah, I can scribble notes endlessly, but until a book becomes some sort of virtual document, it swirls in my head, dumping off to the side precious thoughts that have their own right to bestir my intellect. LOL! Again the quilting bumps into the writing as though they are long lost siblings. One is plainly visible (even if shoved under the table in a plastic tote), the other so solitary but screaming just as loudly as an unfinished blanket. My ears ring, probably due to recent days spent at the machine, quilting coasters, or it is a bevy of story lines hollering for their moment in the sun? Despite using earplugs and noise-cancelling headphones whenever I sew by machine, the ringing persists, although it will fade in another week or less. But those stories so wanting to be told, new ideas as well as ancient notions, ahhh! In a couple of weeks I'll give one a go. In the meantime....

Quilts to finish and maybe to start, dead garden plants to pull, the usual laundry list of laundry and other household chores, and plotting. Not to take over the world or begin a new paper-pieced project, but the kind of scheming that gets no one in hot water, especially myself. I need to dream up some characterizations, fleshing out names with distinguishing markers as real to me as paper shapes that by the end of this day will be actual fabric additions to a quilt meant to express deep love, gratefulness for life, and the magic of future days. I make quilts like I write books, to learn something new and pass along the blessings I've received, one paper piece or piece of paper at a time....

Sewing up a proverbial storm

Four of many that were mailed off yesterday; they shrunk to a good size and I hope bring copious smiles to their new owners.

No rain in sight here, although a somewhat clear-ish morning has dawned. Autumn is fully upon us, afternoon sunshine at a slant, leaves falling from our black walnut tree, a few nuts on the ground too. I've spent the last couple of days mainly at my sewing machine, although yesterday afternoon demanded I take coasters outside for string cutting. I'll finish up five today, but over two dozen were mailed off to my eldest daughter yesterday; her neighbors relish the upcoming holiday and how better to use up scraps and warm many hearts in the process.

What I complete today are solely for personal use; one can never have too many coasters, lol. My daughter took one home, an EPP experiment that she adored. Those I keep will go alongside my supply of autumn placemats, then I'll stash them away after Thanksgiving when my motherlode of Christmas linens are hauled out for December. I don't decorate as previously, but once I began sewing, holiday items emerged as quickly as the coordinating fabric was purchased. I have yet to make myself a Christmas quilt, although maybe one of these days. It's not from a shortage of prints, only from a lack of time.

Time alters as seasons change, from the look of daylight to its actual length. I'm eager for Daylight Savings Time to end; I prefer bright mornings over lingering nightfalls. Cool temperatures aren't a large imposition; we're used to mild weather here in Humboldt County. More is how nature evolves, plants dying off, our garden in desperate need of attention, lol. As soon as I get these last mug rugs finished, I keep telling myself, altering reminders on my phone as each day passes without me pulling up dead tomato and pumpkin plants. Without impending rain on the horizon, time remains for me to clear the garden, and as I've firmly shelved any new writing until November, there is truly no excuse to accomplish this month what needs to be sorted. Ah writing.... Thankfully I have the last book in my current series to poke at, making me feel less idle, as if sewing nearly twenty coasters in the last couple of weeks hadn't occurred. It's not that I've been lazy or even procrastinating. I'm merely following the edicts of my heart, which don't always align to what my mind considers as vital output.

Aging intrudes; I don't have the physical, mental or emotional bandwidth of past me. Much of the time I'm okay with that, but a balky left knee hinders in a manner that past me had no idea was coming. Past me blithely assumed that aging would creep along slowly, and mostly past me was correct. Present me, however, wonders for how many more days will that knee continue to pester, and if it does, when do I seek attention for it. Bleh.... Maybe when pulling up tomato plants becomes an issue? I'm grateful for fit hands that permit a lot of sewing with needle and thread, and as long as I pull weeds with my left hand.... These are the issues past me didn't ponder. But past me didn't really think I'd be quilting, so....

Forgive these rambles; I'm in an odd bit of space right now; post-book release, post-posted Halloween coaster extravaganza, post-summer simmer. But not a bad sort of simmer, just a slightly leg-achy change of season simmer. I didn't make any jam this year, speaking of simmering, too busy prepping a book, sewing, and gardening. Oatmeal isn't the same without homemade not-too-sweet jam plopped into it, but frozen berries might be the answer. And with that, I'll end this post, full of past-me-isms, hoping for less pain in my knee and more peace for this planet. And maybe a novel coming out of all this hoo-haa'ing (but certainly more mug rugs).

