Rachael Herron's Blog, page 59

Tangles

Clementine, our little beagle/pit bull mix, is a runner. I've never met a more loving dog in my life, and she only wants two things: to sit in your lap and shmuddle you to death, and to run. (Also, she wants to catch rats at the beach, but let's not talk about that.)

While I was writing the other day, I'd left her in the backyard. She likes to lie in the sun for hours and will stay happily out there by herself. I checked on her a couple of times, and she smiled and thumped her tail but had no interest in coming inside. The next time I looked out at her, I didn't see her. She wasn't in the backyard, and she wasn't in the house.

She'd pushed her way out of the gate and the front gate was ajar, so she'd gotten out.

I was terrified, instantly. In the past, we'd at least seen her go, and we'd been able to give intelligent chase. This time, I just had to guess where she might have gone. I ran around the neighborhood, calling her name over and over again, thinking "I've lost Lala's dog. Oh, shit, I've lost Lala's dog."

It has a happy ending -- I saw her racing up another (busy) street and called her, whereupon she pretended not to know me until I got that I'M SO DEAD SERIOUS tone in my voice and she dropped to the ground like she'd been shot. I carried her home, scolding her the whole way.

At home, she started acting funny. She seemed too nervous to sit next to me on the porch while I read, and instead, she went under the jasmine on the porch.

She walked around and around, spinning and pushing her way farther in each time. I watched, curious, as she began to stand funny.

No way. She couldn't be stuck. Could she be? I watched some more and then called her. She pretended not to hear me. She was fine, her body language told me. She was totally fine. She didn't need ANY help.

I got closer.

Yep. She'd made a noose of the jasmine vines. They weren't tight, but they were holding fast. She'd never have gotten out of it if I hadn't been there to break all the strands, and she could have done herself serious damage if she'd tried to.

What struck me was her attitude. When I caught her running on the road, she looked at me with a face that told me she didn't need me, not one little bit. I think I'm like that when I'm writing a first draft. I run fast, and I run hard. I dodge cars and stray bullets and if I hit the writing freeway, I run faster. If I see someone I know, I look away and pretend I haven't seen a thing. But then I usually end up exhausted and confused, and I need someone to help me home, to the finish.

And the whole jasmine bush ordeal reminded me of what it feels like to be working on a big novel revision. That's where I am now -- the first pass through. I'm tangling myself up in the plot threads, spinning and burrowing, and sometimes I look out and I'm surprised to find I can't move. I completely wind myself up so that I'm trapped.

The natural extension of the metaphor would say that I need people to help me out, to untangle me. And that's true, in a way. No one can help me at this point in a book. Talking doesn't work, and another person reading my work at this fragile state might be catastrophic.

But just sitting around with friends, talking about writing? That helps. Talking about the world, laughing together. That's the way out, I think. Taking time away from the draft. Being together with REAL people.

And hanging out with dogs. That helps, too.

Oh, and also with cats, especially crankypants named Digit:

Messy Sunday hair (it's all natural on top now -- that's the silver grown out)!

Purrs to you and yours.

A Fool in Love

You know me -- I never mind making a fool of myself on my blog. Maybe it's because I control the foolishness, but it's just fun. It's not like I really want y'all to see me trip over my own feet and bring down a whole tray of glasses on my way to the ground, but I don't mind letting you see this kind of thing: me messing around on my accordion.

Lately I've been loving coming home after work, sitting at my desk, and picking up the accordion. I noodle around and then I look up and three hours have gone by. That happened tonight, and I'm sleepy, but I thought I'd post this before I went to bed.

 

For those of you interested in seeing what the song can REALLY sound like played by a pro, I love this version. And the whole soundtrack (anything by Yann Tiersen, really) is amazing. (And if you're wondering, no, I don't have the score -- that vacant stare I get as I look to the left is me reading the inside of my head as I try to remember what comes next. I've been learning by ear. I should take some lessons sometime, I know I should.)

