Grey Water on the CheapApril 21, 2015

So California's in a hell of a drought, and what's worse is that this water shortage is coming to 40 more states. We've been asked (and will soon be forced) to cut back by 25%. It's hard in our house, where we're already water conscious (we don't water the lawn, letting it go brown ever summer and green in the winter). Of course, I know that single-family residences like ours aren't the big problem in the state. But since I like projects and because I like helping the earth, I'm enjoying thinking of ways to save water simply. 

(What I really want is a laundry-to-landscape grey water system, but 1) it's daunting and 2) we have a creek below our house. You don't want to add (or risk adding) unfiltered grey water to a body of water which it might harm, and we also don't want to risk over-irrigating our back slope, which could lead to a landslide. I love me some Fleetwood Mac, but not that much.)

So while we try to figure out if a mulched grey water system would be safe and not send our house sliding down the hill into the creek, here are a couple of easy things we can all do to save water for under ten bucks: 

1. Get a bucket - Put it in the shower. Catch the cold water you don't stand under while you're waiting for the shower to warm up. Then let the same bucket catch some of your shower water behind you while you soap up, but don't stress about how much. If you fill the bucket, hooray! Don't worry about whether or not it's clean water. It doesn't matter. 

2. The next time you flush, use the bucket water. Don't pour it in the tank, that would be gross and would eventually grow things and clog other things up. Just pour it in the bowl. Every toilet is gravity-activated. Just pouring water in the bowl makes it flush (and you can control how much water you add, using even less than your toilet usually uses). Soapy water in the bowl! It evens helps keep it clean. Speaking of which: 

3. Mellow yellow. Yep, I hate the concept, too, but I was raised doing it that way, so it's okay at home (not at work - perish the thought). At home, just do it. Good article here.  Man, even typing those words just took me back to the 70s when we mellowed every yellow and my mom washed every kid in the same tub of water. I HATE sharing bath water. (Unless it's a jacuzzi bath tub, you know what I mean? I think you do.) 

5. Speaking of bath water - think about not taking a bath. If that's not possible because you need to soak the day off your skin with a Lush glitter bomb or your own awesome handmade bomb, use that bath water to perform Step 2, above.

6. Compost instead of using your garbage disposal. We put our kitchen waste in the green recycle bin right now, but I'm hoping to get back to composting in the yard at some point. It's a big project. (Speaking of big projects, I have the seeds in the straw bales! I set up the soaker hose to both that and our square foot garden! It went off using its timer this morning and scared the hell out of me! (The spigot is under the bedroom window.) It ran for a short ten minutes and things were wet! I won't forget to water! And more than that, I won't overwater!!)

7. Shower water. I'm not going to tell you to turn off the shower water while you lather. That's just crazy. I don't even mind being cold, and I wouldn't do that. (Maybe it's easier in one of those one-handle showers? Ours is two handles - you mix the hot and cold to get the right temperature and it's a delicate dance and what a pain in the ass it would be to get it right for the second time with shampoo in your eyes.) 

Updated to add this from reader StaceyK - a $5 piece of hardware* that attaches to your shower head allowing you to turn off, or lessen the flow of the water while you lather without adjusting the water temperature - we're going to get one! 

8. But do turn off the water while you brush your teeth. That's easy. It's just plain dumb not to do that. 

9. Dishes - sadly, we don't have a dishwasher yet (they save water, did you know that?) so I just bought a dishpan basin to rinse the dishes in. After rinsing them, I'll dump the basin in the garden (I know: not on leaves, no contact with humans, not on root vegetables. The lemon tree will love it). 

What are your easy (cheap) tips? 

*Affiliate link cuz Mama's got a water bill to pay. 

I Quit DrawingApril 17, 2015

Yep. I quit drawing. 


And it feels so good. I sent out a whole tiny letter about how I wouldn't quit drawing every day, that I'd made that commitment and that's what I would do, because I finished things. 

But lord a'mighty, I didn't WANT to keep drawing for 365 days. I hit Day 188 and dug my heels in for the last time. I complained on Twitter, because what else is Twitter for? 

And several very smart people pointed this out to me: If drawing were an item in my house which I was holding in my hands, trying to figure out if it sparked joy (The KonMari method), I would answer no, it didn't. I liked drawing while I was doing it, sure. It was fun to move the pencil, to color things in, to see a completed 2D version of something that had come through my eyes and hand. 

But did the thought of having to draw spark joy in me? No way. It brought dread. God, another day to have to draw something. 

And this year is about letting go of things that don't spark joy like fireworks and cream cheese frosting.

I realized I was in it for the finish line. A year after starting the project, I'd be able to say I drew for 365 days in a row! THAT was all I was after. I wanted the right to say that. 


That--being able to say that single sentence, to myself or anyone else-- was not enough. Not even close. 

I do things this way, sometimes. I'm impetuous (yes, I'm admitting it). I like to hit finish lines, even ones chosen rather arbitrarily. I ran a marathon once (twice). I love writing "The End" in my books. I adore meeting a challenge. 

But this wasn't my challenge. I'm not an artist. I don't actually want to be one. I do still like drawing, very much. I'll keep it up. But I won't require it of myself. It's good for me to require myself to meditate daily, to floss, to run (I signed up for a 5k! I'm doing Couch to 5k again!). Those are things that will help me daily, things that will bring joy because I'll have a healthier mind and body, so it's okay if I don't jump for joy thinking about buying floss sticks (although I sure do like a ramble through a drug store). 

Drawing daily wasn't for me. I thought I'd be embarrassed to tell you. Strangely, I'm not. I'm actually the opposite; I'm a little proud of myself for 'fessing up. (If you want to see the progress, you can look at the Flickr set here.)

This one of Virginia Woolf is my favorite, I think: 


(Also, get this in regards to health: I just got off the phone with the doc - after testing, I've learned I have apnea! I didn't know you could have apnea without snoring! My biggest migraine trigger is lack of sleep and for years, I've woken at least three or four times an hour while sleeping. What if helping this helped my migraines? DUDE. I don't go in for a consult for another five weeks, though.) 

So. What habit are you trying to start (or dump)? 

(Winner of Haven Lake from last post is Kelli - you've been emailed!) 


Haven LakeApril 9, 2015

I'm SO pleased to tell you about my friend, Holly Robinson. She's a gorgeous writer and a fellow Penguin NAL writer. She wrote my favorite blurb for Splinters of Light. Because of that, I wrote to introduce myself and thank her for taking that time, and we fell immediately in friend-love, and now I'm keeping her for myself! (I swear this is true: I appropriated her as a friend before I learned she lives half-time in Prince Edward Island. I am SO crashing at her house someday.) 

BOOK GIVEAWAY - Penguin sent me a copy of the book that I'm going to send to some lucky commenter! Please ignore the fact that my terrible, awful mailman sailed it over the fence into a stand of weeds and the cover is a wee bit wrinkled. Damn his eyes. (I'll also be sending another copy (not mine or wrinkled- I'm keeping my precious signed one*) to someone subscribed to my email list next week, so make sure you're signed up there, too!)

Haven Lake_FC


Hi Holly!

You wonderful smart thing, you. I loved Haven Lake and I'm thrilled to ask you a few questions about it. You know me - I love that it incorporates SHEEP and KNITTING. (You even have a knitting male teen!) You say you're a beginning knitter - what's been your favorite part of learning so far? (I bet no one else has asked you this!)

 Thanks, Rachael—and thank you for having me on your wonderful site. What a treat! You're right: nobody has ever asked me this particular question, but it's an easy one to answer. I started knitting a few years ago, when a new friend invited me to her Wednesday night “Knit night.” The invitation came via a phone call, and because lice was rampant in our elementary school at that time, naturally I thought she meant “Nit night,” as in, we would check each other for nits! When we got through THAT little conversational hurdle, I told this new friend that I didn't know how to knit and would probably stab myself in the eye with a needle or something. She convinced me to come, finally, by saying, “We have lots of wine.” I've been knitting ever since. My favorite part of learning to knit is that it has given me opportunities to meet and chat with women of all ages. Our own knitting group has women ages thirty to sixty-five. I also go for extra help sessions (yes, I'm a slow learner) to our local library, where they have a Monday night knitting help session run by women in their seventies and eighties. Listening to other people's stories has always inspired me as a writer, and knitting brings so many great life stories my way.

I will seriously never think of Knit (Nit) Night the same way again.

Your main character Sydney is a therapist, and a good one. Did this require a lot of research? (I always put research off till the end. Are you a procrastinate-by-researching writer or a panicked-at-the-end kind, like me?)

 Thanks for that! Sydney's career is one I might have pursued if I hadn't become a writer. I started out wanting to be a doctor—picture me in a multi-pocketed Safari vest, trotting around villages in Africa with a miracle cure—and didn't discover my passion for writing fiction until I was about to graduate from college. (You can imagine my father's reaction when I said I wanted to forget medical school and be a writer.) Anyway, I've had five children to get through school, and along the way, I've occasionally needed help from therapists like Sydney to figure out what's going on with them. One of my best friends is actually an educational psychologist, and she was very generous in sharing stories with me, too, so the research was actually more like fun conversations over wine. (Do you detect a theme in my answers?) In general, the research I do for my books tends to be hands-on; for instance, in order to write the sections about raising sheep, I actually contacted a shepherdess in New Hampshire, the wonderful artist Wendy Ketchum, who let me come see her Icelandic herd and talk to her about what it takes to live that kind of life.

Catherine Friend! You mention her at the end of your book. Isn't she great? I adore her. That's not a question. I just thought I'd mention it. :)

Yes! I've read all of Catherine's books, and in my fantasy life, she calls me up to say she likes Haven Lake, and we become pals! (Over glasses of wine, naturally.)  An anecdote in her book Sheepish inspired one of the key early scenes with Hannah trying to retrieve an escaped lamb—if you've read that book, you'll know which one.