Gracious Mysteries

Releasing a new book is more than dotting i's and crossing t's. It's the culmination of craft and tech blended into twenty-first century art; writing novels will hopefully remain a timeless manner of expression now enhanced by an author's ability to self-publish. Gracious Mysteries, set in an unnamed world in what could be deemed several decades ago, continues the tale of one woman's search for her beloved and the experiences of others caught in a devastating plague.

Yet a long-fought war has tempered these characters, and now finding themselves in a relatively safe place, Brynn Dahl and her family can finally set roots on a vast ranch, although not everyone initially joins them; Brynn's eldest daughter Ronan takes a different path, attempting to find peace after years of abuse. Love emerges between Polly and Mo, as well as Ava and Seti. And for Timral and Nasri, budding affection is threatened when Nasri intervenes as one man attempts to cause harm. A novel can't exist without drama, and better for me to churn out heartbreak fictionally as much as possible.

Yet as I noted in yesterday's post, my family is hurting, the outcome unknown. And twenty-five years ago, when the above photo was taken, great heartache rocked my world; my younger brother took his life three days shy of his twenty-fifth birthday. It's odd thinking he would have turned fifty this year, I never imagine him having aged. I was thirty-one when he died, now my youngest is thirty, time not lingering although our memories possess an inordinate manner in which to transport us into the past. Thankfully those visits are fleeting; all we truly have is this day, full of mysterious grace, or ohmah polise. I consider that term on occasion, conjured for this series yet it resonates in a way I hadn't planned; appreciating the here and now regardless of how little knowledge aligns to it is vital for keeping one's heart at rest and peace of mind intact. I might have a lengthy To Do list, but perhaps most importantly is to take a few minutes to breathe deeply, accepting the quiet of this morning, and how awesome are the gifts within my hands; writing books, writing about those books (lol), then attending to whatever comes next. There are sites to update, this entry to post, the nuts and bolts of publishing a novel. Then there are the less visible but just as meaningful matters; breakfast is one, making notes for the next story, sewing up some coasters.... A book is released amid momentary fanfare, then life continues. Celebrating and grieving go hand in hand, turning us into what we become day after day after day.

Gracious Mysteries is available at many fine online retailers. I recommend picking up its predecessor The Possibility of What If, intriguing blends of fantasy and women's fiction. And look for the series' conclusion, That Which Can Be Remembered, coming in December.

Mysterious grace

 

Tomorrow is already today for some on this planet; on the tenth of October my next book goes live, WOO HOO! Yet for some nations it is the tenth, so here's a brief post about Gracious Mysteries, with a small personal notation of how odd this life can be.

In the second novel of my That Which Can Be Remembered series, the whereabouts of one man become clear to his family while to those who have known Strivek well, a new background must be accommodated, which is especially hard for Yasbek Timral, who is greatly disturbed by considering her Yunka welder had married a Vodali. Overcoming biases is one theme of this story; another is accepting the Vodali term of ohmah polise, which translates as being grateful for the unknown. As Vodali elder Da Miri says, sometimes knowledge is a dangerous gift.

Love abounds within this novel, as do unremitting personal strength and reliance on faith, of which I am clinging to in my own day-to-day; a much beloved family member is battling lymphoma and none of us know what will occur. Of ohmah polise, Da Miri also says it keeps us humble and within this present moment of time; nobody know what tomorrow will bring, especially in the current state of world affairs. Perhaps I'm overreaching in writing this post, but I've never released a novel by pre-order, which automatically publishes the book in various time zones as soon as the chosen date arrives. Not sure I will do it again, not merely because I have to assign a price; I like to keep my books as free. Again, ohmah polise emerges and I'll see what happens as the week unfolds. In the meantime, if it is the tenth where you are, I encourage you to investigate Gracious Mysteries, as well as The Possibility of What If, the precursor, which indeed is free!

 

A change of seasons

Granddaughters designing on the quilt wall.
 

Ah, what a glorious week it was; family departed this morning but not before one more round of adventures that sent the granddaughters home in dry socks from my supply stash. We took a walk to the sediment trap, where my daughter did her part in clearing out the small spot in a stream. Shoes were soaked just reaching the creek, so my son-in-law carried his girls, ages seven and four and a half, to the car. We won't see them again for a few months, but awesome memories will sustain us all until again we can be together.