Dude. It is so fun.

Winners and Sabine!

As I promised, the names of the winners of the 3 WISHES & STITCHES galleys are:

Yvonne Going to Maui

Kristan Higgins (Um, now I'm gonna have to die. I didn't know she was signed up for my email list, plus her books are AWESOME. Thank you, Random Generator, for freaking me out!)

Oh.Susanna

Winners have been emailed (even Kristan - gulp). If you didn't win, there will be more chances, promise! And thank you for the AWESOME book recommendations! Woot!

 

Sabine

I realized I never got around to showing you a picture of a sweater I wear a LOT, Cocoknit's Sabine. I think I've decided I'm actually going to make it again, something I rarely do with sweaters. But this is just so damn wearable, and wear it I do.

Like the pin? Got it at the Oakland Fiber Festival (my new favorite festival out there -- so perfectly OAKLAND) last weekend, and I'm so sorry, I don't know who I bought it from. He said he only sells at festivals, so there's that.

It's exactly what I've been looking for.

Project details at Ravelry, link HERE.

Now I'm off to PLAY! Day off! Friend on her way over! Food and fun planned. Yay.

 

Guess What I Got?

It's the pre-pub ARC for my October release, WISHES & STITCHES, the third novel in the Cypress Hollow Yarns series. Squee! Isn't it gerjess? (I love that there's an ampersand in the title. Dunno why, but I do.)

GIVEAWAY!

I'll give three of these away to one random commenter on this post, and to two random people signed up on my email list (do both! Double your chances! If you're already on the list, you're automatically entered).

And you definitely don't have to do this, but as you leave a comment, why don't you leave the name/author of the last best book you read? I'd love to expand my to-be-read list....

I'll pick the winners on Friday the 15th.

Saturday July 10th

I'll be signing from 12-2pm at the Oakland Fiber Festival in Splashpad Park -- you should come by and say hello! I'd love to see you.

Whew. Business is done. And now, I'm trying to decide what to do tonight. I could read, watch TV (what? I don't even know what to watch anymore! It's like when cable and the TiVo moved out of our house two months ago, my brain went with it. We have our pick of everything Hulu+, Netflix, Amazon and iTunes has to offer, which is, like, everything, and therefore, I don't watch TV anymore. Too many choices!), clean the house, purge my closet (I'm feeling the urge), knit, or spin. Look at this merino/bamboo that I bought from Creature Comforts (who is also a writer I met at RWA).

It's called "Shiver Me Timbers" but I like to call it "Accordion Blues."

Well. That does it. I'll spin.

What Not to Do When in New York

Last week while this blog was so quiet, I was in New York on business, and while house sitting my agent's apartment, I managed to set it on fire.

Yes. On fire.

For ten or fifteen minutes, I ran back and forth from the room filled with firefighters and a still-smoking air conditioner, to the front door, frantic that neither cat escape as the men tromped in and out, because honestly, the only thing worse than dealing with a fire in your agent's house would be losing her cat.

While wearing no pants. (It was muggy! I wanted air conditioning! I was thinking ahead!) Fortunately I thought to pull some on just before the fire department arrived.

The air conditioning unit had snapped, sparked and smoked shortly after I turned it on, but the firefighters said it put itself out, with no extension into the walls. They handled it with severity, taking absolutely no interest in me when I told them that I worked for the fire department back home. They tromped out, back toward their dinners I'd made them leave on their tables, their axes on their shoulders, and I was left shaking in the living room.

I called Susanna and, using my calm dispatcher voice, told her what had happened. Then I had a very short indulgent cry and the tiniest dram of Laphroig, which Susanna's husband considerately kept in their liquor stash for probably just such occasions.

I was hungry, but I didn't dare leave the apartment, sure that if I did, some other plugged-in appliance would leap into flame. Fortunately, it was New York, so I poked around their kitchen drawers until I found the compulsory menu package. Thirty minutes later, I ate sushi that had been delivered to the door (oh, sweet, sweet delivery). I had a glass of wine. I read my book.

