Mollie Hunt's Blog, page 71
February 23, 2016
THE ARCHITECTURE OF EARLY SPRING
Spring in Portland, Oregon comes early. February is a magical month, where crocuses bloom and Japanese quince burst their coral buds. It begins with the snowdrops, one unseasonably warm and sunny day, and progresses in between rain storms to a grand profusion of daffodils.
While other states languor in snow, Portland blossoms under a clear blue sky.
March may come in like a lion, and settle down to three more months of rain, but each year, for a few stolen moments in February, Portland sets the architecture for springtime.
February 21, 2016
February 19, 2016
PUBLISHING, MY MOTHER, & ROMANCING THE STONE
That opening scene of Romancing the Stone, one of my favorite movies: Our introvert heroine puts the finishing touches on her latest book, then celebrates with her cat. A plate of tuna with a sprig of parsley for Romeo and a mini bottle of booze for her. A little sad, but a scenario we introverts know well.
Unlike Joan Wilder with her typewriter, I uploaded the file, filled in all the blanks, and clicked “submit”. Amazon responded with a nice little window telling me my book would be on line for presale soon. With a sigh of relief, I exited the internet. Time to celebrate with my cats.
Thus is the true nature of self-publishing. If you go to PLACID RIVER RUNS DEEP on Amazon, there it is. See, Tinkerbelle? My book is published! Get out the tuna; it’s party time.
I’ll feel more like it’s a done deal when I have the book in my hand. Opening that huge, heavy box full of pretty new covers, now that is truly exciting! Soon, Tinkerbelle, soon!
If only my mother were still with me. It’s times like this I miss her the most. Before she crossed Beyond, she would dutifully read my book drafts, then say something encouraging like, “I think you’ve really got a book there.” She never saw me into print, and the drafts she read were early in my writing career, ones that may never come to light but necessary for that first million words of practice. She was a good sport. As I write this, alone on my computer, it’s easy to imagine her here.
“Look!” I would say. “The book about Washougal.”
She would take it in her slim artistic fingers, study the cover picture, so familiar to her because it’s her cabin, on which I based the setting of my story. I see her smile.
“I think you got a book there,” she would say with love.
February 14, 2016
THE MEMORY OF DAPHNE
Sure enough, the scent of the Daphne takes me right back to my childhood, To Laurelhurst Park, to honey sunshine and rain sparkles of springs gone by. Gone way by. More than half a century passing. The sky was bluer then – it’s true! I have pictures to prove it. Old square color slides taken by my father, with hues rich and dense as honey. And skies the blue of an angel’s eyes, I swear.
But back to the Daphne that grew like a perfumed offering in our back yard. My grandmother, with loving wrinkled fingers, would pick a single sprig. She would place it in a tiny Chinese vase. For me. So long gone by.
February 11, 2016
PLACID RIVER RUNS DEEP Preview
Like stones beneath Placid River, a dark tragedy lurks.
When Ember Mackay learns she has a life-threatening illness, she flees to the old Placid River cabin, but instead of solace, she finds mystery, murder and a revenge plot that has taken a generation to unfold.
Diagnosis: hepatitis C. It’s a shocker for Ember Mackay. Cirrhosis, liver cancer, a horrible lingering death. In 2010, there is no cure; at 37, she is far too young to die.
Ember needs time to process. She makes for bucolic River Lane, the little summer community her grandparents helped establish long ago in the wilds of southwest Washington. The old cabin holds happy memories, but can they ease the grim new reality that has changed Ember’s life forever?
Unexpected empathy comes from Grayson Tanner, a neighbor on the lane. Ember and Gray haven’t seen each other since they were kids, but hepatitis C has touched his life before, and he understands her plight as perhaps few others can.
The focus shifts when an elderly River Lane patron is found horribly murdered and his brother dies soon after of a suspicious heart attack. When a third neighbor is knifed at the local Independence Day fireworks, it becomes clear that no one on the lane is safe.
Gray and Ember put their heads together to find a pattern, but what they discover adds up to a scheme so unthinkable they pass it off as pure fancy. By the time Gray realizes Ember is next on the killer’s list, it may already be too late.
This murderer knows his quarry well and takes advantage of Ember’s compromised health. After three decades in prison, only annihilation will serve his needs, but when his long-imagined plan becomes reality, he finds he is only a victim of himself.
Placid River Runs Deep should be ready for presale soon.
February 9, 2016
Don’t be rude: how to meet a cat – Cat Tales
Do you know the proper way to meet a cat? Brush up on your cat etiquette and learn how to introduce yourself to a potential new friend.
Source: Don’t be rude: how to meet a cat – Cat Tales
Mollie Hunt’s Extremely Informal Newsletter
Hello friends! Lots going on now that I’ve “retired” from my “real” job to fulfill my desire to write. I spent the first week on vacation in Mazatlán with my husband for our 20th wedding anniversary, so I’ve really only been off the job for a week. Among things I’ve learned so far:
It’s true what they say about retirement, that you’ll be so busy you’ll wonder how you ever found time to go to work.