DUDE. I loved that book. I knew that scene reminded me of something, and now I know why! Ha! 

I'm flattering myself when I say that I think our writing voices are similar, that both of us go deeply into complex characters, and that both of us enjoy exploring all aspects of love. Whatcha think?

Absolutely. When I read Splinters of Light, I was brought to my knees emotionally several times throughout the story of Nora grappling with her illness and trying to imagine how her daughter Ellie will cope. What struck me most about your novel was how adeptly you managed the voices—and complex interior lives—of both mother and daughter. Plus, you never lost that spark of humor that saved the book from being maudlin. Your imagery was also stunning throughout—I often feel that novelists today rush their work and don't take the time to truly describe settings in a way that will transport readers. Oh, and I admire how you write about love: the love between mother and child, between sisters, between romantic partners. You do it all with tenderness and class in Splinters of Light. I'm flattered that you think our voices are similar. I think of my novels as “emotional family mysteries” because there is always some dark family secret (or several) that the characters need to discover and understand before they can resolve their emotional conflicts. Like you, I hope to create characters who are complex, imperfect people grappling with issues. I hope that, by the end of each of my novels, readers feel they have been both entertained and enlightened as they accompany my characters on their journeys of self-discovery and love.

NOW I FEEL REALLY FLATTERED. Thank you, friend.  

DSC_3748Novelist, journalist and celebrity ghost writer Holly Robinson is the author of several books, including The Gerbil farmer's Daughter: A Memoir and the novels The Wishing Hill, Beach Plum Island and Haven Lake. Her articles and essays appear frequently in publications such as Cognoscenti, The Huffington Post, More, Parents, Redbook and dozens of other newspapers and magazines. She and her husband have five children and a stubborn Pekingese. They divide their time between Massachusetts and Prince Edward Island, and are crazy enough to be fixing up old houses one shingle at a time in both places. Find her at and on Twitter @hollyrob1.

Leave a comment to enter the drawing, and I'll randomly draw a winner next week. Alternately, tweet or FB a link to this post and tag me to enter, as well, if that's more your style. And someone on my mailing list will win another copy, too!

(Winner of the Elizabeth Haynes thriller is the darling RedSilvia! I swear I'll get it into the mail tomorrow!) 

 * Holly sent me a signed copy. And get this: it was her first copy. Authors, if you ever think to do this, you should. Sending your very first copy to a writer friend? Tears will happen, I promise. We get it. 

** Amazon affiliate links provided in this post because MAMA JUST PAID OFF HER STUDENT LOAN DOING SHIT LIKE THIS, BAM. 

Best Thriller I've Read In SO LongMarch 29, 2015



You guys, Into the Darkest Corner is SO GOOD. When I'm writing (really writing, writing hard), I find I can't read within my own genre, so I depart from it. Right now that means I'm reading mostly memoir and thrillers. This one? Oooh, this is the best I've read in so long. 

Set in London, it's the story of Cathy, who loved a bad guy. No spoilers. You know this from the first page. There's no mystery as to who the bad guy is. It's Lee. He's bad. He's beyond bad, he's just awful. And somehow, Elizabeth Haynes (a fellow NaNoWriMo'er!) manages to make the novel completely spell-binding and page-turning. I read it in a day and a half, which is fast for me. Well written,  emotionally satisfying, and scary enough to make you leave the lights on, I HIGHLY recommend it. 

And, because I'm not keeping books anymore, I'll send my own copy (purchased at the wonderful Murder By the Book in Houston, grab one there if you don't win) to one lucky commenter. Tell me your favorite thriller? Or just say hi. Either is a valid entry. I'll draw the winner on Wednesday. OH MY GOD and I'll DRAW the WINNER on WEDNESDAY. Seriously. I'll do a sketch of whoever wins, if she'd like me to. Heh.

PS - I'm sending out my tinyletter later today with a confession and I'm giving away the new Gretchen Rubin book. Make sure you're signed up! 

PPS - Ah! I was looking at Elizabeth Haynes's bio page, and I've already read and loved Human Remains (SUPER grisly and awesome). I'm her newest (and not-so-new, apparently) biggest fan!

Behind the CurtainMarch 17, 2015

Working on the next book, believe it or not. Busy with that! And so busy with Impact Bay Area, with which I've been assisting, so for the last couple of weeks I've been super busy during my time off watching women learn how to be SO incredibly awesome. So here I'm stealing from an email (let's call it recycling!) that I sent to a couple of writer friends recently. There's writing info here that might be helpful to the writers among you,  and perhaps interesting to readers, too. A peek behind the curtain: 
I have to chime in about entering the "real" world -- When I was in undergrad, I was super stressed. There was a reentry student in one of my English seminars who was about 60 or so. I mentioned I was worried about the real world, and she just pulled her glasses down and looked at me: "Oh, honey. The real world is SO much easier than this is." 
I took such heart from that, and it's true! Even with writing deadlines making your whole life feel like a homework assignment, it's nothing like school. School is false, created stress (meaningful, etc blah etc). In real life, when you have stress, you can work on managing, changing things. In school, if you're behind, you're just fucked, you know? 
I absolutely love what you say about getting comfortable with rejection by continued submission. When I was submitting to agents, I checked my email every seven seconds for about six months, and every time I was rejected, I wanted to cry (and sometimes did). But every single damn time, it got easier, and I would just submit to five more (is five the magic answer? just enough to feel like you're really working? I like it). 
How I handle rejection: With a very stiff upper lip. When Harper Collins fired me after my first three books, I told everyone it was fine. Totally understandable, I said. Borders died the week my second book came out while we were in negotiations for a new contract, thereby halving the sales of the first, and there was no recovering from that blow. <--this is true, but it is also a convenient excuse for Why My Career Stumbled Like a Benadryled 5 Year Old in Heels. And then I would sit at my desk and feel pathetic. Yep. I would never write again. I wrote sad letters full of self-pity to good writer friends who all told me what I needed to hear -- you'll make it, you'll come back from this, just keep writing, this happens to everyone -- and I never believed them, even though they were right. You're right, it's so easy to cheerlead everyone else, and so HARD to cheer ourselves. 
Do you keep a file of positive things? Can I encourage you to do that right now? I call it my mash note file (does anyone else still use that term?), and I have a physical one (that I just went through while going through papers; I found a bunch of nice notes from writers I knew in school reacting to my stories) and an email file. I put the best, most cheering letters in there, saving them for the rainy day when Kirkus pans me and Franzen says something terrible about my womanly morals and I know for certain that my career is over. The most recent one I added was from my dad saying he'd read Splinters of Light and how much he loved it -- and from what he said, he GOT it. He totally got the book. That made my whole life, and in it went to the mash file. 
Thus the mash file of notes, hedged against the Very Worst Days. Just knowing it's there is all I need. Did I mention I've never gone into it? Not once. Well, I tried to read some once, but honestly, the notes embarrassed me and I ducked back out like I'd accidentally wandered into the wrong hotel room. 
It comes down to self-care, I think. You need to know what you need (I need saved mash notes, days off to not write at all, wonderful books written in any genre but the one I happen to be writing in, and writing friends). And then you need to be willing to give yourself those things. Also, wallowing is allowed. Know how much time you want to give yourself. I give myself about 30 minutes, usually. I like to get back up on the horse. I have a friend who gives herself a day of wallowing when she gets a bad review because that's what she needs. My first major revision letter sent me to a coastal hostel for a weekend. 
Personally, I have a couple of friends who pass our 1-star reviews back and forth, trying to best each other with the most shocking and/or poorly written ones, and this amuses the HELL out of us, and takes all the sting out. Oh! Here's a good one from my second book: "Rachael rlghts an interesting story = It is to bad she feels like she has to keep us interested withso much foolish sex."  <-- what is not to love about this??? *falls sideways in joy* 
and to your question, writing about real people: When I wrote my essay collection, that was a huge challenge for me. I did this: If I loved the person, I let them read the essay before publication. They had the right to insist on a change in verbiage if necessary. There was only one essay in the book that was even slightly critical of someone else (all criticism directed toward self!), but I changed his name and location and called that good. 
Re: fiction, that's harder. Characters are never based on anything but facets of myself, as all my characters are. Sometimes, though, people insist on believing I'm writing about them. And dude, there's nothing I can do about that belief. I just keep being truthful with them, gently, insistently. I've found this over and over again (and other writer friends have, too -- I think it's a universal): if you do happen to base something on real life or real people, no one will ever notice, I promise you. One of my friends based an awful character on someone we both know, and that person LOVED the book, just gushed over it. If you write a difficult scene/story/character pulled right from your brain, nowhere else, and labor over it to make it really REAL? Everyone will think you wrote it about them. A compliment, really, isn't it? 
Success really is, most of the time, just time spent in the chair. Even on my worst day, even when I just move a paragraph out and then back in again, the work has lived in my brain and breathed long enough to continue breathing when I close the window. (Oooh, I like this image. I might not be actively looking into the window, but the characters keep growing while I'm doing other things -- it only works if you give them fresh air every day... feels true.... too much?) 
I've promised myself 3 hours in the chair with the internet off today. So right now doesn't count. I've already done one agonizing hour, and the next two won't (can't!) be that uncomfortable, so huzzah. My new best practice is to wake up, get coffee, meditate for ten minutes at the desk before I open the computer, then go to work IMMEDIATELY for 45 minutes before looking at the bigger world. Then I go back in and work some more in 45 minutes chunks. It's been working like a charm, which perhaps, it is. I know it's woo-woo! But it's kind of life changing. I never knew how to meditate, never knew that I could LEARN to still my crazy brain till last year when I took Headspace's free 10 day course. Highly recommended. I actually stuck it in Splinters of Light -- one of my characters is an homage to Andy Puddicombe, the Brit who teaches meditation so beautifully over there... But as I said, based on my experience, he won't think it's him. ;) 

Launch PartyMarch 4, 2015

The launch party for the newly released Splinters of Light was exactly that. A launch party. 