Then I went to bed and, unable to drop off, stared up at the ceiling in the muggy heat, my shirt pulled up, a cool wet washcloth on my stomach.

It hit me then: I was in New York. On business. I was a writer. A real one. It was my third trip to the city on business in as many years, and I felt so freakin' lucky. Beyond lucky. Completely, gobsmacked amazed.

What was the best part of the RWA National Convention? Besides my roomies, who were awesome? (Giggle fits! Every night a slumber party!)

AJ Larrieu and Kristin Miller

 

The Best Part

I think my absolute favorite moment was the HarperCollins party, which was at the boathouse in Central Park. (I know.) When I walked in, I had such a moment. I walked past the string ensemble to the dock overlooking the boaters. How many movies had I seen set in that location? Innumberable. The air was warm but not too heavy, and turtles bobbed in the water below.

Writing is mostly sitting alone, staring at a screen, concerned the words will never come, or when they do, they'll be wrong. And writers, when they dare to dream, dream of being published. I never got past that dream. That was as big as I dared. But if I'd dreamed bigger, I would have dreamed of being feted in an iconic New York locale, a glass of champagne in my hand. I never thought it would happen. I babbled something like this to one of the editors who gave me a funny look. I said, "I'm sorry. I sound crazy. But this is the dream." She said, no, she loved hearing it and that I should tell her more.

It felt like magic. I was starry-eyed. (I also felt rather like a rube--most of the other people seemed to take it all in stride. But I didn't. Anyway, it's more fun to be amazed, isn't it?)

Also, there were cardboard books to pose with:

That is, indeed, Eloisa James posing inside her own book. Heh. And here I am:

Like my dress?

 

Also on my trip:

Knitting with knitters! Wonderful afternoon at Jenn Jarvis's house with some of my favorite people. Seeing a fun ska-hula-billy band at Ottos' Shrunken Head in the East Village with friends. Having my phone die on Thursday (it's Tuesday now, still don't have the new one yet) and being in a strange city with no internet or phone. Old skool! I used maps! Wrote phone numbers down! It shook me up more than I thought it should. Also, I missed Twitter unreasonably. It was a little embarrassing.

 

They Say It's My Birthday!

Overall, I think it's a good way to start a new year. It's my birthday today! And tomorrow I start a new job (same 911 fire/medical gig, new agency), and everything feels bright and fresh and a little scary. I'm thirty-nine, and this is my last hurrah before the big 4-0 next year. (I counted on my fingers this morning to be sure. This is not like 33, which I missed entirely.) Everyone (meaning Lala) has me freaked out over the 40 thing, so I'm going to do this year right.

I think I'm going to go for balance.

I know, what? Balance? I don't do balance. I run marathons or I sit on the couch. I write novels because it's a challenge. I pick (a lot of the time, sadly) work over family and friends, staying at my computer crazy-long hours. Maybe I could change this. So I'm thinking about this a lot.

What comes to mind when you think of balance? Where do you want balance in your life? I'm making a list.

 

To Read:

And while I'm going on and ON, let me tell you about a book I read this week that I LOVED. Lovely reader Linda told me about it: My Year with Eleanor: A Memoir by Noelle Hancock. I was completely impressed and inspired by it--the story of a woman taking stock of her life and working on fear. She weaves Eleanor Roosevelt's story in with her own in a charming, smart way, and I highly recommend it.

* Thank god Susanna had a land line on which to call 911, since I had no phone and all. Eek! Keep your land line! (In California, it doesn't even need to have service to call 911. I have no land line service, but I keep the phone plugged in to use it when I have to.) 

Putting the Et in Cetera

Whoo! Having ADD-like whiplash on the computer this morning, so I thought while I was spinning like a top, I'd pop over and say hello.