I now love Mondays.
Upcoming Book News:
Placid River Runs Deep
When Ember Mackay learns she has a life-threatening illness, she flees to the old Placid River cabin, but instead of solace, she finds mystery, murder and a revenge plot that has taken a generation to unfold.
Placid River Runs Deep is a non-cat mystery. It takes place in 2010, involving a woman who has just found out she has hepatitis C. This is before the “cure”, remember, and as she awaits the results of her medical tests, she is terrified. Then a neighbor is murdered and another dies a mysterious death, giving her something else to think about. A handsome artist whom she hasn’t seen since childhood becomes friend, lover, and then protector, but his care may be coming too late.
Placid River is currently at the editor’s, hopefully for the final time. I am looking toward a launch very soon and/or availability at the AAUW Sisters in Crime panel. (see Upcoming Events)
“Incognito” by Leslie Cobb
New Covers! I am excited to announce the Crazy Cat Lady mystery series will soon be getting new cover art by cat artist, Leslie Cobb. Cats’ Eyes and Copy Cats will be reissued with the new cat artwork. Cat’s Paw, coming this summer, will feature her lovely cats from first print. Check out her work at: http://www.lesliecobb.com/
Cat’s Cradle, a Crazy Cat Lady Mystery short story Giveaway free for Kindle, sometime in April. It’s the story that was published last October in the 9 Deadly Lives Anthology, but with a crazy cat lady twist.
~Meow~
Cat’s Paw, a Crazy Cat Lady Mystery #3 Launch: Summer. Date TBA
Upcoming events:
Twilight Rummage Sale – “It’s an indoor swap meet with a full bar.” February 20, 2016 4:00 pm – 8:00 pm, Eagles Lodge (F.O.E.#3256), 4904 SE Hawthorne, Portland, OR, https://www.facebook.com/TwilightSale/
American Association of University Women-sponsored Sisters in Crime panel: Sunday, March 13, from 1:30 pm to 4:00 pm, Clark Public Utilities Community Room, 1200 Fort Vancouver Way, Vancouver, Washington.
8th Annual NW Book Festival: July 30, 2016 11:00 am – 5:00 pm, Portland’s Pioneer Courthouse Square, http://www.nwbookfestival.com/
Conversations with Writers: a Hillsboro, Oregon group that invites writers to read and tell about their work and their writing methods. September 26, 2016 7:00 pm – 9:00 pm. Hillsboro Main Library, 2850 Brookwood Pkwy, Hillsboro http://cwwor.weebly.com/
Thanks for playing along. I love hearing comments and suggestions.
February 8, 2016
IS THIS YOUR YEAR TO SKIP VALENTINE’S DAY?
Valentine’s Day, two little words signifying love and relationship. Originally intended to honor a sweetheart, lover, or wife, Valentine’s Day has expanded to cover anything and everything you could vaguely ever love. This is the work of advertising agencies and their clients, the card companies, the diamond people, and anyone who might make a buck off your guilt. Yup, I said it: Guilt. “If you really loved me, you’d give me a ______” (fill the blank with such things as car, jewelry, the world)
No, I’m not being cynical. I have a degree in Commercial Art and a certificate of Floral Design to prove I know what I’m talking about. Valentine’s Day isn’t about love; it’s about buying stuff. Make sure you wrap it in red and white hearts so your intended doesn’t mistake it for one of the other greeting-card-and-gift holidays, such as Easter or Lincoln’s Birthday.
But worse than the expectation of expensive gifts from or to your loved ones is the loneliness and isolation thrust upon those with no special person to feel guilty for. People without a love relationship or for whom a relationship has faltered. People in relationships who still feel alone. People who haven’t come to terms with their introversion. People who are far away from those they love. To those people, Valentine’s Day is a slap in the face. An aspiration they can never live up to.
Why let some damn note card tell you how to feel? If you are in the position to love someone and wish to celebrate with them, then do so. If you don’t, skip it. I’m not saying to boycott or get angry, just let it pass. Keep the love but skip the hysteria. Skip the Valentine’s exploitation 2016.
You can always rejoin next year if you feel differently about it then.
(I included this cranberry heart because I like cranberries and thought it was cute)
February 5, 2016
LIFE CHANGES: TINKERBELLE IS RETIRING
~ Tinkerbelle ~
Life changes. My dear sweet Tinkerbelle is retiring from therapy work. She has been a Pet Partner therapy cat for 4 years, but now as she approaches 15, it is time for her to rest.
Don’t get me wrong, Tink is still living a full and healthy life, but she has a heart murmur that puts her at risk of heart attack and stroke, so we’re going to keep her as stress-free as possible. Tinkerbelle’s new agenda includes naps, purrs, eating, and love. Did I mention naps?