First of all, my hair did me right last night. It's amazing what hairspray can do when you buy it for the first time in twenty-five years.

Second, we went to Forbes Island, which is flipping nuts. It's a floating man-made "island" just off Pier 39 in San Francisco. Old Mr. Forbes lived there for 35 years (while he moored it out in the Bay) before he pulled it up next to the sea lions sixteen years ago and turned it into a restaurant. 

It has a special place in my heart when it comes to sisters -- my sisters and I went there last year, and we all fell in love with it. I put an important sister scene in that same restaurant in Splinters of Light--Nora feels the roots of her love grow right through the water into the silt below, ready to hold her family in place, no matter what. 

So it was natural I wanted to go there to celebrate the book's release. (I had an involved fantasy about inviting everyone I knew and loved, actually having a real, open-house launch party with a book signing and flowing wine, but dude! I looked up the price! Six friends it is!)

First, we got on the cable car at Powell Street. 


I may have strong feelings about the cable car. I mean, I love it. It was a gorgeous evening, the sky was that bright blue of a city night, and the full moon hung low over Coit Tower. Completely perfect. 


Sophie and I were thrilled to be hanging off the back. 


Me and my girls. 


We took the launch to Ye Olde Crazy "Island." We boarded and went into the dark, romantic, slightly-creepy-in-a-carnival-ride-way restaurant, and the host spoke to me from the gloom: 

Host: Congratulations on your accomplishment!
Me: Huh?
Host: Your book! We would like to congratulate you on this feat!
Me: *nervously* Did I mention that when I called? I don't remember mentioning that.
Host:  We have a bottle of our best champagne cooling for you. 
Host: It's from Alice and Diane. 
Me: ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh *melty puddle of tears*
The extremely wonderful and inspiring Diane Lewis of Alice's Embrace (both of whom the book is dedicated to) sent a bottle of Dom Perignon. DOM PERIGNON. WHAT? 
Um. That stuff is really good, by the way.
I was verklempt.
Then we sat and talked, and we ogled the fish swimming past the cloudy green windows (you dine under the water level), and we watched the chandeliers swing with the tide, and it was gorgeous. 
Gigi Pandian took my favorite picture of the night (notice Lala at the very top of the photo--it takes skill to do an upside-down photobomb): 
It was a wonderful, intimate night, and I'm so damn lucky to have the people I do surrounding me. THIS is the way to launch a book. Not with nerves, but with excitement and love. 
Oh, before I forget,  you can read an excerpt here! 
And you can listen to the Splinters of Lights soundtrack on Spotify! 
Splinters of light

Grab it Now!



EssentialismFebruary 27, 2015

I’ve had a minimalism revelation.

I’ll never get there.

(Duh, right? I’m always the last the know.) 

The idea itself? Is awesome. Essentialism (a better term for my way of doing all this culling than minimalism) has been saving me money, something I hadn’t realized until recently. Example! Normally, when confronted with a new-to-me coffee device (Aeropress!) I would buy it, hoping for a revelatory coffee experience that would part the heavens and pour sweet caffeine over me in a non-wasteful drip-irrigation method. Then I really thought about it, and what it meant in terms of what I've been striving for. We have four other coffee making methods in my house: the pot, which is used everyday; the French press, which Lala loves; the Moka caffettiera, which I love; and a Melita drip filter which comes in handy all the time. 

All of these we use. All of these bring us joy. We’re keeping all of them. These are our “essentials.” But I certainly don’t need another one. So I spent a couple of hours happily reading coffee maker reviews, and then I closed the browser tab, satisfied. (BOY, do I love reading reviews online, especially of luggage*. It’s a thing.) 

This is what I've been doing: getting rid of the extras. I've been tossing the things I'd kept because I thought I had to (misplaced sentimentality) or because I would need them (even though I never have and won't). I have much less now (and there's more to go! I'm going into the bedroom closet soon! That space is a horror show!). 

We have extra. We don't need extra. But getting rid of it isn't simplifying my life. 

See, I was heading down the path of minimizing hoping desperately that when I got there—when my office was empty of everything except space and light and the few things I love best—I would finally not be overwhelmed by choice. I'm pretty much there. The only two books I have on my bookshelf right now are Housekeeping by Marilynne Robinson because it's the most perfect book ever written, and Bread and Jam for Frances because it's the second best book ever.

Albert-from-Bread-and-Jam-for-FrancesBut I still have so much to read that sometimes it's hard to choose what to sit down with.

I wanted to minimize to reduce choice. Isn’t that a ridiculous luxury? How entitled is that? I have so very much that I want help in narrowing down the things I spend my time on. I am, quite frankly, irritated with myself that I thought I could effect this change outwardly. Silly me. 

It's not going to change. If I sit in my office with one book and nothing else, I'll still have to make the choice between reading and napping and meditating and going bzzzzzzzzzzzz with my lips until my face is numb. Choosing, the stressful part, is sticking around. 

I’ve been approaching it from the wrong direction. Or, at least, it’s been a direction that wasn’t quite right. I wanted to make things be simpler in my life by eliminating clutter. I got rid of books I wasn't going to read and yarn I wasn't going to knit. That has absolutely helped me by making my surroundings quieter and less stressful. 

But nothing can make life simpler. It’s messy and cluttered and busy and frantic and overwhelming, and that’s just the way it is. Sometimes. 

Other times, when you sit with that feeling and just let it wash over you, not trying to do anything about it, not getting mad at the feeling or yourself, it gets pretty damn simple. I really like this post by Leo Babauta: You're Not Doing Life Wrong

I will never get all the interesting articles on the internet read. I will never catch up on Twitter or Facebook. I will never just look around the house and think, Oh, nothing else to do but rest. 

I have to choose to rest. To read. To make. (I don't choose to write--I not only have to but I have to, you know?) 

And that's a gift, really. That I get to choose. I'm grateful for it. 

UnknownOh, speaking of what I've been reading, I've really enjoyed The Map of Enough: One Woman's Search for Place by Molly May (affil link). A self-proclaimed nomad, May finds out what it's like to grow roots as she builds a yurt in the middle of winter. She has a gorgeous way with language, and I'm sad that I'm almost done with it.

* Oh, man, luggage. I think my obsession with packing for trips possibly began with Frances! The way she packs her lunch at the end! I also love salt like she does! Or more! 

** Suddenly, I find myself going to Scotland in May. DUDE. All I can think about is packing for the week in my half-sized suitcase which I love even more than salt. I'm so excited!  

PoorcraftFebruary 21, 2015

Screen Shot 2015-02-20 at 5.12.27 PM

Totally enamored of Poorcraft.* I'm about ten pages in and I love it. It's about living frugally but AWESOMELY. Hello, everything I'm all about. There's one issue for frugal living and one for frugal traveling! 

I've tootled You Need a Budget's horn before (I know it's supposed to be tooted, but tootled was a much more fun typo), but wow. Daily, that application helps us out. Day. Lee. ($6 off that link there, if you wanna try it, because that's how we roll, yo.) 

From YNAB, I've learned things I didn't want to know, but that we needed to know. The next panel after the one above points out that you can't do anything to help yourself until you figure out exactly what you're buying, and how much each of those categories costs a month. If you'd asked me--before we started using YNAB--how much we spent on the animals a month, I would have guessed about $150. If you'd told me it was almost $500 a MONTH (including food, flea treatment, and vet visits), I would have smacked you across the mouth for lying (no, I wouldn't have. But I might have tootled you smartly).

We're spending almost a hundred bucks an animal, per month. Holy crap. To be totally honest, that helps with the essentialist kick I'm on right now. Recently, a sweet little kitten ran in front of my car, held up his teeny little paws and said, "STOP IN THE NAME OF LOVE." There's no way I normally would have been able to relinquish rights on a baby kitteh. But thinking to myself, "If this guy lives for sixteen years, that's a twenty-grand investment..." Well, I figured two cats were enough. (For now. No guarantees for the future, mind. You never know when an asshole like my Digit might show up again.) But now the kitten we saved is named Crowley and lives with my darling friend M and plays video games all day!


Crowley's face is all business.

We know how much we spend a month for all the categories, even the rather silly categories, like What Rachael Spends at the Cafe While Writing and What Lala Buys for Lunch. And that makes all the difference. When the electricity bill goes up, I start snapping off lights. When we spend too much in groceries one month, I make sure we cook more at home the next month. I know how much we need to live, and I know what our discretionary spending goes to, because it's all in the plan, man. 

It helps me sleep at night. 

(I can't repeat this too much: If you're broke, that doesn't make you a bad person. If you're spiraling downward in debt and feel shame about it, talk to someone. Email someone. Say the truth out loud: "I don't know how much I owe, or how much I need to live, or even how much I make, and I'm too scared to find out." Say it. Then say it again to someone who can help. The only way to climb out of the shame pit is to speak the thing you're scared of. Speaking cures shame. And then you'll be able to take the steps (and there are steps!) to pull yourself out. Email me if you need to practice on someone. Even better, leave a comment here so people can read it and support you, cheer you on. You might not hear it, but I bet you'll feel it.)

Hey, did you get my letter? I've been sending out TinyLetters, and they're kind of a new way for me to blog, flying right into your email inbox. You can view the letter archive and/or subscribe here. I'm loving this way of communicating. 

