Yarn-A-Go-Go

Why I Love My Kindle

Or why, really, I love any e-book reader. This post isn't about why you should or shouldn't buy one reader over another. There are a million posts touting the various pros and cons of various readers over others. (I love the ease of the wireless of my Kindle, the e-ink, and the fact that I can download the book I want to read, from bed, after reading a free sample chapter.)

But what I didn't realize was how amazing it was going to be for the reading of manuscripts.

First: my own. I recently finished editor's revisions on Book Two. Instead of printing out 400 pages, I curled up in bed with my Kindle and read my book in the format I'm used to reading. Every time I found something that needed addressing, I either made myself a note on the Kindle using its little keyboard, or I reached over and pulled my laptop over (if I was feeling energetic) and made the change. This doesn't work, of course, for the editing of a first draft, when you need to mark up every single line, every word. But for this kind of work, it's perfect.

Second: others' manuscripts. I just finished reading a draft of my friend Cari's book. Okay. I've known her for probably seven or eight years, before she got her MFA, before she was a mother, before she moved from Brooklyn across country to the west coast. I knew she was a great writer -- I'd seen some of her short work, and I'd read excerpts. I thought I knew her voice.

But people. I knew nothing.

The book hasn't sold quite yet, but it will. And you'll read it someday, and I will jump around and tell everyone, I told you so. Now, I write commercial fiction, but I know from great lit'ture. This will win the big awards. I've never read a book like this before in my life, and while I was huddled over my Kindle, heaving with sobs (and I don't do that while reading -- I'm usually a pretty tough cookie, believe it or not), making the occasional note to pass on to her, I thought, "ISN'T THIS AMAZING? Technology has allowed me to receive this manuscript over email and convert it into a readable paperless form." And all this change has happened in the years since I've known Cari.

(Know what else? Cari can write circles around those high-falutin' literary folk who write Literary Stuff that left me cold after I got my MFA, and you know why? She has, along with the literary gorgeous prose, a plot that will blow your socks off. Stuff happens, and I swear I could hear foundations rocking under me as I clicked my little page-turner.)

I know it's awful. I know it's just a tease that you can't read it yet. But I love all this. It's like a miracle. A gol-danged bloody e-miracle. I'm blessed and lucky and if you're a writer, you should get an e-reader.

I want an iPad, too, someday. Ahem.

* Joy reminds me that you can download a PDF or .doc of a knitting pattern to the Kindle (or other devices) and have it right there. Nice.

** and yes, How to Knit a Love Song will be out on Kindle the day it releases, March 3rd. WOOT!

*** because I'm a dork, I'll totally buy it for my own Kindle. Heh.

Be Nice

When in doubt, be nice.

Isn't that all it comes down to? In just about everything? Just be nice. If someone asks you for help, and you can give it, give it. If you can't, you can't. But if you can, do. And ask for help yourself, when you need it (preferably before you really, really need it -- I always forget that part and end up asking a little too late. Hysteria never helps).

A reader just asked if I had an extra ball of yarn from an old project and then was surprised when I said yes and that I would mail it off to her (that is, if it IS the right ball of yarn -- the ball band is lost forever. Here's hoping). But why not? She can't possibly know the times that Ye Olde Blogge has come through for me and mine, in so many ways, in so many shapes, in so many forms. Just from people Being Nice.

Isn't it lovely?

Speaking of help received from people, the cat is still not trapped in Becca's trap, by the way. I think old damaged Julius Of The Block must have gone on to his next life. Wah. I hope it was quick. I pour some coffee out for the homey and give Willie a kiss. Digit sends a growl.

Today, I'm hoping it stays clear because I have a yen to get down the coast for some beach walking and some clam chowder. Yesterday, I had one of those fine, fine days where everything just worked. I got my taxes done (hooray! refund coming!), and then a surprise coffee with Pen Martha who gave me a writing idea like none before, then a working "nap" during which I figured out a trouble spot in Book Three (I don't like to take breaks between books -- I get bored). Then we went to the City and Lala's band (For Fear the Hearts of Men are Failing) played on Pirate Cat Radio, which was great fun (they're playing at the Plough and Stars on Saturday night! You should go even though I won't be there!), and then we got burritos and went home and watched You've Got Mail, which Lala had never seen. 

Just a great, nice day. From start to finish, tip to tail.  

Yay. I plan on having another one of those today. Yep. You have one too, okay?

Here Now

Right now, I am content.

Why can't I rest in this feeling more? It could have a lot to do with the fact that I just ate a bunch of chocolate (Riesen caramels), but I don't think so. It's just so.

It might be true that sometimes I do too much. Too fast. I don't relax well, if at all. I'm a bit of a whiner. And I know, theoretically, that I need to Be Here Now. But in practice, I'm a big Livin'-for-Tomorrow kinda gal.