Hello! Did you hear about New York? WOOOOHOO! That's what I say. And hey, I'm going to New York on Monday (for RWA National). It's too bad I'm going solo, or I'd get hitched again! Next trip. This time, I'll just settle for 

BOOK SIGNING IN NEW YORK

(Seriously, there will be soooo many authors at this signing -- hundreds! Come meet your favorites! And I would love to see you.)

Tuesday, June 28, 2011 – 5:30 – 7:30pm
RWA Literacy For Life Autographing
Marriott Marquis Hotel
1535 Broadway
New York, NY
**Open to the public

Now, to share a couple of things. (I like doing this. I hope you don't mind. I've been reading SO much lately--it goes along with all the writing, I think, and while I don't tell you about the books I don't like or just merely like, I do adore sharing the books I love.)

THE PILE OF STUFF AT THE BOTTOM OF THE STAIRS, Christina Hopkinson

Now, let's talk about this book. I absolutely loved it. I was charmed by it. Light, humorous women's fiction, Brit-chick-lit (don't hit me). I ate up every word, and I wanted it to last forever. However, I could see how people might be annoyed by the premise of this one: the main character's husband's slovenly ways are driving her so crazy that she starts a list of his faults, a detailed, Excel-spreadsheeted way to ascertain if she should stay married to him. She's a bit whiny. She's a complainer. SO AM I! I was highly amused by the whole book, and I think she tells a good tale. I'd be interested to hear what other people think.

CONFESSIONS OF A FREELANCE PENMONKEY, Chuck Wendig

This has just made it to my short list of Must Have Writing books (I should really write that list down somewhere, sometime). Now, Chuck's not for the faint of heart. If you don't think swearing is funny when done well, might be better to step to the side. However, if you want straight-to-the-heart-of-it-all advice on how/when/why to write, get this book. Immediately. In fact, he made me so uncomfortable when he was talking about rising tension that I had to put it down for a day or two because I KNEW I had to look at that in my current novel-in-progress, and by god, I didn't want to. Damn it. (His blog is awesome. Really awesome. This week he had a good post on Novel Writing.)

Listening to:

The Cinematic Orchestra: Ma Fleur  - good, ambient writing music.

Leftover Cuties  - Uke AND accordion and a pretty girl with great pipes! What could be better?

Lois the Pie Queen

I had a dream this morning before I woke, and it went like this: I was sitting at a table eating chicken and waffles. Oh, delicious, delicious chicken and waffles. Then I woke and spent the next hour thinking about the wonder that is a fried piece of chicken eaten over a waffle. 

Now, it is possible that in your neck of the woods "chicken'n'waffles" is not even a thing. It's a soul food thing, and it's not something I thought I would like when I moved to Oakland fourteen years ago. It sounded weird. Who wants fried chicken for breakfast? Then I had it, and it was good. Savory and sweet, great. But I wasn't IN love with it; it was just nice. But it grows on you, I'm telling you, until one morning you wake up and the first thing you do is start reading Yelp lists to find the best chicken and waffles near you, which is what I did this morning.

There were differences of opinion. Apparently, there are some good SF places, but I think Oakland is really the chicken and waffle hub, so I didn't even consider crossing the bridge. I've always been a Merrit Bakery gal, but it's only mediocre-good there. Roscoe's closed, and the Home of Chicken and Waffles sounded pretty touristy. Brown Sugar is good, but I'm not totally in love with their waffle.

Yelp told me about Lois the Pie Queen.

Let me tell you. You should go to there.(390 Yelp reviews, and 4.5 stars!!)

It's tucked away in North Oakland off the main drag of MLK. When you poke your head in, it's just a room, with a good old counter on the left and tables to the right. It's probably as big as our living room area at home (not big). On the left wall are maybe a hundred framed pictures of people eating there (not stars, just real people) for the past sixty-five years it's been serving food.

And it was perhaps the best restaurant experience I've had in years. Maybe ever.