* Affiliate link 'cuz I grab my money where I can

Preorder Temptation! January 30, 2015

Dear darling readers, 

Preorders mean a lot to authors. They help the book stand out (to bookstores and Amazon, etc) before it even hits the shelves, and to entice you into pre buying the book that means the most to me--the one I love the best--I have some awesome treats to tempt you with: 


To order from my local bookstore, Diesel Bookstore, call (510) 653-9965 or email oakland -- they'll hook you up with a signed copy, a note from my character Ellie and the beach glass! 

Order anywhere else? With any proof of purchase sent to Dana at, everyone is entered to win one of the ten jars of my marmalade or a pair of hand knit socks, made just for you by me. 

I'm super excited about this. March 3rd will be here in a heartbeat and I can't wait to hear what you think about this book of my heart. xox

Winners from Cate's drawing: congrats to DeAun for winning the patterns and Valerie gets the kit! (You've been emailed.) 

YARN GIVEAWAY! (Finally)January 23, 2015


Sometimes very talented, lovely people reach out to me and send me presents, with no catch. Cate Carter-Evans of Infinite Twist sent me Opus because she knew about Lala’s obsession with cephalopods.

This is Opus:


She sent it to me as a spinner's kit, with green fiber because that's what I wanted, and look at what I got: 


All the notions and EVERYTHING. It's gorgeous. 

But you know what? I know what’s on my needles now, and I know what I have queued up. I couldn’t find time to work this in, as awesome as it is, and I couldn’t just donate it along with my cotton dishcloth yarn, you know? Not Opus. 

So I asked her to answer a few questions (she’s fascinating! fair-trade spinning, dudes!) and then, with her permission, I’m giving it away, as is, with all the notions needed to get starting spinning and knitting your own Opus. Not only that, but she’s throwing in a full set of all the Cephalopods patterns (Horatio the Nautilus, Tako the Bobtail Squid, Opus the Octopus, and Inkling the Squid) for a 2nd prize.

So, Cate. Your yarn is spun in China by women who are provided training and mentoring, and who are able to work from home making a living wage. That's pretty amazing. What's that like, to be involved in something like that? 

It’s been a fascinating journey. I started out doing spinning training in some very remote corners of China, only to find talented spinners very close to my home in Shanghai!

Hand-spinning is an endangered craft in China, and I suspect that it will be gone entirely within twenty years. China is in the middle of the largest rural-to-urban migration in human history.  Spinning, along with other rural women’s work such as weaving, making baskets, and making traditional shoes and hats, is neither urban nor modern, so it’s a craft that isn’t being taught to the next generation.

I am deeply honored to be able to provide jobs for these amazing craftswomen, and to share their yarn with knitters who appreciate the time and care that goes into every skein.


Taken while Cate was training spinners in Qinghai

  Selfie qinghai

Cate in Qinghai

Zuo Main
 Zuo spinning in Shanghai

2. How did you start knitting? 

I’m proudly bistitchual, and my path to knitting started with crochet. My mom was an avid knitter (as well as a quilter and tailor), and made treasured sweaters for my dad and I from yarn spun by my grandmother from her flock of Romneys, but she died before I was old enough to figure out how to manage two needles at once.

I earned pocket money in elementary school giving crochet lessons during recess, and a friend taught me to knit to I could make a Christmas stocking for a wholly undeserving 7th grade crush. Unfortunately, my friend taught me to knit into the wrong leg of all my stitches, which meant I twisted them all - it took a number of years before I figured out what I was doing wrong!

To enter: Please leave a comment telling me your favorite sea creature and whether you like it in the ocean or on your plate! I'll draw two winners next week! Thank you, Cate!! 

and now... 

Another Clutter Clearout update!

There are some of you who are passionately loving reading about this! I’m getting emails that there are lots of us doing this, GETTING RID OF ALL THE THINGS.

I’m at a strange place in my decluttering now. I didn’t predict this. As I explained in previous posts, I got rid of the majority of my stuff. I’m just guessing, but I’m thinking I got rid of 60-70% of what I owned. (Gobsmacking, right? Damn.) 

Here’s the strange thing. I kept stuff. Of course I did. I kept the few books I can’t get rid of. I kept the first copies of all my own books. Some knitting tools. Various things that I love just because I love them. Those things are all boxed up on the front porch, waiting for me to make a place for them.  I think there are four or five boxes, all told (not including boxes of things like photos and writing that have to be digitized). I bought shelves to hang above the picture rail in the office, to make use of that usually unused space. 

But I’m completely loath to get moving on bringing stuff back in here. I have nothing hanging on the walls. I have empty space in the closet. And there’s this huge part of me that wants to keep it that way. 

Yo, I think this is my mid-life crisis! Don’t laugh — I think it really might be! Surgically-hormone free since 2012, I don’t have to worry about peri- or actual menopause. I’m past all that (it was rough, getting through it in six months at 39 rather than over ten years, but I think it was worth it). So that’s not what this is about. I don’t want a Ferrari or a bigger house. I don’t want things. That’s the whole shift. 

I want more time, both for myself and to spend with my family and friends. I want more space. I want more words, all the words in all the books. I want music and laughter and impromptu picnics (who does that? I want to do that!) 

I’m just not interested in stuff, that’s all. 

I like it. It feels right. So I’m moving forward (and I'm trying not to listen to that little voice that says “Get rid of the porch boxes. Take them to the thrift store without opening them. Do it, Rachael, do it.” Never fear, I won’t do it. I’ll look first. Probably.)

So in time-honored method of Putting Things Off, I’ve been tackling other parts of the house. No, I’m not getting rid of Lala’s stuff, not when there’s so much of mine to get rid of! But there’s a lot of “our” stuff that crept in while I wasn’t looking.

Corner of the kitchen before, mostly cookbooks and crappy Tupperware: 




A whole new counter to use! Roy Rogers is much happier now. I got rid of stuff in the cupboards above and stored the cookbooks we like but rarely use and got rid of all the raw cookbooks I’d bought during a time when I'd lost my damn mind. 

And here, the laundry area before: 




We use old towels for cleaning, and while I love that we do, somewhere I’d internalized my mother’s belief in never ever ever ever getting rid of a towel. HELLO. They had to go. (I had an entire contractor’s bag full of old clean towels that I took to the SPCA where Clara came from! They need them there!) 

And the fire extinguisher? This is true: once I took a 911 call of a dryer fire (which is very fun to say - dryer fire dryer fire dryer fire). Dryer fires scare me. They do happen. (Don't run your dryer at night, please.) But by the time the fire department got on scene, the fire extinguisher the resident kept on top of the dryer had exploded from the head and PUT IT OUT. Since then, that's where ours lives. 

  Onward! To the porch! Don't forget to leave a comment to enter to win either the handspun Opus kit or Cat's patterns! 

Giving Away GiftsJanuary 11, 2015

Rachaelista JeanH got me thinking.  

So, here's my question, not lightly asked, how do you deal with "gifts" ? Those from people who are no longer among us physically are easy. The ones from people I see frequently are tough. I look at things I've been given and just want it gone. But how do I justify getting rid of the kindness and thoughts? I surmise my issue is if they ask where X is, do I just tell them, given to charity, trash, etc?

This is such a great question, and a big quandary for most of us. I’ve only figured this out for myself in the last couple of years, and I thought sharing my own method might help some of you. 

Gifts are tricky. You bring them in your house, try to make them welcome, try to use them well enough to honor the gift giver who gave it to you, but sometimes they just don't fit

It comes down to this: What is a gift? 

A gift is a token of affection, a physical item meant to convey the love the other person has for you. (This, by the way, is why most presents, even extravagant ones, can sometimes feel a little thin to either giver or givee. No physical item will ever be able to live up to that expectation (This is how I love you. Wait, THIS is how you LOVE me?), and yet, somehow, come birthdays and Christmas, we expect them to convey everything we feel in our hearts.) 

The person who gave you that gift was thinking specifically of YOU when she bought it or, even better, made it for you. The gift should make you feel good. It should make you feel great. Even if aesthetically you hate on sight what you’ve been given, even if it goes against every design principle you hold to be true, you can feel the love, right? You might inwardly groan and wonder where it’s going to live in your house, but shake it off. Let yourself feel that love. 

That’s the intention of a gift. 

That’s all. 

And right here, right now, you won’t have to suffer through this again. I’m giving you permission to get rid of all the gifts you’ve ever been given that don’t bring you simple, uncomplicated joy. 

Really. All of them. 

You can get rid of the gifts you thought you'd have to keep forever. 

The gift was given with open hands, to show love (if it was given with ulterior motives, you can do nothing about that. You don’t have to worry about that). Your only job is to receive the present gratefully and thankfully. You need to smile and hug that person, and feel cherished. 


That present doesn’t even have to come into the house with you when you get home. If it’s a handmade item, take a photo of yourself wearing it/using it, and send it to the giver. Leave a box on the front porch of things you’re going to donate, and chuck it in there. Sell it on Craigslist (unless you live in a very small town, then that might not be a good idea. Aunt Sal doesn't want to see the macrame hanger she made you going for three bucks).  

There. You’re done. Both the giver’s and your jobs are done.

Give the item to someone who will use it and love it, the way it deserves to be loved. 

And as you put the gift in the box or the recycle bin, try this silly thing because, astonishingly, it actually works: Say thank you, out loud or in your mind, to the giver, and then say a thank you to the item itself. (I told you! Written out, it’s just silly! When you do it, though, it allows your hands to open to release that thing that’s been mentally weighing you down.) 

But...but...Mom will notice if the bacon-jam isn't on the countertop and ask me if I ever use it,  even though I’m a vegan! 