Right now, I'm here. I love this feeling. It's good.

Other feelings:

Oh, the knitting ennui! Bah. I just can't ride the wave right now. How about you? I'm trying to finish up test-knitting a sweater for my book, so I can finish the pattern, so I can send it out to my test-knitter (hi, Kiyomi! Haven't forgotten you!), and I'm not a fan of knitting things twice, I suppose, especially miles of stockinette. Muddling through. Soooo slowly.

Sleepiness. I've been sleeping GREAT. Hoo boy. I could sleep right now. But I won't.

Reading. I've been reading constantly. One perk of being a (really-soon-to-be) Published Author and a member of RWA is that you get to judge the RITAs, which is biggest award in the romance industry. It's the Oscar of romance, if you will. And they SEND YOU FREE BOOKS*. Lots of them! I got eight! Good ones! Ones that were actually on my list to buy and read! And I only have about five weeks to read them, so I'm reading like crazy. I've read three so far, and I'm on the fourth. Three are GREAT. One was okay. Not bad odds, huh?

*One of the funniest moments was when I opened my box of books, and the very first book to slide out was my friend. partner-in-crime, and fellow PensFatales Sophie Littlefield's A Bad Day for Sorry. Out of 1200 books? I got hers? I returned it, because I'm honest, and I couldn't judge it without a conflict of interest ALTHOUGH I WANTED TO and you should totally read it because it was one of my favorite books of 2009. It's wonderful. It's crime fiction about the owner of a sewing shop, and it kicks ass, just like Sophie does.  

A taste of Sophie's book:

Whuppin' ass wasn't so hard, Stella Hardesty thought as she took aim with the little Raven .25 she took off a cheating son-of-a-bitch in Kansas City last month.

What was hard was making sure it stayed whupped.

Especially on a day when it hit a hundred degrees before noon. And you were having hot flashes. And today's quote on your Calendar For Women Who Do Too Much read Find serenity in unexpected places.

"Fuck serenity," Stella said. And she shot the trailer.

A Surprise for You!

Guess what! I have something for you! In celebration of the fact that I made Book Two all nice and pretty, and finished my editor's revisions (o frabjous day!) and just sent them off this morning, I thought I'd give you a little sneak peek into Book One!

Here you go. Enjoy.

(PS - no sign of Mr. Julius cat yet. Still waiting....)

Another Sad Cat

I'm at my desk, waiting for the humane trap outside to snap shut with a metallic clang. Hoping for it. Dreading it.

There's this big old tomcat in my neighborhood. He's a funny-looking guy, and he's been instrumental in the creation of many other funny-looking cats around here. He's battle-scarred and tough and walks by my office window in the mornings. I've always liked watching him go by -- cocky and self-assured. You know that kind of cat. He's part of the scene that passes in front of me while I'm typing, a handsome part.

Yesterday, he dragged himself by. I rushed out, and he was moving slowly enough that he couldn't even get away from me. He let me touch his head without hissing, and he had one badly damaged eye, and what appeared to be two broken legs (one front, one back) and maybe a broken pelvis. He was in extreme pain. But he picked up the pace and I followed him, begging him to stop (because I'm an idiot) and he led me right to the hole under our house that I've been looking for: We've been hearing cat(s) under the house for about four or five days. We thought they'd gone under there to mate and scream and yell, and when the rain let up, we were going to figure out how to fix the hole and make sure cats didn't make a permanent home down there, on the warm furnace.

Turns out it was him. Probably yelling in pain for the past few days.

I went inside and got cat food, and then went under the house into the crawl space. He was already on the furnace and hungry enough to let me put it right next to him. I sat with him as he ate.

Then I went up, covered myself in a LOT of clothing in case he fought viciously, got a big towel and a cat carrier, and went back down again.

He won. At one point, the towel was over him, and he was running around underneath the house, unable to shake it off, so there was just a big red towel streaking through the dirt.

It probably hurt him more, damn it.

He got out from under the house, and I spent the rest of the day freaking out, unable to bear the thought of my neighborhood friend living in that much pain.

Now, I hella heart Oakland, you know that. I love this town. But animal control, not so much. They are spread way too thin, and they just don't come out for things like injured cats. (Well, you can leave them the message. I've done it before. And nothing happens.) So I went down there. Waited in line. Asked about humane traps. And I was referred to a company that I could pay to come out to rid my home of unwanted raccoons. That's all they could do. A couple more places wouldn't answer their phones, and a few rescue agencies stated flat out they didn't loan traps.

I tweeted, hopelessly frustrated. 

And while I was crying in my car, barely having sent the last tweet, my phone rang in my hand. Becca offered me the use of her humane trap.

Knitters. They are teh awesome. Always.