A Halloween quilt and coasters were warmly welcomed, as was a sunny afternoon yesterday after several days of gray skies. Distinctly I noticed how the sun's slant now casts an autumnal mood over the landscape; we are well into a new season and are all grateful for it despite a dearth of precipitation. Hopefully rain will fall soon, though none is in the ten-day forecast. Yet I am pleased for the altered season, even if it's dry. Daylight is indeed lessened, quilts put into good use by all. Evening cups of decaf tea were enjoyed once kids went to bed, adult conversations just as lovely as all I shared with my granddaughters. We ate blackberries, gathered seeds from my wildflower garden, taking long walks and building COUNTLESS Lego items, both from our imaginations and the instruction guides, hehehe. We rebuilt a Lego firetruck and space shuttle more than once for each, working on a car right up until it was time for all to leave. And then there was the pot holder designing, seen above. After clearing my sewing machine table for my daughter to use as a makeshift workspace, a large pile of scraps needed a new home. And more than a few of them landed on the quilt wall, my grandgirls providing me with templates upon which to fashion some new pot holders. I'll get to those soon enough, once I make up a slew of Halloween coasters and ponder yet another novel idea. We'll see what next week holds for the writing, certainly plenty of plots from which to choose.

In the meantime there is laundry to wash, totes of toys to pack away, an ironing board to set up, and mug rugs to arrange. Hedging these activities is the resounding joy from sharing a week with beloveds, renewing bonds and forming stronger ties. As the grandgirls age, their memories will include snippets from various activities, tethered tightly by deep affection. What a blessing is such love, perhaps that needs to be front and center in whatever I write. We'll see what happens, a journey I'm anticipating with about as much excitement as the familial visit that is now past.

Projects in process

For the eldest grandgirl; attaching one side of the binding, which was then sewn on via my machine.

Family is heading our way for the week, so best I write a post now, little time to do so once they arrive. The pattern for the coaster pictured above is courtesy of Jodi Godfrey, from her Cornflower Quilt in the marvelous book The Seedling Quilts. Over the summer when I visited my eldest daughter and family, I took along the little paper pieces, then asked my granddaughters to choose fabrics so I could make them each a block. Those blocks were sewn together once I got home, then floated around the sewing hoo haa that needs to be cleared before family arrives today, ahem. Anyways, I completed these coasters, they are now in the dryer. Very pleased for how they turned out and I hope the grandgirls enjoy using them both here for tea parties and when they again reach home.

A finished mug rug for my youngest granddaughter; we're planning on some tea parties this week and they can break these in over cups of tangerine and cherry blends!

In addition to quilted matters, on October tenth I'm releasing the second book in my current series; Gracious Mysteries is available for pre-order but if you'd like to have it early, drop me an email at annascottgraham at gmail dot com and I'll send you a link where you can get it now. This book has been my first attempt with organizing a pre-order, quite an interesting experience.

I'm so looking forward to doing little more than hanging out with some of my nearest and dearest; weather is supposed to be very pleasant for early October and I foresee s'mores being eaten alongside blackberry and apple cobbler. I wish you all a splendid bunch of days and will be back in a week or so. Happy autumn everyone!

Throwing hay while time permits

Mug rugs!
 

Family is coming this weekend, so I'm trying to finish up some projects before their arrival. Yesterday I sent out one Halloween quilt as well as a table runner and coasters. Then last night I completed the machine quilting on another blanket, attached the binding and today I'll finish the binding, then add some hand-quilting. Meanwhile I'm getting to grips with a new phone and pondering my next novel. Time waits for no one, let me just say.

But there is a beautiful sweetness in what might sound like a hurried rush; last night I took a half hour break at my sewing machine when I received a video call from one of my sons-in-law on behalf of my eldest grandson, who needed help with filling out a family tree for school. Propping the phone against the throat of my machine, I answered questions while my grandson interviewed me, then wrote the responses. I shared stories of growing up on a farm; steering a pick-up set in neutral while my dad tossed hay from the back to the cows in winter and making bottles for abandoned calves then gripping for dear life those bottles as the greedy calves attempted to rip them from my hands. I wasn't much older than my grandson, which I impressed upon him, although I don't know if he could imagine doing those tasks, yet that was my childhood, which I haven't considered in a very long time despite setting my latest book on a sprawling ranch. I might have left the farm in my early twenties, but that farm remains deep within me.

The table runner; ironically I grew up in a house with five paneled doors. Special thanks to my husband for his assistance with this photo.

The last question was how had the world changed since I was his age; technology was my answer, our video call the perfect example, yet again that went right over his head, just as having a telephone in our house meant little to me when I was seven years old. But I clearly recall in those days thinking 'In the future when people talk on the phone, they'll have screens and be able to see one another!' And now we've had that ability for more than a few years, crazy.