First of all, she won’t notice. And if she does notice, she won’t ask. And if she does ask, just be honest. It’s great to be honest. Brutal, embarrassing honesty is real and true, and it disarms people. “God, I hoped you wouldn’t notice that. But you did. Wow. I’m embarrassed. But that thingie-bob was so awesome, and I hated that I wasn’t using it, so I gave it to a friend who needed one, and who will love it as much as it deserves to be loved. I thought you’d like that.” (If you put it in the trash? That’s completely okay! But honey, LIE. Say you gave it to a friend. You get complete absolution for that lie, right now, in advance. Just because we’re truthful in most things doesn’t mean we have a license to be assholes. If you're a bad liar, like I am, make sure you DO give the thingie-jammer to someone who will love it.) 

If Aunt Marge gets mad at you for moving her gift to a better, more worthy home? Well, you probably already have bigger problems with her than just giving away the elk horn bugle she carved you (but Jesus, give that to ME, because that would be AWESOME). Worst case scenario? She’s mad at you for a while. Maybe you won’t get the matching elk horn flagon this year. (Don’t worry, you’ll get the tankard next year.) 

Need bigger guns? Here you go: I give you permission to blame me. No, really. Say you read this blog, and the gal who writes it told you that you had to get rid of every single polar-fleece vest in your closet, and that it’s completely my fault. I can take Aunt Marge. And your mother-in-law. Even your coworker who makes that incredibly stinky raspberry soap. Send ‘em my way. 

Heirlooms, granted, are trickier. Honesty's the best route with that one. "Hey, Mom, you gave me that full set of Gramma's china, but I never use it, and it's so pretty that it's bugging me that it's just stored away. Would you rather me donate it to charity or give it to someone you know who would make better use of it than I am?" 

But honestly. A person who cares about you wants you to be happy. Period. Full stop. If the stuff they give you isn’t making you happy, getting rid of it is what they would want you to do (if they could get over their hurt feelings, which is a hard thing to do sometimes. Which is why it’s not something you have to announce to them. “Dear Aunt Marge, I’m giving away the elk horn things. All of them. They suck. Happy New Year!”) 

And dude, if you’re part of one of those weird families who give generic gifts along with gift receipts? That’s awesome! You have permission to get what you want! DO IT. Get something useful, something that you love! Don't keep the turtleneck! Unless you really like looking like 1995! 

(And if you get gifts that are intended to make you feel badly? Fuck 'em. Smile, say thank you, and do a rim shot when you toss it in the trash at home. Three points! Love YOURSELF first.) 

Bonus: You know how getting rid of things opens up your life to other things? In going through possessions, I've seen some awesome things that were getting lost in the clutter. I’ve realized my dad  makes useful, hardy things. I love the spoon. And the knife. And the next time I see Dad I’ll remember to tell him, “Hey, that lamp you carved from the sycamore (was it the front yard sycamore?) is amazing in our living room.”


Keep what sparks joy (per Marie Kondo's advice). Ditch the rest. Be happy. 

Spark of JoyJanuary 5, 2015

Something has shifted inside me, and I’m not sure where or when it did, but it happened, and I don’t think it’s shifting back. I’ve never felt this before, not even as a child (I've always been a clutcher—I wanted my THINGS. I understood impermanence and I hated it. I enjoyed feeling nostalgic for moments I was actively participating in. I still do that). 

I’m seeing clutter for what it is, to me. And I want to make clear that this is all what it is to me. This is not what YOU should do. This isn’t what Lala should do. I don’t want to move Lala’s stuff (it was a requirement when we bought our house that we would both have an office), and I don’t even want to purge much of our shared stuff (there are a few things in the kitchen like old Tuppers-ware… but no, honestly, I’m focused on my stuff). 

A lot of my stuff just isn’t important. 

And it’s not that things have changed. That’s the really interesting part to me in this. Nothing I own has changed. I haven’t woken up and suddenly “seen the light" although it may look like that from the outside.

My stuff didn’t get less important overnight. 

It’s just this: A great deal of my possessions have been unimportant for years. For decades, literally. 

So many books, released. I thought because I loved them, because I’d learned from them, that I had to keep them. Nope. They’re already in me, and I don’t tend to reread. Gone. 

So much yarn, released. It was collected thoughtlessly, with no plan, and over many years, it had never come in handy for even one single project I’d gone stash-diving for. Gone. 

So many clothes, released. This was easier, because I learned through a couple of years of Project 333 that living with fewer, nicer clothes is magic. I’m better dressed, more fashionable, and more ME because of it. 

So much junk, junked. It’s unreal how much stuff I’d held onto over the years. 

2014-12-30 19.11.38

That said, I’ve kept things. So many wonderful things, things that strike joy in my heart. The eye from my beloved teddy bear. The 11-year sobriety chip my friend Bob Cranford gave me when I quit smoking. My mother’s journals. My own. The quilt my grandmother knit me. The Love Blanket that you knit me. Lots of lots of wonderful stuff, kept. 

This is how I’ve done it, for those wondering. These are the questions I ask of each item (seriously, I touch every one): 

1. Do I use this regularly? (Not could I use this, or would I use this given the right circumstances. Just do I or don’t I.) If yes, keep. If no, move on to next question. 

2. Does this spark joy? This is cribbed from Marie Kondo’s book, mentioned in the last post. Prior to reading her book, I was asking questions I could fudge my way around. Do I love this? Sure! I love everything! Does this make me happy? Of course! It’s a fountain pen! Fountain pens make me giddy! But this specific question, “Does this fountain pen you’re holding right now spark actual JOY in your heart?” It’s like flipping a coin. You know the answer when it’s in the air. “No, this fountain pen makes me think of the person who gave it to me, a person I don’t enjoy thinking of anymore.” And just like that. Dithering over selling the pen for years, decided easily in a heartbeat of finally asking the right question. If the answer is yes, keep. If no, donate, sell, or recycle. 

And now that I think about it, now that I’m typing, I’ve figured out that this simple question about sparking joy has been the thing that made this quiet click happen within me. I do care for so many things. I’m prone to loving things and people and television shows and vegetables and just about anything that falls within my range of vision. That was my proble when it came to holding on to things. 

But so many of my things, though they were nice and worthy of love, didn’t spark joy. I’m culling down to just the things that do, and one day, I’ll look around and have nothing near me that isn’t useful or brilliantly joyful (Lala! the animals! my spinning wheel! the pressed tin Madonna I bought in Venice!), and hoo boy, I can’t wait for that. 

The whole process of simplifying, which just a week or two ago was overwhelming and tedious and really, really frightening, is now exciting and honestly FUN. I don’t need the other stuff. 

I never have. 

That is WILD, yo. 

ContinuingDecember 30, 2014

So, minus the cold-from-hell that had me down a few days, I’m progressing well through the Move Toward Minimalism. So well, in fact, that Lala has asked me a few times if I’m  leaving her. She pointed out that would be incredibly embarrassing to trick her that way. “Well, yeah," she would have to say to incredulous friends. "Sure, she packed everything she owned in boxes and got rid of mountains of stuff, but she said she was becoming a minimalist.” Shrug. “Why wouldn’t I believe her?” 

But I’m not leaving. Emphatically, no. I'm still focusing on how I want my reading/writing space to look (and I have to point out that sick time is very good Pinterest time. I’ve never really been into it before, but when you’re daydreaming about a space while on cold medicine, there is little more satisfying. My dream office board is here, if you want to check it out). 

First, let me tell you what I did. 

I got rid of a full (huge) station wagon of stuff.


I took most to the Depot for Creative Reuse (there should be some hella fine yarn there, Bay Area knitters) and the rest to Out of the Closet. (Oh! I gave up the idea of the garage sale. I wouldn't have ever recouped my loss, and I'd already enough time, energy, money, and storage space to these things. It felt good to let go.) I gave away a ton of books in a frantic culling of author copies on Facebook and Twitter. I boxed everything I have to keep, but I bet not all of it will find its back way in from the boxes on the porch. 

See, I got rid of the storage. I got rid of four large Billy bookcases and two small ones, bookcases that had been storing my crap for twelve YEARS. I shoved yarn, sweaters, photo albums, knitting patterns, books, memorabilia into those shelves like the boss of storage I was. I got rid of 20 Sterilite drawers and boxes that were holding things. 


My whole office looked like this. Then I got rid of all the storage. 

I don’t have anything to store things in. The closet is lovely and empty. I challenged myself with the "I have one of those already" statement. (Is your heart beating faster, reading that? Mine did. "I have one bag." ARE YOU SERIOUS I NEED EVERY ONE OF THESE THIRTY BAGS FOR DIFFERENT REASONS. I took a box and labeled it ONE. I put the extra things in there, just to think about themselves. I promised myself I wouldn't get rid of the box. Then I did. And it felt good. (I still have about five bags because that's impossible, yo. This one is my travel bag, this one is my knitting bag, THIS IS MY MOOP, this is my cute-night-out bag.)

The room I’m sitting in right now will have four pieces of furniture.

  • My beloved desk that my friends bought me when I got my agent will stay, holding my printer and a lamp.
  • My new (used) rolltop desk will hold everything writing related: pens, ink, Post-its, the all-important Thinking Gum). (Augh, the delirious joy of this desk. I’ve wanted one my whole life. Hasn’t every writer?)
  • A chair. Will use the one I have till I find the right one. I hate this old ripped Ikea chair that I've always had to use a back bolster with, but it's my lowest priority. 
  • A reading couch. I’d prefer something antique and Victorian and old. Basically, I want my office to feel like Juliet Blackwell’s house, you know? But comfortable is the highest priority for the couch. I want to be able to read till the book falls out of my hand. I want room for all the animals to pile of top of me. I want to be able to stretch out. I’m taking my time. I’ll find my couch when it’s time. 

I have a guy coming in tomorrow to quote how much it would be to pull up the carpeting and build a good, sturdy bookshelf (not a Billy! No!) because even though I got rid of shelving, a girl still needs a few shelves for books and the really beloved things that should be seen and treasured, not hidden. I'm going to paint, also -- a darker color. Most of the things I love on Pinterest are dark, cozy, and inimate. Curated, not cluttered. 