Last night I caught an orange tom who really liked tuna and really hated me before I had to put the trap away to go to bed. But it's out there again now. I don't know if old Julius (yes, I accidentally named him while driving around yesterday) will make it back to our yard. He certainly doesn't trust me anymore. But I put it right by the opening to the crawl space, and tuna smells good....

And then, if I catch him, I'll have to have him put down, as fast as possible. There's no saving this kitty, that's pretty clear.

He's just one of those things that, in my mind, makes me Bigger Than Sad. You know? Because if I feel like this about this poor old cat, what about all the other cats? And what about the dogs? And the kids? And the people starving? And Haiti? And cancer? And... and...

Sometimes, I think it's good to have compassion, a lot of it, for one thing at a time. To try to ease that pain, if that's all you can do. Right here, right now. (Shit! I keep hearing the trap snap, but when I check, nothing's happened. Phantom snapping.) 

And that's all I've got right now. Carry on. I'll keep you posted. Kiss your furry things, and your people, too, for that matter. xoxo

I'm So Excited

And no, you guessed right. I just can't hide it.

Romantic Times gave How to Knit a Love Song four stars, calling it "intricate and clever" with "down-home sense." (If only that were MY description. Wouldn't it be lovely to be described like that?)

Let me explain, my knittin' chickens. Reviews don't matter. That's what they say. And someday, I like to think they won't matter to me. People buy books because they're in the store, or because someone (a friend) tells them about them.

But I was worried about this review. This was the one I was waiting for. I feel like I can exhale now.

 

(At BART, in Beth's hat.)

BIG NEWS

I HAVE A LAUNCH PARTY DATE, and you should mark your calendars if you're going to be anywhere near the area, because you're invited. YES, YOU! 

Oh, yowza! It's going to be MY LAUNCH PARTY, and OHMYGOD, have we been waiting for this, or what?

March 16th! TUESDAY! 

Bookshop West Portal, San Francisco. Time to be announced, keep your eye right here.

Will you drop a comment or email me if you think you might make it? I'd like to keep a (rough) headcount so I know how much cheese and crackers to buy.

And DUDES! There's going to be a kick-off at that party for a raffle giveaway that is SO COOL (that ALL y'all will be able to get in on afterward, whether you're there or not, don't worry), so you don't want to miss it if you can help it.

*

And hey, other places I'll be that I know about so far:

May 1st, Romantic Times, Columbus, OH

July 31st, RWA, Nashville, TN

I'm hoping for Rhinebeck or maybe even a pop-in at Maryland, but I can't say that either of those will happen. (But wouldn't it be cool if they did?)

And does anyone live in/near Boise? We're planning on coming through at the end of March to see the in-laws, and it would be great to set up a reading there... Hmmm?

WOOT!

Of Cats and Kings

Oooh, hi. I missed you. I really did. I've been missing you and unable to get to the blog, and getting here and typing feels like a relief.

Ahhh. Let's take a moment. Pull up a chair. Have a cup of coffee. Listen to those angry baby birds outside. I hope to God they're not pigeons in the roof eaves (I think we got rid of those, but damn, they're stubborn). (Isn't eaves a nice word? I love that word.)

Fair warning: I'm rambly today. Know why?

I finished my editor's revisions yesterday on Book Two! WOOOOOOT!

This is exciting. I've been working my ass off, seriously, I might have mentioned that. I've been lucky enough to have been able to take some time off this last month from the J.O.B. to work on the revisions, but I've still been working 12 hour shifts, and then, on my days off, I work 9 to 11 hours on revising. Without a break. Every day. It's a blessing and a curse, being a dispatcher, trained to work so long without taking breaks -- I'm used to Just Working.

But yesterday, can we talk about yesterday for a moment? You know that state of flow people talk about? The elusive zone? I think it's right up there with the runner's high. Sure, when I was running regularly, running used to make me feel pretty darn good, but I was always wondering, is this the high? Is this it? Then, one day, when training for the marathon, I think I was at mile thirteen, and I hit it. All the endorphins flooded my brain, and it was one of the best feelings I've ever had. I had it, and I knew it. I could have run forever, and it lasted a good three miles. I was floating, dancing, ephemeral. It was AWESOME. (Then of course, the pain hit. Oh, God.)

Yesterday, I hit the zone. I woke up early, knowing I'd finish the book. The ending, which I still had to write, was completely new, and totally drama-filled (we're talking death-defying plunges and will-she-make-it moments). I sat at my desk and lost myself for nine hours. Usually, when I work nine hours, I'm COMPLETELY CONSCIOUS of it. I can look up at say, HEY! I've worked four hours and thirty-two minutes, go me. Yesterday, there was no me. There was just the story.