But old school methods still rule; one can't send a quilt through video calls. I might publish my books online, but writing them remains a butt in the chair process, typing out one chapter at a time. I'm grateful to grasp both ends of this spectrum of time, appreciating ways of the past while incorporating futuristic elements when possible, but being mindful of the dross; not every shiny related to tech requires my attention, nor do I cling to ancient manners of life that are truly outdated. And I hope I can share with my grandkids that sense of knowing how one's history relates to and matters in where we are right now, the twenty-ninth of September of 2022. Amid devastating hurricanes, tragic wars, and those seeking freedom from oppressive regimes, may we all remember that showing and sharing love is the fundamental key. That will never change regardless of time's passage.

Closing a circle

 

I have five chapters left of my next book to read through, then I'll make sure there are no extra spaces at the end of paragraphs. Then I will upload the final version of Gracious Mysteries , which is available as a pre-order from various online retailers. It will be released on the tenth of October, the second novel in my current series That Which Can Be Remembered .

I just spent several minutes gathering notes that I cleared off my desk in yesterday's computer swap. Arranging some decorative rocks near my monitor, I wanted to put away scraps related to this collection of stories. If I really wanted to get some cleaning done, I could try to do the same on my sewing table, ahem. But pieces of paper with ideas scribbled in longhand were much easier to sort, stuffing them in a folder, then putting that in a desk drawer. Fabric scraps require more attention; depending on their size and weight on my heart, they would go here or there or way over there. Much simpler to place plot details where I don't need them anymore.

Well, I don't require them for Book #2; the third novel in the series still needs some revisional love, and I'll get to that sometime next month, after the tenth. But between now and then, publication prep is high on my list of To Do's, as well as sewing up a mess of Halloween coasters. I finished machine quilting four of them this afternoon, then sat outside to enjoy the warm afternoon sun while I trimmed all the strings. I'm definitely torn when the weather is so pleasant, much to sew or edit but with few clouds in the sky, a light breeze blowing, I had to taste the first day of autumn personally. It felt like anything but, a gorgeous weekend forecast as well. Still, there are many mug rugs to make into little quilt sandwiches, a plethora of squares arranged on the design wall, waiting for me to sew them into a quilt top. My hands feel especially full, and I'm grateful for that, wishing and hoping that very little falls through the cracks as I attend to these pleasant indoor tasks while soaking up as much sunshine as possible.

And then there's my book.... In these edits I'm flitting from chapter to chapter, thoroughly thrilled with how this story evolves. Writing a series is an interesting ride; one part is DONE, another almost out of my hands, while the conclusion is.... It's about all ready in the 'There is very little left to tweak before the final edits begin' sort of way. I'll probably release it around Christmastime, but won't do a pre-order for it, wanting to keep it as a free book. I don't write for monetary gain, but for the sheer need and contentment. I don't really have a choice in the matter, the writing that is, so I don't charge unnecessarily.

But in stepping out of my comfort zone with a pre-order, I had to put a price on Gracious Mysteries, and while I won't do it again, it was good to try something new, if nothing else to know I won't do it again, lol. Kind of like how I won't back a quilt again with a microfiber sheet. I've done that now twice, and it's just a pain in the backside to machine quilt. The coasters pictured above are backed with random autumnally coloured cotton prints from my stash; I prefer cool hues, so it was great to grab these warmer fabrics and hopefully I'll use up much of them. I might not get all the coasters done before the end of October, but they'll be basted, waiting for their moment in the sun.

Similarly to how my novel is patiently anticipating its release, if novels were capable of independent thought. I'm eager to release it, and here's a little snippet from one of the chapters I read today. With that, I bid you all a lovely evening and a peaceful weekend!

 

 

Finn remained on the grass, unbothered by the wetness. She might need a few weeks of solitude to compensate for being cramped in a small cabin, not to mention the drive south. Perhaps learning to ride a horse would proffer some necessary freedom, or merely time to reflect upon all that had altered. She sipped her coffee, gazing at the front gate. By lunchtime this life of isolation would be a memory.

The rain subsided, then Yimial Lin made his farewell. Finn bade him a good day and he smiled at her, then headed to the sentry shed. Suddenly Finn wondered if anyone else would join them. Timral was busy, but what about…. Finn squinted, then sighed, smoke swirling from the forge. Perhaps that was for the best, she mused, then she walked to where the adults continued to chat on the porches. “So when do we leave?” she asked.

“Now that’s a good question,” Mo laughed. “Mirella, you’re the senior hand. What’s the timeline?”