Right now, the office is almost empty. It echoes. Music sounds amazing.


It makes me a little nervous, too. I’m reading Marie Kondo’s The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up, and she says: If you can’t feel relaxed in a clean and tidy room, try confronting your feeling of anxiety. It may shed light on what is really bothering you. When your room is clean and uncluttered, you have no choice but to examine your inner state. 

Well, yeah. I know exactly why I’m doing this. I’m almost done with a first draft of a book, and this is the hardest part of writing for me. At this point, I’m always convinced that what I’m writing is the worst thing ever written in the history of the world. It’s so hard, in fact, that I took the last week of the year off from writing entirely, to let myself… Well, okay. I just let myself off the hook, which was good since I worked a couple of killer weeks at the day job followed by this sick thing. But mostly, I’m avoiding going back into the book. 

The book is cluttered. The book is noisy and messy. The book needs to be edited, and it can’t be until it’s done. 

So I’m attracted to thinking about quiet, about simplicity, about minimalism. Every time I look that right in the eyes, stare into the truth of it, I feel calmer. I’m getting back to the book one week from today. I’m ahead of schedule, not behind it. Lying creatively  fallow for a couple of weeks feels right. 

And in the meantime, I’m enjoying paring down my life to only the things that bring me joy, which is Marie Kondo’s whole premise. Does the item thrill you? Give you joy? Keep. If not, release.  Why spend your life around things that don't thrill you? And oh my gosh, I LOVED reading her account of being a child obsessed with organizing. I thought I was the only kid who carefully read and saved ways to use toilet paper rolls to organize your makeup drawer, who memorized stain-lifting recipes, so impatient to try them I’d sometimes make a stain on purpose, just to see. I loved the penny-pinching tips in Ladies’ Home Journal and Mother Earth News. I was obsessed with making things neat and tidy and lovely. 

She also points out that “storage experts are hoarders.” Takes one to know one, I guess. That sure resonates with me. 

I’m enjoying this trip.

StartingDecember 26, 2014

So I start the minimizing today. Appropriately, it’s Boxing Day and I’m about to go to U-Haul and buy boxes to pack up my stuff. 

I’ve been thinking about nothing else for about a week. GETTING RID OF THINGS. I’m watching every TED talk I can find on the topic. I’m reading Everything That Remains by Joshua Fields Millburn (I'm really enjoying it, by the way). I’m watching Tiny House Nation (which is, counter-intuitively, strangely focused on getting new stuff, new wingy-dingies that spin, hide, expand, contract, but that’s another conversation). 

Today I’m feeling like a startled cat; that fear is making me hiss and spit as I get closer to actually going to get the boxes and then, to start filling them. 

It’s hard for crafters, isn’t it?

Crafters Have Stuff. Lots of it. 

I’m not sure I’m going to be able to do it. I’ve gone through this room so many times before, getting rid of the things I could get rid of. I’ve already been ruthless. The things left in here are what I need to live. 

Except that’s not true. I need very few Things. I just WANT all this other stuff, and the thought of it—the look of it—makes me feel heavy, sluggish, and stressed. I’m tired of it.

So I’m going to tell you my plan, and maybe putting it here will remind me how much I really want to do this. Because it would be a lot easier to just stay in bed today, on this day off, and read all day. (The deliciousness of lying in bed reading about minimalism while not moving toward it can't be overstated.)


The place I’m really getting stuck, of course, is on keeping the things I really love, the things that add value to your life. How do you pick between them? I love everything in my office! I do! 

I found a great piece of advice on Courtney Carver’s site, on identifying treasures and finally letting go, and I’m using it. In my words: 

1. List the things you’d run into a fire to save. (The 911 fire dispatcher in me says, NEVER GO BACK INSIDE, the gasses are what take you down and kill you, not the fire itself, are you CRAZY?!) But let’s think about a metaphorical fire, shall we? 

In this metaphorical fire in my metaphorical house, I would save: 


The animals.

These are the only answers that make sense. But say I had twenty extra seconds. What would I risk my own life to save? There aren’t many of them. I only came up with: 

Mom’s journals (I love to hear her voice)

My journals (not that I ever, ever reread them, but they’re important to me)

The afghan my capital-K New Zealand grandmother knitted for me 

Photos (which are going to be digitized and soon will all be on the cloud—let’s talk about this again soon because I have no idea how to approach this and will do a whole post on it soon - would love your ideas if you have some)

2. Keep the things you use everyday. This, also, presents a problem for me. I know, obviously, what I use a lot. My computer, Post-its, pencils, etc. But what about all those things I think I will use someday? Like the stapler? Good god, I haven’t stapled papers together in twenty years. Why do I stubbornly keep that thing, when I’m actually going entirely paperless? That’s it! The stapler goes! But you see what I mean. 

I got a great tip from Millburn's book (above). He uses the 20-20 rule. If you're torn about getting rid of something, and the item can be bought for less than 20 bucks in less than 20 minutes, then toss it. HELLO ALL THOSE LITTLE CORDS. They’re all going. I’ve never EVER had to find one of those, but I couldn't throw them out. Until today. 

3. Keep the things you love that bring you great joy. This could be art, or a book, or that plastic elephant you bought in the market in Marrakech right before you danced all night. Note: this means the things that DO bring you great joy. Not that you think COULD or SHOULD bring you great joy if you just got around to using them/looking at them. (Tea towels, anyone? Last night we went to a party and I used one of my favorite tea towels (a 1967 calendar spinning wheel towel!) that had been languishing in my office waiting for inspiration to strike — I wrapped it around the bottle, tied it with yarn, and there you go. It did bring me joy, in fact, to give it away, to a spinner.) 

This doesn’t mean keeping the things that you think you should keep, that you think SHOULD make you joyful, but that actually make you uncomfortable when you think of them. Read Getting Rid of Things that Make you Feel Bad. I’d kept old love letters for a long time, thinking I would like reading them when I was old. Know what? Even when I’m 97, I’m still going to feel a little foolish for staying in those relationships for so long. I got rid of the letters years ago and haven’t regretted it once. 

This step, though, I think will give me trouble, so I’m going to box everything I can’t immediately say I would ache not to see everyday, things that aren't as important as the Things I Will Keep, like my signed Elizabeth Zimmerman that Janine gave me. That’s something I love seeing every single day. That won't be boxed. 

4. Let everything else go. Box it all. Sell it at the garage sale. This will include: 

All pattern books (when was the last time I used one? Years and years. Ravelry has solved this. I love that my patterns are kept on their server!)

All yarn that doesn’t have immediate plans for use, excluding favorite handspun and cashmere, of course. 

All sewing fabric without immediate plans for use (which is to say all of it)

All jewelry making supplies. Hahhahahahahaha. Remember the time I thought I’d make jewelry?

All half-finished projects. They’re half-finished for a reason. I’m going to keep on the needles one big project (sweater), one pair of socks, and one piece of lace. Everything else goes. 

All memorabilia. <—— Really. Mom’s journals and a few photos bring me happiness. Using her yellow bowl daily in the kitchen brings me joy. All the other stuff? I’ll see if the sisters want any of it and then let it go. There are a few tchotkes I’ve bought on trips that bring me happiness to look at, but the rest, the things hiding behind others things? They’ll go. 

5. When it doubt, box it. Leave for 60 days. If I haven’t been compelled to fish it out, then I’ll donate the boxes, unopened. 

Luckily, I just redid Project 333, so I don’t have to worry about clothes. Thank god. (If you haven’t tried that, TRY IT. It’s life-changing.) 

So this is the plan. Now I’m going to put on jeans and a favorite T-shirt (because all I have left are my favorite clothes) and go buy boxes. Then I’m going to box. Happy Boxing Day. 


You should be on my mailing list, because soon I'll be able to give away TWO ADVANCE COPIES of Splinters of Light. 


Minimizing AgainDecember 23, 2014

So, I'm getting this itch. 

The minimalist urge. 

I always get this. There must be a word in German for a person like me, someone who clutters things up easily, naturally, yet yearns for simplicity. 

I remember when a friend's daughter entered our house once. She was about four, and her mom loved clean lines and simplicity. That's what she was used to. She walked into our house and immediately yelled, "Mama, it's CRAZY in here!" 

Lala and I have a deal. She leaves her office the way she likes, and I don't bother her about it. My office is mine. We try to keep our crafts/hobbies inside our own offices, and keep the living areas as spare as possible (not spare by any stretch, but not crazy-making, usually). We keep our clothes in our office closets--the tiny bedroom is for us to sleep in (this helps a lot when I sleep weird hours, too). 

But I keep dreaming about tiny homes. I'd have one if I were single. I know I would. I've lived in 200 sq foot spaces, and nothing pleases my mind more than thinking about how to save space. I love downsizing, getting rid of stuff. A tiny home would be so FUN. The thing is, I love being married to Lala way more than I would ever enjoy the idea of a tiny home. I love our life together, and our big dumb cats and our sweet, sweet dogs. I love our house, too. It's perfect for us, just the right size (1100 sq feet, three tiny bedrooms, one bath, big living/dining room, big kitchen). 

Tonight, while avoiding writing and watching TED talks (as you do), I realized: I have a whole office. To myself. And it's full of Stuff I Don't Need. It's AMAZING what I've packed into that room. 