I've been reading this awesome book, The Happiness Project, by Gretchen Rubin, and she talks about the fog of happiness, and how it translates to both parenting and writing. Now, I wouldn't know about the first, and the book is far away in a room where one person and three dogs are sleeping, so forgive the paraphrasing, but she says that the fog of happiness is very real. Parenting, as a whole, is full of things that aren't very fun. Lots of things that no one enjoys. So is writing. Sure, we love (or some of us do), the networking, and the thinking about writing, and the reading about writing, but there are few of us who really enjoy the getting in there and getting it done. Sitting at the desk, day after day after bloody day and writing. More writing. And then more. And yet, when we look back at it, when we think about it (and this is what she says about parenting, too), they're some of our richest, happiest feelings. They're surrounded by a fog of happiness, even if a lot of the time the kid is a punk and you can't write your way out of a paper bag*. 

But not yesterday. Yesterday was bliss. Honestly. Right down to where I wrote The End and brought out my old Epilogue and found out that it fit, exactly, every word, as if what I'd written had been directed this way, the whole time (and it had been, I know it).

Now, just some clean up to do, and some critique partners' eyes going over it, and then, after they look at it, some more clean up, and it'll go back out to my editor. I'm proud of this.

And the first book is SO close now, isn't it? T-minus 5 weeks! Would you like an excerpt later this week? I have one all queued up to give you (one you've never seen -- I think you'll like it. It's yarny). 

And on a totally different subject: I have to tell you this. We girls met my dad's girlfriend this weekend. Lola. (Lala and Lola! Ha!) And we were nervous, but we had the Let's Get this Over With mentality and Have a Nice Dinner attitude. They drove up from down south, and we met them at the restaurant.

She. Was. A. Doll. I'm so happy for my dad. She reminded me of me, in the way that I can run at the mouth (in a good way!) when I'm nervous and say anything that comes to mind, and in that she has a strong, loving personality and huge laugh (we were a boisterous table, so much so that a woman came over and asked my father how he'd been so lucky to end up with all these women). They've been together a while now, and already have stories, and I really liked hearing the way they told them together. Then at the end, Lola said something that absolutely endeared her to me (not that she hadn't already) -- she confessed that she'd been SO nervous before coming that she'd asked my dad to duct tape her feet so that she wouldn't stick them in her mouth. For some reason, I'd only thought about us, the kids, being nervous. It hadn't occurred to me that she, the ostensible Adult (hello, I'm 37!) would be nervous, too, and duh! She was meeting FOUR of us, and we were only meeting one of her! She was so brave!

And she reads my blog, so hi, Lola! And hi to your work partners, and I'm so glad I got to meet you. Keep my dad in line, okay? Don't let him blow anything up, please. Thanks.

Geez. I TOLD you I was long-winded. It's POURING out there, and the cats are running all over the furniture in their regular early morning aerobic session (DAMN, I MISSED YOGA -- whoops) and I guess, since I'm not going to yoga, I'll just work on cleaning up the manuscript some more. 

* Bethany reminded us at dinner that Dad used to silkscreen her paper lunch sacks with Joe's Mortuary and Meat House. Heh.

The New Dog's Name

is announced in a blog-post that was worth waiting for. (And it's not Orangey, as the title would have you believe.)

 

(Strangely, she's the one thing that will get Adah off the top of the fridge. Adah lurves her. Weird.)

Thoughts About Breaking Up

Oh, Juno. Now you've done it.

I've been thinking about breaking up for a while now. And your post has really gone and done it, I think.

(Martha Flynn, you shouldn't read this. You're not ready.)

It's time to get rid of cable.

Now, I'm not going to go whole hog, like she did. She's actually giving her TV to Michelle (which was a pretty funny Twitter exhange to witness in real time, actually), and I still have plans to watch shows sometimes, things on Hulu, movies on Amazon and iTunes. But it's just kind of ridiculous to have the whole computer system that Lala set up (an Apple Mini, so we have a hub, right there, at the TV), and not utilize it the right way.

I don't watch much TV. Maybe five hours a week, which is even less than Lala does. But I really, really, really enjoy those five hours (even though I'm famous for pausing the show and walking away eleventy-billion times during every show to do something Very Important That I've Just Remembered Needs Doing). That's so not worth the cost of cable.

I could be hanging out with family more. Reading more. Watching more movies.

It's time. (I'm SO NOT THINKING about the fact that Big Love just started. Can you get that on iTunes?)

What do you think?

Nameless One

Lala got a dog.

I know. I can hear you from here. But I have a border collie and four cats. She has a chihuahua. Doesn't seem quite fair, does it? She'd been looking for a great dane, so I tell you what, when she saw this little charmer, I was all over it. NOT A GREAT DANE.

Miss Idaho, the tropical chihuahua-bird, looks over Lala's shoulder at the new addition: 

 

We think she's a pit bull/beagle mix, and she's the sweetest, most gentle little thing. I think she might have a little boxer in her, too, but it's hard to tell. She doesn't seem to mind the cats or show much interest in them at all (even though Digit has boxed her ears twice now -- she just looked confused and sad), and she wants to be on a lap and cuddle all the time.

