Vicki Lane's Blog, page 563

Just a Closer Look . . .

This coleus cutting with its extravagant flowing roots is so pretty that I keep postponing moving it into a pot.
Catching  the light in my kitchen window, it tempts me in for a closer look. Patterns, patterns, everywhere.

A brief post today -- I spent a lot of time over at my Day of Small Things blog, answering new questions about dealing with rejection and editing.  If you're interested in these topics. go here and scroll down to this image.

To Kill a Mockingbird

Yesterday I participated in a reading of To Kill a Mockingbird at Malaprop's bookstore in Asheville.

Billed as a celebration of  the 50th anniversary of Harper Lee's renowned work, the Read-A-Thon began with Sarah Addison Allen at 4pm after which a lineup of regional authors each read for 15 minutes before passing the microphone. Authors included Brian Lee Knopp, Maria Fire, Charles Gershon, Mark de Castrique, Rose Senehi, Rob Neufeld, Peter Loewer, Howard Hanger, Sallie Bissell, George...

Look at This . . .

See! The day lily's coquettish ruffles and come-hither anthers  . . . . . . the turkeys' soft dark eyes  . . . the precisely patterned plumage . . .the elegant curve of her neck . . . . . .  the rosemary's twisted trunk and the way light lingers like memory in the branches.

A Well Used Cookbook . . . and a bit more

Now there's a cook book that's seen some use! It was given to me by my in-laws for Christmas in 1978 and I've made many a fine dish from it. Note the classy duct tape holding it together.
It's a compilation of the best recipes from  the many cookbooks put out by Junior League groups in the South -- home of some very good cooking, indeed.
I made a chocolate pound cake yesterday -- the condition of the page should hint that this is a favorite recipe. It's also Ethan's traditional birthday...

How Do You Get Published?

There are a lot of folks out there who've written or are writing novels and wonder how to get published. Now and then I hear from some of them. I set up a FAQ page over on my DAY OF SMALL THINGS blog/site but I think I'll go on and tackle this question here as well. (For a fuller discussion, follow the link above to the FAQ.)

Only yesterday I received an email, part of which went as follows:   . . . This is my first novel, and I really want this book published.  I have had my novel line...

The High Sheriff

When we first moved to the mountains, I was charmed with the many unusual and antique turns of speech I heard from our older neighbors. "High Sheriff' was one of these, immediately reminding me of Robin Hood's evil nemesis -- The High Sheriff of Nottingham.     Some states actually have High Sheriffs (usually the head sheriff in the state) and in England it is a ceremonial position. But as far as I can tell, in North Carolina it's not an official title -- just one used by the older people...

Growing Chicks

Three weeks ago our "Freedom Ranger" chicks were fluff balls. Now they are partially feathered out and ready for the move from the brooder box to the elegant accommodation of the pasture chicken tractor.  
Their rate of growth and those outsize legs make it clear that these are broiler chicks, destined for the table. For now they're confined in the tractor but John will string an electrified netting to make an adjoining paddock.  In a few days, when they've gotten used to the chicken tractor, ...

At Long Last!

You may recall that I sent in Under the Skin back in mid-May. And that I haven't heard back from my editor as to whether she liked it or not. Though I've tried to remain stoical about it, I have been fretting. Just a tad.
I didn't want to email and ask if she'd read it yet. After all, I'd been very, very  much past my deadline in getting the book in -- how could I expect Herself to hurry with reading my manuscript? Besides, she was probably busy hanging out with her big, important guys -...

A Foot

I found this foot -- a rather dirty foot --  quite beautiful in a sculptural sort of way. 
But couldn't decide if I preferred it in color . . . or black and white . . . or sepia.

Tyger, Tyger

 Tyger, Tyger, burning brightIn the forests of the night,What immortal hand or eyeCould frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skiesBurnt the fire of thine eyes?On what wings dare he aspire?What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,Could twist the sinews of thy heart?And when thy heart began to beat,What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?In what furnace was thy brain?What the anvil? what dread graspDare its deadly terrors...