So my plan is this: 

  • Box everything in my office as if we were moving. 
  • Keep out only what I'll use that week. 
  • Decide what the space should look like and how to make it be that, prioritizing what's important: writing and reading (it's hard to read in there now. I have a tiny wee sofa, but the space doesn't lend itself to reading--you must be able to fully recline to read, don't you think?). 
  • Decide what few mementos are necessary for me to keep to feel grounded. (I don't need to keep all the things I grabbed after my mother died to remember her. Owning all her old fabric isn't necessary to me. It doesn't make me remember her more--it only serves to make me feel guilty that it's all sitting hidden in the closet.)
  • Hold on to your hats: Yarn isn't very important. I've culled, over the last few years, so that I'm down to just a few projects' worth of yarn. The problem is I also have bags and bags of unfinished projects. I've let go of a few, and I think it's time to let the rest go, too. One sweater, one shawl, and one pair of socks on the needles. Do I ever need more than that? 
  • Hold a garage sale, sell everything that's left (Bay Area peeps, I'll let you know when it is -- there will be yarn UFOs and lots of craft books), and toss the money raised at the student loan (now down to 33k from 50k). 
  • Digitize things like old pictures and old writing. I'm using this method, I think, even though it means making friends with Evernote, which, along with espresso machines, I've dedicated my life to avoiding learning how to use.

And now, in the quiet middle of the night, I'm going to look at Pinterest images of perfect people's perfect reading nooks. I don't want perfect. But I want clear, and spare, and me. And I'm so over white Billy bookcases I could just DIE, you know? 

Watch this space. 

(Oh! And don't forget to join the Goodreads giveaway of Spinters of Light - my publisher is giving away 20 copies!! (Only for US residents, I'm so sorry to say).)

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Splinters of Light by Rachael Herron

Splinters of Light

by Rachael Herron

Giveaway ends January 10, 2015.

See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

Enter to win

Marm-ElatedDecember 12, 2014

Oh, my god, I made lemon marmalade! And it came out SO WELL. And it was SO EASY. I am MARM-ELATED. 

And I have spent almost eight years in this house with a marmalade lemon tree that never stops producing, and the fruit just falls to the ground. We use a lot for cooking and every once in a while we make lemonade, but up till now that was all we did. 

Those days are over, my friends. 


Avoid the strange looking ones. 

I thought I’d give you a simple breakdown of what I did for two reasons: 1) so I can find it later and 2) because I read about four million recipes out there and they were all soooo different and all of them were missing crucial elements necessary for the newbie (and nervous) first-time canner. I’d never sealed jars before. Now I have and it’s not hard. It’s a bit scary at first, but it’s also fun and overall, easy.

Things you’ll need to buy for canning if you ain't got 'em already: 

Nonreactive pot to make the marmalade in (it should hold twice as much jam as you want to make) (I bet you have one. Your soup pot will work, probably). 

Pot for boiling the jars - I got this el cheapo one with a jar rack at my Ace Hardware which had EVERYTHING I needed for canning. Like, you could go to your Ace right now and get this stuff. Right NOW.* 

Canning tongs and funnel - get these. You will regret not getting these. 

Piece of cheesecloth or piece of old, clean T-shirt, piece of string

Jars! Use the half pint size! A whole pint is nutty! Get a box of 12 (comes with jars, lids, and bands)


Ingredients  in a 1:1:1 ratio: 

Lemons - get some, any kind.  
Sugar - have some 
Water - you’re good


Who knew? You don't even need pectin, because lemons have enough of their own! (You knew this? Okay. Your recipe is probably better, too. But mine is EASY.) 

For my marmalade, I used about ten lemons from the tree in the backyard. This made a lot, about 12 half pints. Use two lemons for practice! Make a lil bit just for fun! 

I spent a long time researching how to pith, deseed, dress, slice, whap, and dice those babies. I did it carefully and beautifully for ONE lemon and then my hands notified me that I had four cuts, a burn, and two hangnails I hadn’t noticed. Lemon juice is painful. Screw that (unless you don’t have a food processor or Vitamix, in which case, I’m sorry, and wear gloves).


Put on some good tunes or a podcast you’ve been dying to listen to. Wear your cutest apron (I’m reminding you, because you always forget to wear it, I know you do). 

Put some small plates in the freezer. You’ll need those later to test doneness


Wash and dry your jars, lids, and bands with warm soapy water. Put them on a cookie sheet or two in the oven at 225F for 10 minutes. When they’re cooked just let ‘em sit in the stove till you’re ready to fill them. It’s okay if they go cold again. 

Fill that big old pot up with water and set it to boiling. It will take forever, so start now. When it hits a boil, you can turn it off until you need to use it. 

Lemon prep:

Wash the lemons. This is nice to do for everyone, including the lemon.


Slice off the ends. Then cut the lemons in half. Try your best to wrangle out that white pith that runs up and down the middle of the lemon — use your hands, feel free to mash it around. Try to get the seeds out. Mine didn’t have many. Put the lemon halves into your food processor or Vitamix or whatnot. Put the piths and seeds into that little bit of cheesecloth and tie it up (this gives it more natural pectin). 

I used my Vitamix, filled it with lemon halves, and then covered the lemons with water. Then I chopped ‘em up. You want them in small pieces, big enough to suit your bite need in your marmalade. Don’t puree them. Dump this into a colander. Then, when drained, dump into your nonreactive pot using a measuring cup. NOTE HOW MANY CUPS OF LEMON YOU HAVE. Add the bag of pith/seeds and exactly the same number cups of water (see how you could make a lot or a little and not worry about amounts?). 

Bring to boil then keep at high simmer for 2ish hours until peels are soft. Water will boil away, maybe half of it? That’s okay. Add the same number of cups sugar, bring to a boil and stir occasionally, boil for 10-20 minutes, checking setting point. 


Setting point:

Get out a cold plate from the freezer, drizzle some marmalade on it. Give it a minute or two to set. Run your finger through it. If it wrinkles, you’re done. If it’s still runny, boil some more. 

NOTE: This is where I panicked. Mine never set right. I boiled for almost an hour, and that stuff stayed runny (I think I hadn’t boiled it long enough in the first cooking without sugar). I read enough on the internet to panic, learning that I could over-boil it and then when it cooled it would turn to rock, so I put it in jars, hoping for the best and expecting the worst, but the next morning, IT WAS MARMALADE! It had marmelled! It was marmellous! So I’m saying to trust your gut here. 

Turn the burner on under the big pot of water again. You’ll need it boiling soon. 

Putting it in jars! The fun part!

Using your favorite soup ladle and the canning funnel, ladle into the jars, leaving 1/2 inch of room at the top. Put on a lid and secure the lid with a band (the outer ringy thingy). Only tighten until you feel resistance, do NOT torque the band on tight. Just lightly, till it stops twisting. Then using your tongs, which you were clever enough to buy, lower the jars into the pot of hot water and onto the jar rack. Once all the jars are in the water and the water has hit a boil, boil for another 10-15 minutes. Turn off the gas or move the pot carefully off the hot part of the stove. Using tongs, remove jars to cool, placing them on a cloth (important because the cold counter touching the glass jars can cause breakage).

You’ll hear pings and pops, and that’s good and magical, because they’re SEALING. You’re totally DOING THIS. 


Leave ‘em there.

Take pictures. Instagram them. You totally should. They’re so PRETTY. In the morning, remove the bands, test them for seal by lifting them an inch or two (briefly!) by the lids. They should stick together. If one hasn't sealed right, put that one in the fridge and eat it first! Decorate! Give away! Or keep them all for yourself. But you won’t be able to. I’d gave my first away while it was still warm to these pretty ladies who stopped by and got covered with every animal we own:


*affiliate links

** the links are affiliates, not the women.  KiraK and RachelD are just awesome. My extra sisters. 

Me, in Three SongsDecember 3, 2014

My friend Duff wrote herself in three songs, based on this post, and I love the idea of this challenge. 

Apparently I'm in the mood for culling down to the essential today. I've pared my closet to 33 items (not including handknits -- I TRIED! I really did. But I couldn't do it) and now I'm paring down to three songs. 

I've realized lately that both my jobs are completely language focussed. The writing job is obviously so, but so is the dispatch job -- at 911 you can't miss a single word of an address or a symptom or what the captain says on the radio or the word knife. But when it comes to music, I'm kind of wordless. I can listen to songs for decades and be able to sing along phonetically (and even tell you the words that way, if you ask me) but I'll have no idea what the song literally means. 

It's about the feeling. It's about what the sound makes rise in me like sap. (Like sappy sap, mostly.) 


Murder in the City - Avett Brothers. Oh, Avetts, you tools. I do wish you weren't such tools. But I still love your music. And I take it back about the words and not listening to them, for this song. These words mean something. They mean a lot to me. Oh, my god, just listening to this again broke me down to tears. Love. Family. Friends. Gah. 


Stella Maris -  Moby. This song to me, is every feeling of grief and longing there ever was. This is what I put on repeat when Robin died in Pack Up the Moon (not a spoiler, his death happens before the book opens). This is what I listen to when I want to cry. Or when I want to need. 

Give it Up - Marvin Gaye. Now stop those tears, my friend, and dance. This is my theme song. If this comes on while I'm in the middle of the frozen food section of the grocery store, I will grab the stock boy and spin him around a few times. If this comes on in the DMV (oh, that it would), I will lead those waiting in a feel-good dance party. I can even karaoke it. No lie.


How about you? How do you describe yourself in three songs? 

I Kick Like a GirlNovember 26, 2014

Warning: I hate the phrase “trigger warning” but this is one. This post deals with violence and rape and fighting. And me, kicking ASS. 

So, I want to tell you this. I’m a badass. 

Once, many years ago, I attended an Impact self-defense graduation ceremony (back then it went by the strange name of Model Mugging). I was young (in my early twenties) and I was terrified of everything. I was scared to talk to people, scared to walk down the street, scared to go to sleep at night. The reason for this was multi-layered and I don’t feel like getting into exactly how my young psyche had been damaged, but one of the reasons I was scared was that I’d been raped. It was date rape (and oh, how I hate how that phrase can take the barb out of the word RAPE. Date rape, to me and many others, implied for many years that it was my fault. That it was a minor deal. It was neither). 