 

She is SO cute we can't stand it.

 

Waylon and the Nameless One, getting acquainted.

No name yet! Lala takes these things seriously! I'm one of those people who thinks hard and fast, and comes up with names in under ten minutes. Maybe fifteen. Lala takes days. It's driving me CRAZY, I tell you.

But I'll admit she's good at naming, so it'll be worth waiting for. Good dog.

Slipper Genies Genius

I think I may have just used these in the wrong way, but I loved it:

Those are my Slipper Genies that I got for Christmas. Lala was was a little nervous when I opened them, lest I bop her over the head for getting me the equivalent of a vacuum cleaner, but she knows me well -- I love them. 

I was just over at Amazon looking at them, and now I realize that you're supposed to dust mop with them. Are they crazy? We have a lot of animals and a lot of hardwood/tile. That kind of fur-real estate requires a huge dust mop and a Dyson and a Roomba (when it's running). Two little slippers wouldn't do the trick in our house, even if I wore them all the time, and if I did, then I certainly wouldn't want to fold my legs up under myself because EW.

But check this out: I have a cleaning solution that I use for just about everything. It's one part white vinegar, two parts water, (plus a healthy squirt of your favorite kind of Dr. Bronner's soap -- I like lavender). I put it in a spray bottle and it works on hardwood floors, tile, kitchen counter tops, tables, all surfaces, the bathroom, even glass and mirrors. The only thing I don't use it on is the tub and the toilet (the toilet gets a half-vinegar-half-water mixture and the tub gets.... whatever. I hate our tub. Someday we will have a nice tub. Until then, I've given up. Lala handles it). I love my cleaner because it's totally non-toxic, TOTALLY cheap, and if you accidentally spritz the apples with it, who cares?

So today, I got out the spray bottle, put on the slippers, and danced around the house, spraying and mopping with my feet. It was AWESOME. (I am a cleaning nerd.) Then I ripped off the velcro bottoms and threw them in the washer with the towels, and they are scrub-a-dubbing right now. 

That's the kind of thing that lights my fire. It makes me want to get three more pairs, which is ridiculous. I will stick with this one pair. That, my homemade cleaning solution, and knitted dishcloths, and I'm a happy girl.

2009 Recap

I really like doing this little Year In Review thing-a-majig, so here we go!

January:

I started going to Loka Yoga, the studio that is now my yoga home. I loved Alice immediately, and she kicked my ass just as quickly.

We also took up rock-climbing!

 

And I went skiing by myself! That was amazing.

 
  
So we were quite fit. You know January and all.

February:

I got a fish! Harper! (He didn't live that long -- I think I forgot to tell you he died a few months later. Sigh. RIP.)

The Whoreshoes broke up. RIP the Whoreshoes, too.

Made Lala's Shooter sweater:

March:

I edited a lot. The recession hit our house and Lala lost her job. Heavy sigh. But I did make a sweater I really loved (Colette):

April:

My book title became How to Knit a Love Song, which I liked at first, and now I ADORE. We went to Bolinas and Pt. Reyes for our anniversary, which was wonderful. We spent time at the beach with wet, sandy, happy dogs:

May:

 I made a LOT of bread. I ran the worst Bay to Breakers ever (TOO HOT TOO HOT TOO HOT) with my sister Christy.

 

June:

I GOT A NEPHEW! Isaac!

 

(Strangely, he didn't come out looking like that. But that's the picture closest to hand.)

I ganged up with a posse of hard-livin', gun-totin' (see the site for photographic evidence!), good-writin' women, known as the PensFatales. I still don't really know how I got tapped to be part of this group, but every day I'm thankful that I did. I blog there every other Tuesday, and those seven women are the smartest, savviest, kindest, most driven writers I know. I'm honored and so happy to be a part of the group.

My car got stolen. And then returned with extra gas, a pair of binoculars, a crap-load of Watchtower magazines, and a car cell-phone charger (which worked for my phone, and which I'd been needing). SWEET!

I hiked a lot with Clara in the hills. (I need to do that more. Huh.)

July:

Birthday treasure hunt!

RWA National in DC!

* Reaffirming to myself again that romance is the bomb. Romance is where it's at. Romance sells more than science fiction and mystery combined. Nora Roberts sells more than Stephen King and John Grisham. And as Sarah Wendell said when asked why feminists should read romance: 

It’s a 50-plus-year-old industry comprised mostly of women writers operating their own businesses and producing a genre about women’s self-actualization, pursuit of autonomy, and acquisition of sexual agency for an audience made mostly of women, who buy over $1.4 billion dollars worth of books a year. No, no, nothing feminist or even subversive about that.

August:

Harriet died. We had a very big sad, and we have it still. She was the very best dog ever.