We didn't know how to work it when we got there. It's Father's Day, so there were people waiting outside. I kind of hovered at the door, waiting to catch the hostess's eye, but I didn't see a hostess. I was confused. I'd never not known how to work a restaurant before. Mild panic set in. But then I saw a handsome man with dreads who was pouring coffee and seemed to be in charge, so I walked toward him.

"Hi, we'd like..."

"How many people, baby?" He touched me on the elbow, gently, and his  voice was even softer.

"Two."

"I gotcha, baby."

And I swear, they were the most welcoming words I've ever heard. I couldn't WAIT to sit down.

We got coffee and chatted with people outside (because everyone was in a good mood! They were at Lois the Pie Queen!). We were seated by the owner (of course that's who he was) in the window two-top (because everyone in line was held perfectly in his head -- he seated a TWELVE top in his tiny busy restaurant while we were waiting), and he laughed when I told him how excited I was. Then our server gave us the prettiest, most genuine smile I've ever seen a server give--she seemed genuinely thrilled to be working on such a glorious sunny day.

We got the best chicken and waffles I've ever had. The chicken was perfectly cooked, and the crust was just right and very basic, maybe just flour and salt (but not too much salt). The waffle was traditional. Butter and syrup. The coffee was great. The busboys might have been the most good-looking bussers in the history of the universe (like why aren't you in a movie good-looking), and a young boy (maybe ten?) was helping refill coffee and proudly asking each table, "Are you doing okay? Do you need anything?"

And the clientele? Perfectly Oakland, a mix of every race and age, and the sweetest customers were all the new dads -- there were many babies in carriers, all of them cuter than the next.

AND OH MY GOD THE PIE. A Yelp-er pointed out that when one visits a restaurant with a menu choice in its name, you should try that menu choice. So at Lois the Pie Queen, we had to have pie. Yelp had recommended the lemon icebox pie and the key lime pie. They were out of lemon icebox (this was by 11:30 in the morning) but when I mentioned I would want key lime pie (not even on the menu -- how COOL did I feel?) to our server when we ordered, she said she'd put aside a piece for me.

Thank god she did.

It was mind-blowing. I'm not a key lime pie fan, unless it's southern, at a real soul food or BBQ joint, and this was IT. You know how you eat something and eat it, and you kind of get used to it? So the first bite is the best, and then the other bites are quite good? This was one of those things where every bite was like the first bite, with an amazing blend of just-right tart and oh-my-god sweet that made me wish I never had to eat anything else, ever.

When we left, I thanked the owner and we hugged. He kissed my cheek. I felt anointed. We left the restaurant, stumbling, drunk on happiness.

And I'm not quite sure everyone would have this experience, which makes me even more happy that we had it. Some people would say, "Where's my mocha?" or "Do you have lite maple syrup?" or "They should redo this room." To them I say, you are missing the point, and if you're not at Lois the Pie Queen, there is more pie for me.

Pretentious

I will label this pretentious, and I know it is such. But I can't help what my heart loves! Friends, let me keep just this one affectation!

You know I love Moleskines. That's been established.

Hello. All sizes!

Cue Transformers music -- more than meets the eye:

Look! It's a case for my new already beloved MacBook Air (I'd been due a new computer for years, and this one has exceeded all expectations -- it's the tiny 11inch with the biggest memory/ram/whatchoocallit).

It's so SMART -- now I can just throw it in my bag and go. And it is so cute I can't stand it. Got it HERE. (And for the curious, it really feels/looks just like a Moleskine. LOVE.) (Also for the curious, the computer does not come preloaded with words all lined up for writers. I've looked. Writing is still hard. Dang it.)

Short Shill

Hey, y'all, if anyone missed it when it was offered for free from my publisher, my short story "Honeymooning" is available again. It's a Cypress Hollow tale, about Janet and Tom, and I can't actually give it away on Amazon (there are Self-Publishing Rules) so I priced it as cheaply as they let me go at $0.99. It's HERE for the Kindle and HERE for the Nook (and Kindle in UK HERE), and I'll let you  know when it's available on other platforms.