Tinkerbelle and I will regret not visiting our wonderful hospice friends, and in time, I hope to discover another cat with the ability to pass the Pet Partners rigorous test. For now, I would like to look back on some of Tink’s stories selflessly helping others.
I will always remember Tinkerbelle’s first hospice assignment. I was nervous, but Tink knew exactly what to do. Tinkerbelle taught me to treat the dying no differently than anyone else: with love, respect, and a positive attitude.
Tinkerbelle didn’t know Susan was dying. Or if she did, it made no difference to the small black cat. At 13, Tink has a few health problems of her own, though luckily none so far have brought her to the state Susan was in. Tink and I visited the elderly lady each week for 2 months until she finally succumbed to her cancer. Even in those last days, she loved to see the cat. Tink did nothing more than lay in her little bed beside Susan, but the warmth of her fur brought visible peace up until the last.
Everyone has a cat story. Though Tinkerbelle and I are a team, all I have to do to get things rolling is place Tinkerbelle on bed or lap and ask, “Did you have a cat?” No matter how sick, how far gone with disease or dementia, the face softens, the eyes light, and for a few moments, the patient is back with her own furry friend. Whether a barn cat or a pedigreed Siamese, that first cat of childhood will be remembered forever.
Mike had been a combat pilot in Vietnam. The proud man in the flimsy hospital gown was now diminished to a shadow of his former self, but his pride in serving his country had never lessened. Neither had his love for cats. Some men are dog people, but Mike wasn’t shy about his preference for felines. Tinkerbelle lay beside him on his bed and he petted her as he talked about his life. At the end, though he was unresponsive, I placed his hand on Tink’s back. As I spoke softly, telling little Tinkerbelle stories, his fingers smoothed her fur.
Lana cries when we leave. I hold her hand, have her pet Tinkerbelle one last time, and promise to return, but we both know that next visit may never come. She has gotten better about it lately, maybe trusting our promise to come back soon or maybe coming to terms with her death. Tinkerbelle, always happy to see the bedridden lady, curls beside her. She would probably stay like that for hours. Sometimes I wish she could.
Teresa M. was in total denial. Though she was relegated to a hospital bed, she would not accept what everyone was telling her: that she was dying. Our visits were always the same: at first she would be upbeat, talking about her plans and dreams. Then she would become angry at what all those ‘damned’ doctors told her. And finally the tears. Tinkerbelle would curl up in her arms, her gentle purr evening out some of the chaos in Teresa’s fearful mind. Teresa would nod off then, holding Tink tight.
It saddens me to see what agony some people go through at the end of life. When Mrs. P. told me she was completely confined to her bed, I offered a sympathetic, ‘I’m so sorry.’ I wasn’t prepared for her response, however. Wide-eyed, she replied ‘Why?’ She went on to say, ‘I’m blessed. I’ve had a good, productive life. I have friends and family.’ Arthritic fingers stroked Tinkerbelle’s back. ‘And I have you and Tinkerbelle. I am truly blessed.’
Art had never petted a cat before. Bashful and smiling, the nonagenarian needed instructions… “You place your hand on her head, just so. Smooth down the back gently, so.” He did it, remarking how soft she was, how beautiful. Art had grown up in rural Germany, where cats were in barns and extremely feral. As he told me of his childhood, an ocean away, he continued to pet Tinkerbelle. He was a natural.
Sarah grew her own tomatoes; liver cancer wasn’t going to get her down! And when she could no longer get around, she got a care giver to hang them outside her window where they cascaded red and yellow fruit. Sarah loved all of nature and loved her visits with Tinkerbelle.
Kellie believes that when she dies, she will be with God and all her animals. She is not afraid.
One of Tinkerbelle’s hospice patients had a little dog. Though Tink had passed her Pet Partners test which included encounter with a dog, I was worried, but Tink rose above it. She ignored the dog, knowing she was queen.
Elaine was 100. She had just got her first tattoo. Though she accepted her death, she was determined to live fully until it came. She loved Tinkerbelle’s visits, because nothing says ‘life’ like a cat snuggling in your arms.
Tinkerbelle and I got the call out of the blue. A woman was actively dying and she wished to touch a cat one more time. I got Tink bathed, brushed, and ready in record time. The woman, Maddie, was uncommunicative. She was surrounded by her family, talking in low tones and some were crying. The blinds were drawn, waiting for the end. I set Tinkerbelle beside the frail woman and told her I’d brought her a cat. I guided her cold hand to Tinkerbelle’s warm fur, where it lay for the remainder of the visit. The woman never woke or moved, but her breathing seemed to get a bit lighter. The biggest difference was the family. They began to talk about cats gone by; stories became anecdotes and even a little laughter was heard. Someone opened the blinds. Outside the January sunshine shone like silver.
The hardest part of working with hospice patients is their inevitable decline and death. That’s when Tinkerbelle helps me with my own grief. I hold her in my arms and light a candle for the life that had touched our own.