 
September:

Strawberry Music Festival was all about the Avett Brothers (because I've been able to listen to no one else for about a year a half now. I'm rather pathetic, really).

I got my advanced reader copies and posted my first video of opening The Box. WOOT!

October:

Fall came. I love fall. I might have mentioned that.

Something I didn't talk much about was that we took Mom out to sea, as she'd requested. Sixteen months after she died, we finally tossed her ashes between the United States and New Zealand. I dreaded it, my friends, dreaded it with everything I had inside. I felt ill for days leading up to it, and fought a migraine on the drive to the City.

But Bethany had a sailor friend who took us out, and it was amazing. It was a little choppy making our way out through the Bay and under the bridge, and there were a few times that I was terrified (I seem to have inherited my mother's nervousness of sailboats -- I was raised on and off them, but as a kid, one of us usually had to bail. I'm just saying). But once we made our way into open waters, the swells got larger and more easily ridden. Nicer. Christy played Edith Piaf. We spoke. I dropped the dedication page from my page-proofs into the water, and we tossed her ashes and some roses.

Then Dad sat on the front of the boat and played his mandolin and the three of us girls sang all the songs we grew up singing. I'm not kidding when I say that other sailboats caught up and paced us, listening. The guy who was captaining us asked if I wanted to sail under the Golden Gate. Still a little nervous, I declined. Then he said, "Really? You might never get this chance again." THOSE ARE GOOD WORDS TO SAY TO ME. I sailed under the Golden Gate, all the way to Alcatraz, singing Kingston Trio songs with my sisters and my Dad. It was the best memorial ever, and it was nothing like a funeral. It was a celebration.

November:

Nano. Need I say more?  

Also, I went to the Pigeon Point hostel to work:

 

December:

December is always hard to write about because it just happened, so you've just heard about it. Lots of writing! Eating! Yoga! There is some new ukulele obsession, which is EXTREMELY fun.

OVERVIEW:

Family: New baby! BEST NEWS EVER! It was very considerate of him to be born on Lala's birthday, also. A very nice gift. The loss of Harriet was a huge blow. But lots of love in many ways, all over town. And this will be a GREAT YEAR for Lala and her New Job which will be exciting and challenging and fun and will probably make her a millionaire. I'm just guessing. Can't wait to find out what it is! Yay!  

Writing: I have brought a book to completion, and I mean ALL THE WAY, from turning it in, to copy-edits, to page-proofs, to ARCs, until the job is well out of my hands. Only one more step remains, and that's holding the completed version in my hands, and that'll happen soon (SOON! March 2nd is the on-sale date! This year! Finally! This year!). This is the year I'll be in a bookstore near you! And that's super exciting.

Bowling: I don't bowl. I just thought I'd throw that in there. Maybe 2010 will be a year of bowling! Who knows?

Wishing you the very best year ever. HERE WE GO! xoxo

Random Thoughts and Some Confusion About Dates

1.We got home later than normal, so Clara the border collie ate faster than normal, and now she's walking around the house burping. It's really pretty funny.

2. We got home late because we went to Alcatraz! I've been twice in two months! I seriously dig that place. Lala had never been, even though she's lived in the Bay Area for seventeen years. La Brainy Alison was in town and already had the night tour planned, so we attached ourselves. It's really the best tour in town, I think -- creepy and interesting and well-run and worth the high price tag. The night tour is better than the day tour. Highly recommended.

3. My tummy hurts a little from all the food I put into it at Cha-cha-cha in the Mission. Mmmm. Caribbean tapas. Potatoes and jerk chicken and mushrooms and platanos.

4. I can't even imagine doing yoga tomorrow with this belly full of food right now. (I typoed toga instead of yoga. I can imagine doing toga. That's about all I can imagine doing. But hello, yoga, I need you. And perhaps a run or two.)

5. My desk is covered with edits. I can barely find my computer right now, and the book is almost all I think about. I'm on deadline, so if I'm a little quiet for a few weeks, forgive me. I'll be back!

6. Oh! Speaking of that! Alison said I should mention that How to Knit a Love Song is not only available for preorder here in the States (which you knew), but also in Canada now (which you might not have known).

7. And those of you Down Under, did you know that my book will be available under a different title in Australia and New Zealand? It's callled Eliza's Gift, and it's got a whole different look, and you can actually read it earlier, too -- I JUST REALIZED I'll be an actual real-live published author on 1-3-2010, according to that site. Excuse me, that's next week. OH HOLY CRAP! Can we just ignore everything else I typed up there? I'm GOING TO BE PUBLISHED IN A WEEK! Nothing else matters!

8. AND JUST THAT FAST - NO, I'm NOT! I just realized that I read the site's publication date wrong. 1/3/10 means March 1st, 2010. So it comes out in Australia a day before it comes out here in America. DANG IT. I was so excited for a minute. I raced into the kitchen and did this excited Almost Published crazy dance routine, only it wasn't a dance routine, it was more of a bug-eyed worried what-now look. It must have looked quite odd.