To be honest, I didn’t even know I was going to write this part of this post until I started typing. I’ve told very few people this over the years. My mother knew. A few friends.

Until the Jian Ghomeshi shitstorm, I’d never admitted this online or in print, anywhere. The shame that’s internalized around rape is astonishing. You know me and admitting things. I LOVE to admit my deepest, darkest secrets and bring them into the light, but I’ve never admitted this. My stomach is in knots and I’m scared right now as I peck at the keys. I twittered a very little bit about my experience a few weeks ago while people were talking about Ghomeshi, and then I threw up and shook for the rest of the morning. But you know what? We have to talk about this. Among my women friends, more of them have been sexually assaulted than haven’t. This is true. 

And this is so fucked up.

(No, before you ask (not like YOU would, YOU know better), this is not why I’m gay-married. I’m bisexual. I love (good) men, and I love (good) women. I just happen to be in love with my wife.) 

So years and years ago, I went to that Impact graduation. I watched women fight their way away from men who were literally holding them down, picking them up, throwing them around. I wasn’t alone in crying my way through the graduation, and I vowed I would take the class someday. I vowed I would learn to be as strong as they were.

The problem was that the class wasn’t cheap. I was a broke college student for a long time, and then I was just a broke, indebted American for a long time. 

Then I could afford it. 

I signed up for the Basics course earlier this year, and I swear to you, I’ve never been more terrified to do something in my whole life. It’s a four day course, and by the time we were ten minutes into the class, I wanted to run. I fantasized about doing it so clearly I was surprised to find myself still standing in place.  

I stayed. 


First, with the help of our inspiring whistle instructor (the female teacher who’s literally right next to you during every fight, coaching you, blowing the whistle when you’ve won), we learned how to say No

See, as women, we often don’t know how to say this effectively. And we certainly don’t know how to yell it. Our first group “No” was timid. Almost polite. A questioning, “No?” Am I doing this right? 

Then, with the help of the amazing suited instructors (the men who wear the full-body suits which allow them to absorb our punches and kicks), we learned how to fight. I have to admit, I had some doubt about the men. What kind of guy would sign up to come at women menacingly? Now I know. The best kind of men. The men who want women to be safe in this world. They’re kind and generous and—honestly—pretty awe inspiring in their dedication to the cause of halting violence against women. I can’t say enough about them.

Now, in my whole life I had never hit a person who wasn’t a sister (and even when I was a kid, I was always better with words than fists). The first twenty or so times I hit a suited instructor, I apologized. I APOLOGIZED. We all did. 

You know what? By the end of the class, I could take a man out. In order to graduate, we had to land several knock-out blows. Guess who managed to do this? Everyone in the class, including the ones who were much skinnier or much heavier than I was, including the ones who were twenty years younger or older than I am.


After that class, I was so much less scared. I didn’t know how much fear I carried walking in the BART parking lot at night, going out our front door in the dark, walking through the city, until that fear was lifted off. Not coincidentally, the next week, I got a bike. I wasn’t scared anymore to be knocked off it. No, I sure as heck don’t want to be knocked off my bike. I don’t want to be robbed. But now I know how to take care of myself, of my body, and I wasn’t scared for the first time in my life. 

I loved Basics so much I signed up for Multiple Assailants, which I took last weekend. In this class, you’re not going so much for the knock-out blows (but those are nice to land, sure). Instead, you’re trying to land incapacitating blows, one after another; you line them up, and knock them down so you can get away and call help. 


And I have to tell you, this class was even more terrifying to me than the Basics had been (with as much as I'd loved Basics, I didn't expect this). A two-day class, I didn’t want to go either day. I literally prayed for a migraine. The first time three guys came at me, I almost lost control of my bladder. 

Then, because I knew how, I fought. 

I’m posting a video here of one of my fights in class. 

It’s scary. If you’re tense right now, if you feel like crying while reading this, please don’t watch. Or at least don't want alone. Watch with someone who can talk to you afterward, who can give you a hug if you need it. (This is me hugging you.) The instructors use language that’s street-real. You can tell I’m scared in this video.

But I’m also exhilarated. Those punches and kicks I’m landing might look like much, but they’re using all my strength, all my muscle, and I'm a strong woman. A normal guy who wasn’t wearing that suit would not get back up. Period. They would either be unconscious or vomiting from pain. 


I also didn’t know I was going to do this next thing, but I’m following my heart.

Impact isn’t cheap, but they have scholarships. I’d love to raise enough to put a woman through this class who needs it, a woman who can’t afford it. Click here to donate.

Even a very small amount would help change a woman's life forever. 

If you want to donate directly to Impact rather than going through that link, their holiday fundraiser for taking Impact to college campuses (!) is here.  If you want to see if they’re in your area, click here


I don’t expect to ever have to use these skills. If mugged, I’ll give up my backpack. You can have my bike. But try to touch me? I’ll lay you OUT, motherfucker. 

And that makes me feel like I can fly. 



Living the DreamNovember 14, 2014

Once I was at a HarperCollins party at the Central Park Boathouse in New York. I felt like a naive, squawking goose because I was surrounded by successful authors who didn't seem to think this was a big deal. 

To me it was a VERY big deal. I told one of the editors that--that I couldn't believe where I was--and she was glad to hear it. She didn't think my funny overeager faces were silly. She got excited, too, when I told her how I felt. 

I think it's important to remember these kinds of things. In anything, when you achieve a goal, let yourself bask. Bask in the glow of pride and the knowledge that you freaking DID it. Remember when your mom would point out something that you just did that was pretty cool, and she'd say, "Aren't you proud of yourself?" (I hope your mother did that. If not, I'll say it to you. You should be so proud of yourself, friend, for doing that awesome thing, even if was just a small step. Good on you.) 

Yesterday I had one of those days. I worked a 72 hour shift (that wasn't part of it though it wasn't bad), got home and napped till 1pm (that was part of it. Nothing like sleeping till 1pm, even if you didn't go to bed till 9am. It always feels decadent). Then I got up and went to Mills and wrote a couple of thousand words for NaNoWriMo (I'm still ahead! Loving that!). 

Then, get this: I spoke to a writing class at Mills on being a working writer. 

That has been a dream of mine. That's been a dream for a long, long time. I've taught a lot of places, literally all over the country, and most recently, down under. But when I was at Mills as a grad student, years and years ago, I would walk across the quad, lost in imagining myself in the future, wearing stylish boots, my published books in one hand, a coffee in another, going to talk to students about writing. 

Yesterday afternoon my boots were Dansko and not that stylish, but I was wearing a sweater I'd bound off that very morning, the books in my bag were mine, and I was clutching that coffee like it was the only way I'd keep breathing. 

The students were amazing, and asked awesome questions. They want to be writers like I used to want to be (and now am! Pinch me again!). I want each and every one of them to end up playing the starring role in their own dream. I want that for YOU, too. Keep taking those steps, okay? Those little actions, that tiny risk you take today gets you that much closer. 


Me, after class, a little verklempt. 

Afterward, as night fell, I put the top down on the bridge on the drive to San Francisco and tried to soak up and enjoy every minute of it. The air smelled of the rain that had fallen earlier that day, and I realized that both of the towns I love best (Oakland and Venice) smell best when cool and damp. The smell of dirt and diesel and salt water. Magic of the very best kind. 


I love the new Bay Bridge.

Then Lala and I had date night. We had dinner on the sidewalk at the Grove, and then went to see Jill Lepore talk about her Wonder Woman book. It was a freaking perfect day. 

And it didn't hurt that for all that I was wearing a new sweater. This sweater was supposed to have sleeves, yes, but as I was knitting it, I realized how thick it was. I would for sure never wear it, EVER. I wondered how it would look as a vest. 


 Pattern: DROPS Chocolate Passion, in Quince and Co Osprey. Ravelry details here. 

It's an interesting construction, and will look/fit better after a bit of a block, but you know me. I'm impatient. 


And I just realized this: Finishing this means I can start a new sweater with the handspun I've been spinning from the New Zealand wool! Eeep! Today, my reward for doing my NaNoWriMo words will be picking a pattern and swatching. 

I feel so deeply happy and grateful to be exactly where I am. Right now. I wish for you the same. 

* I keep forgetting to draw winners! The winner of Chris Baty's book is Jeanne B. and the winner of Larissa Brown's Shieldmaiden Knits is Linda McD -- you've both been emailed. 


Giveaway! November 4, 2014

I've written about Larissa Brown before. If you like great novels that completely sweep you to another place and manage to keep you there until you turn the last page even if it makes you late for work, you need to read the jaw-dropping Viking romance Beautiful Wreck (see my review). 

Not only is she a stunning writer, she's a seriously talented knitwear designer, and she has a new collection, also Viking based. 

Shieldmaiden Knits 

(Ravelry link)



From the book: 

Shieldmaiden Knits features designs in Malabrigo Yarn, inpsired by the epic Viking style.

Vikings were poets and artists. Their woodwork, carvings, bracelets and intricate needle cases and combs all suggest a great passion for design. Their words and sagas suggest a love of dramatic gestures.

The pieces in this collection take the gorgeous colors and textures of Malabrigo yarns, and use simple shapes and easy lace to bring about dramatic results. These are not historically accurate designs, but instead are modern pieces inspired by my research into Viking Age life.

I adore this piece, Gull Warmers:


and these delicate gauntlets just GET me: 


I'm giving away a copy of the book to one lucky commenter -- let's play my favorite game and leave a comment about the best book you've recently read. I'll draw a winner on November 11. 

Nanowrimo writers: don't forget to leave a comment in the previous post about Chris Baty's book, No Plot No Problem - will be drawing that winner tomorrow! 

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