Mirella snorted. “You Molarn would have made a good politician. Ask those younger than me.”

“Pree’s nap is our guide,” Ava said. “But feel free to leave without us.”

“We should go together,” Polly said slowly.

“We should, but if Pree sleeps a good while….” Seti cleared his throat. “We don’t wanna hinder anyone.”

“We’ve come together this far, we’ll let Praa Pree dictate the schedule.” Brynn stretched, then yawned. “Maybe I’ll catch a nap this afternoon.”

“Storm keep you up?” Mo asked.

Brynn nodded. “But I wasn’t the only one awake.”

Finn stared at her mother, then gazed at Mo. He nodded, but said nothing.

On being a storyteller

I changed my mind about machine quilting this blanket, but that's another story entirely.
 

I spent (not wasted) a lot of time this morning swapping out computer towers, monitors, and SIM cards. My usual machine running Ubuntu died a couple of days ago, thankfully I have a second PC, but their respective monitors weren't compatible, so.... I won't even get into the whole SIM card issue, other than to say I'm grateful to have old phones hanging around. And maybe you think, "What does all THAT have to do with storytelling?" And in part, you are absolutely right in throwing such a query my way. And my answer is, "Without a computer, I can't tell any tall tales." Although my cell phone really doesn't have much to do with it, just another wrench in this morning's system....

But I will say that being connected in most manners is important; the phone is how pictures end up on this blog. Other than that.... Ahem. But without a computer, I can't type out sentences, scenes, paragraphs, chapters.... You get the idea. This morning Wikipedia noted that H.G. Wells was born on this date one hundred fifty-six years ago. To be fair, I've not read any of his books, but I read about him, and somewhere in that fascinating article he was called a 'born storyteller', although G.K. Chesterton then stated that Wells had sold that birthright for a 'pot of message'. Nonetheless, Chesterton was spot-on with the storyteller, which reminded me that I too am a storyteller. And not only that, but I am ACHING to once again get on with the business of spinning yarns.

I will rephrase my previous sentence; I am ACHING to once again get on with the distinct pleasure, privilege and thrill of spinning yarns. The business part has been tripping me up as of late, wondering/worrying about publishing etc. What my focus needs to be is the simple action of sharing a plot or three, a few or many characters, maybe a theme tossed in for good measure or just a wheelbarrow full of drama for drama's sake. Don't forget comedy, pathos, poignancy and love. Add these liberally with clever prose and what more does this storyteller require? Oh my goodness I am so needing to sit for many mornings at a stretch, typing away, releasing not another novel but the essence of much of who I am. While I love to quilt and enjoy gardening, writing brings me enormous pleasure. More, I NEED to write. I have too many ideas currently, they've been backing up and another hit me this week. In the early days of my authorial tenure, I was churning out drafts left and right. Now much of that was merely for the practice of learning HOW to craft fiction. But I was never without some topic upon which to expound. Only after my mom died was I empty of ideas, which was FINE. I'd just finished The Hawk and had loads to process. But that was four years ago, and it's been over seven months since completing my current series. And it's going to be another few weeks until there's time for writing. But boy, once those days pass, regardless of which notion I choose, I CANNOT WAIT TO TELL ANOTHER STORY!

Acknowledging that puts so much into perspective, even the editing I'm currently doing on the next novel in my current series. There would be no current series if I hadn't sat my butt in a chair and written it in the first place. Why I am so compelled to write isn't up for debate; why do people do the things they love? Because it's set within each of us to have one or many favourite tasks that bring us joy. Yet at times issues cloud our visions, taking us off track or obscuring why we love doing those various hobbies, pastimes, whatever you want to call what makes your heart sing. I still have the photo of the Nesmith siblings to the right of my keyboard, but lately I've been talking out loud again, to myself, which means only one thing; I'm speaking in the voices of characters that are close to the surface, figuring out in their conversations elements of their personalities and at times chunks of plot lines. I haven't done that in a long while, a good sign that writing their stories is indeed drawing near. Writing for pleasure, for MYSELF, has to be the main consideration. Actually, the main consideration needs to be to drop all the assumptions and allow the words to just emerge. Granted there are notes to make, or at least have some loose threads dangling, but as National Novel Writing Month looms, perhaps I need to take a page from how I got started (albeit with a hefty dose of character detail written in longhand); just sit and write. Don't overthink it, don't ponder what will happen to it. Maybe nothing. Maybe publication. But nothing will occur unless I permit myself the freedom to lay down all the hindrances, then get my rear end back in a seat and write.

In the meantime, there's the above quilt to finish binding, hehehe....