9. Heh. That was a funny range of emotions to have in the span of three minutes.

10. Time for bed! Night!

Prisencolinensinainciusol

I love Adriano Celentano. I first heard him in while eating dinner alone in a Venetian restaurant, looking out at the rain. A gorgeous voice sang overhead on the speakers, and I had to ask who it was. I remember my waiter was amused -- I think it was the equivalent of asking who Frank Sinatra was while eating in a Brooklyn diner. Celentano's been around FOREVER, and I think some of his stuff is sexy as hell, and this song, while it's not really one of his sexiest, per se, is one of my favorites. And on this working Christmas, grumpy from lack of sleep and a ripped-off finger-nail (thank you, sneak-attack locker), it's exactly what I need.

It's his version of psuedo-English, gently mocking, and just think about this: it's 1973! This is SO cutting edge for the times. This is pre-rap, people. He was making this up.

And if you need subtitles for his bad English, you can get them here. Heh.

Merry Happy Whatnot!

*Oh! I am also cheered by the thought of one my many wonderful presents I got from Lala last night -- my vibrating mascara.

** Just found this: the brilliant Sasha Frere-Jones wrote about this video last year.

*** Even though I miss my family and traditions like sisters jumping on my head with stockings to open and stollen to eat and dads playing mandolins until someone puts the Beatles on the stereo and I completely fucking lose it (OH THE HOLIDAYS) , I do love my job and my coworkers. I'm very lucky and I know it. Yay. And tonight my brother- and sister-in-law and the baby will come over and Lala is making dinner, so there will be a family Christmas. I will not miss it all.

In Which I Play the Ukulele

THANK YOU! Almost all of that yarn sold, most of it within hours of posting that last blog. Know what that meant? It meant that we got in the car, and went to the Fifth String in Berkeley, and I picked out my new ukulele! It's a gorgeous Ohana concert ukulele, and it's everything I wanted, and it sounds SO pretty.

What? You want to know how pretty it sounds? A few of you asked me to put up a video, so here you go. I'm sorry it's so dark, but my office lights are dim, and it's nighttime, but I couldn't wait to show you. And, um, I forgot the name of the song in the heat of the filming. It's "Tonight You Belong To Me," a song from the '20s made famous in The Jerk (oh, I think that's one of the funniest moments in flim, when Bernadette Peters suddenly pulls out her trumpet and Steve Martin just gazes lovingly at her). 

Forgive the mistakes. But I LOVE THIS UKULELE! WOOT! I HAVE TO GO PLAY SOME MORE NOW. 

Yarn Sale for Uke Girl!

This is a very sad story about a lady who, quite suddenly decided to play her ukulele again. It was great! Fun! Plink, plink! It was funny to her, how it never sounded exactly right, even though she had a good ear, and the instrument was tuned perfectly.

Then she played a good ukulele, one that cost more than $24.99. Quite a bit more, in fact. She should never have done that.

(Okay, I've ridden the third person as far as I could. Back to first.)

It turns out I actually don't suck as much as I thought on the ukulele -- it's just that a better instrument is... better. Who knew? In writing, a pen is a pen, and no matter how much I tell myself a better computer will make me a better writer, I know it won't. But after playing my crap-tastic high-action Mahalo all day yesterday (and playing some really great songs with Lala on the bass last night), I'm DYING to get a real ukulele.

Unfortunately, this month, as I've said, has been rather calamitous to cars, animals, and our bank account.

So what do musicians do when they want a new instrument? (I know this from being married to one.) They sell an instrument!

What do knitters do? They have a yarn sale!

Woot! Here we go!  (EDITED TO ADD - ALL SOLD OUT! WOOT! I GOT A UKE!)

(Lots sold together, please -- email yarnagogo@gmail.com if interested. Paypal is easiest, I think. I can get the yarn in the mail the day after you buy it! Shipping charges combined on multiple purchases, of course.) 

I'm starting with my favorite, the stuff I've never been able to let myself let go: The Cascade Indulgence. Sigh... Remember it? The softest stuff in the world. These are the old, double-sized skeins. They were originally $18, I got them at $16 on sale. I'm selling them for $12 each.

Lot 1: 6 complete skeins (1 rolled into 2 balls) Cascade Indulgence (70% Superfine Alpaca, 30% Angora), color 517, 100 grams, 246 yards, 5st/in on US 7.        $12/ea = $72 + $5 shipping.   SOLD!!!  :)

 

Lot 2: 4 skeins Cascade Indulgence (70% Superfine Alpaca, 30% Angora), color 507, 100 grams, 246 yards, 5st/in on US 7.        $12/ea = $48 + $5 shipping.  SOLD!