And errrybody, thanks for your comments yesterday. I really did spend most of the afternoon in bed, which was awesome. Then the sisters came over to eat Lala's fantastic chili (her first  cast iron Dutch oven experiment) and my rather good cornbread, and it was extremely nice. What you all said was amazing, and anyone thinking about grief in any form might wanna go have a peek at those comments. xooxox

Stages of Grief

I've given up on today. I had a meeting this morning, and then I wrote 2000 words, and I think that might be all I'm good for. I was, in fact, out driving with the intention of going to Santa Cruz for the day, but then I got a milkshake and sugared myself right out. I turned the car around and went home (via the cafe, where I MADE MYSELF work for a while, gritting my teeth the whole time).

It's the little mama's birthday today, and I'm thinking about grief and what I know about it.

What I know is this:

Not much.

The way I, Rachael Herron, grieve for my beloved little mom, is not the way I'll ever grieve for anyone else, and not the way you'll do it for anyone, either. This is my mileage. Make of it what you will. *

The first month is awful. Let's not even think about that month.

The first six months suck with a white-hot fiery agony. Much of the time breathing feels like a check-box you'd rather not check. There is joy, of course, daily, because joy happens even when you'd rather it not. But there are nights of howling black loneliness even when you're surrounded by your loved ones. Everything feels heavy, especially your feet and your eyes, and neither are worth lifting. Dreams are dark, corporeal, and devastating.

The second six months are pretty bad, but there will be a day here and there when you forget about your little mama until nightfall, and then it will all come back in a rush, and it will hurt, but more like being socked in the stomach, less like being stabbed in the heart. You'll have one good dream about her (the one where she comes up behind you and says in your ear, "I'm here", and you'll cherish it, hugging it tightly for weeks).

The year and a half mark was, for me, a turning point. That was the first time I could think of her without pain. I could remember funny things, and even more important, I could remember her faults again (not that there were many, mind you). I could remember how she bugged me every once in a while. I could almost hear that grumbling noise she made as she walked around the house, picking up, and I realized that I (and Digit) make the same noise. Those memories made her into a real person in my memory, whereas before that time she was so shiny and perfect I could barely see her in my memory for the bright glow of her halo.

Now, it's three years this week (can you believe that? I can't). I'm multi-published, something she didn't live to see. Dad's getting married to his girlfriend in October (I adore her, hi Lola!), and overall, the world has kept spinning pretty well, even if it wobbles sometimes.

But Mom is still around. I know this in my heart, and you know I'm not a woo-woo kind of person. But our loved ones ARE nearby, and I see Mom regularly in my dreams (and sometimes she's grumbly. I love that). I can say to a stranger when asked about my mother, "she died," without breaking into unexpected tears. I don't even feel like I'm pushing the tears back anymore. It's just a fact now.

Just like it's a fact today is her birthday. She would have been 71. And I knew it was coming, and I've been through a couple of them, and I thought I would be okay. Today I'm not okay, though.

I am, however, very good at self-care. I've tucked myself back in bed, and I don't plan on leaving it until evening at the earliest. I have my computer, my iPad, my phone, and three dogs. The cats will follow when they realize where I've gone. Lala is being very nice to me, because she's had Great Loss, too, and understands. If I need it, she will go get me ice cream.

I'm pulling the covers over my head, but I also wanted to say, I'll be okay. I know that. And there's great value in that.

In New Zealand at Hot Water Beach

*(I was emailing a friend about the death of parents, and this has been on my mind. Yes, it's supposed to happen before the death of the child. Therefore, most of us go through it. But there is NO reason to discount it because of this. In some ways, it's the deepest, most cutting loss we'll go through, and I hate when it's made less because it's "just" a parent. I have Strong Feelings about this.)