 

Lot 3: 3 skeins Cascade Indulgence (70% Superfine Alpaca, 30% Angora), color 509, 100 grams, 246 yards, 5st/in on US 7.        $12/ea = $36 + $5 shipping. SOLD!

 

Lot 4: 1 skein Cascade Indulgence (70% Superfine Alpaca, 30% Angora), color 515, 100 grams, 246 yards, 5st/in on US 7.        $12 + $2 shipping.    SOLD!

Lot 5: 1 skein Mountain Colors 4/8's Wool (100% Wool), color Clearwater, 4oz, 250 yds, 4st/in on US6-7.   (Normally $21.50)    $15 + $2 shipping. SOLD!

 

Lot 6: (Sorry, hard to photograph. This is really purpley and gorgeous in person.) 2 skeins Mountain Colors 4/8's Wool (100% Wool), color Midnight Sapphire, 4oz, 250 yds, 4st/in on US6-7.   (Normally $21.50 each)    $30 + $4 shipping.  SOLD!

 

Lot 7: (Am I really selling this one? Yes, yes, I am.) Purchased at Maryland Sheep and Wool a while back, 1 skein of the gorgeous Ellen's 1/2 Pint Farm (100% Alpaca), 15 oz, 1250 yards, light dk weight. Originally $80.00.   Now $55 + $5 shipping.  SOLD!

Lot 8. Also hard to photograph, but lovely. Purchased at New York Sheep and Wool. 2 skeins Tintagel Farm (50% Kid Mohair/50% Fine Wool), 200 yds, 4 oz, light worsted weight.  Originally $12 each.   $16 for both + $3 shipping.  SOLD!

 

Lot 9: 6 skeins Noro Kureyon (100% Wool), 50grams, 100 meters, 4-5 st/inch, color 95. Normally $8.95.    $5 ea,  $30 +$5 shipping.   SOLD

 

Lot 10: 3 skeins Noro Kureyon (100% Wool), 50grams, 100 meters, 4-5 st/inch, color 124. Normally $8.95.    $5 ea,  $15 +$3 shipping.      SOLD

(Tomato to show relative redness -- hard to photograph)

Lot 11: Discontinued classic. 7 skeins Tahki Sable (70% Merino Wool/30% Angora), 50grams, 140 yards, 5st/in on US 6. (Originally $7.50)   $5/ea     $35 + $5 shipping   SOLD!

Whoa.

You know how I wrote that blog about how I found about Santa? Well, my sister Bethany wrote a response to it, about how she found out.

And I am killed. The twiddlebugs! I'd forgotten about them. Really, you should go read it.

Wiping tears...

Holiday Spending

Well, golly, the holidays are expensive, what with all the jet-setting to Paris and Rome, and the helicopter trips to Aspen and and gifts for the doormen.

You know?

Oh, wait. What I really mean is the property taxes paid just at the due date (ahem), and the $700 repair on the brakes that went out (I drove the car to the shop, thinking that I had more braking power than I did -- turns out I'd bled the brakes dry of fluid by the time I got there. The master cylinder had blown. I wasn't stopping when I tried stopping. Eeep!) on Lala's car last week, and the $600 repair on my car yesterday (serpentine belt and oil leaks and various other things), and the (ALSO YESTERDAY) $400 repair on tiny Miss Idaho whose tiny chihuahua teeth are apparently made of gold. We are thinking of getting her a teeny little grill so she can be fly. Yo. 

Sigh. Good thing that we like thrift stores, cheap wine, and staying in. 

And speaking of pets -- and I have to tell you this or I'll explode because it's so funny, and you appreciate a good Digit story, but it's not couth, so forgive me.

You know how cats sit in warm places? Our central heat registers are in the floor. Very sensible. Heat registers that are in the ceilings make me crazy, since hot air rises. But ours are done right, and old Mr. Digit really loves to sit on top of them, letting the hot air blow all over him. Last night, while we were eating dinner, I saw him washing his bottom next to the heat register. When he was done, he backed up to it and air dried himself, like a person holding his hands up to a hand dryer in a public bathroom. Only, well, it wasn't his hand.

What?

It was priceless. (To those of you who have come over from BookClubGirl, welcome! I hope you're not horrified by the cat-butt story.  To my regular readers, go over there and check out how I learned about Santa Claus. SPOILER ALERT - I TALK ABOUT WHETHER OR NOT HE'S REAL. Not for the faint of heart.)

Two Things

1. I'm up, talking about Crafts over at the PensFatales, realizing it was inevitable I wrote the book I did.

2. You might not know about this good cause: Decadent Pets in Tracy, California, gives pet food away every Saturday to jobless people who are having a hard time feeding their pets. It's a super high-foreclosure area, hit hard by the recession. They'd appreciate help with donations of pet-food. Mwah.