Leveling the Playing Field

I read in today's paper that David Reutimann, he of the #99 Nationwide car, said he'd willingly forgo points and money if more money went into the pockets of the Nationwide regulars. He is not a NW regular, having a seat as well in the #44 Cup car. (Go David!) At first, I thought, "gee, why would he say that?" until I saw the broader picture.

As long as Cup regular drivers dominate and win in the lower level racing series, those cars that come from smaller garages without the resources for wind tunnel testing and fancy engineering will finish farther down the food chain. Less money equals fewer dollars to pay for good equipment which equals poorer running cars which equals. . . . You get the picture. The classic vicious cycle. If the racing is dominated by Cup cars and Cup drivers, the series will die. Who wants Cup Lite? If there's no Nationwide series racing, those Cup drivers who enjoy it, like David Reutimann, Carl Edwards, and Jeff Burton, won't have anywhere to play without the pressure of the all-important Cup points.

Establish a hierarchy now. Regular Nationwide cars coming from stables with no Cup contenders get more points and more money. Nourish the little guys. They'll get stronger when there are more bucks to pour into their cars, and the whole series will flourish. Good for David Reutimann for saying what he did.

In a way, it's like publishing. Big names, big stars get big bucks. As well they should. But the more they're paid, and the tighter dollars become in the publishing business, the fewer dollars trickle down to the midlist writers. The writers who fill the shelves and have devoted followings, just not in the millions. The writers who are the backbone of the business. Not everyone wants to read Hillary Clinton's book, paid for with a huge advance. A seriously dedicated group will always run right past the displays in the front of the store for the mystery section or any other genre buried in the back corner to see if there's a new gem from ____________. (Fill in the blank with any name.) As publishing pennies get pinched, these books will disappear. Didn't sell enough, will be the reason. The truth is, the print run was tiny to begin, and no money went into publicity. Do we want our reading dictated by money paid to "names?" Hmmm. Kinda similar to the situation in the Nationwide series, n'est-ce pas?

Spring, Writers, and Distractions

The forsythia has finally dotted my yard with its brilliant yellow blooms, the daffodils are hanging in there despite a high wind, and I do declare, the red buds are out. Yeah! There's hope!

This time of year is dangerous for a writer. I have a ton of work - rewrites, new stuff - to do, but outside my office window the yard is singing its siren song. (How's that for alliteration, LOL?) I want to move some plants, dig up a couple of Lelands that are thoroughly dead, and generally play with dirt. Keeping my fanny in my desk chair is taking a ton of will power. We'll see how long it lasts...

I've been thinking about writers and communities. Many of us seek out others who are like us - buried in story ideas we barely have time to sketch onto note cards before another plot pops into our heads. It's crazy, living in your mind with fictional people, for hours every day. Crawling out of our manuscripts takes time and planning, and is perhaps the hardest thing we do for ourselves. My husband knows when the writing hasn't gone well that day, and is a smart enough man to say encouraging words and commiserate with complete sincerity. His creative streak understands mine, which is why we've been married many a year now, I'm sure.

Talking with other writers never fails to energize me. Creative people "get"it. The dichotomy between the non-crazies (people who live normal lives) and those of us who are a bit "touched," as we say in the South, never fails to surprise me. It's reached the point where I try NOT to tell people what I do whenever I'm asked in a social setting. Either I get a glazed look like "are you lying?" to "have you ever published anything? No, really, I mean anything good" to "why would you want to do that?" and "I read some dirty words you wrote, how could you?" (Well, it wasn't ME, it was the fictional character, and it was part of who she was, you idjit!) That's my rant for the day, and no, not anyone can write a book. How many wannabes have started chapter 1, only to crash and burn by page twenty? You can't imagine.

By way of distraction (and there are many besides my yard, my children, and my beloved), I've become hooked on a NASCAR blog dedicated to analyzing television coverage of the sport. www.dalyplanet.blogspot.com hosts a dedicated group of racing fans who aren't afraid to speak up about what they like and don't like on Speed TV and ESPN, not to mention Fox and TNT. It's like having a heated discussion with people who pay attention to how the sport is covered. It has certainly opened my eyes to another world about which I knew nothing. Imagine programming execs paying attention to what the great unwashed masses want? Miracles do happen, it seems.

Since this is the season of miracles, Happy Easter to one and all.

Not Talking about It

Cheating, the encore. I started to rant and rave about the governor of New York and his poor, beaten-looking wife ("Honey, I need you to put on your sincere suit and your good pearls and back me up when I confess, because I got caught by the Feds, to paying for high-priced hookers."), but it's just too ugly. Too sad. I hope spouses everywhere learned a lesson from this. You can't hide evil. It will be exposed.

I'm working on something new, while I still fiddle with rewrites on LOLA and DARKROOM. For once, I'm working off a theme and not the characters. It's a futuristic story and in it, lawyers are hired gladiators. Reaching age 30 is unheard-of. The characters came to me fully clothed, living, and breathing, but the theme spoke even more clearly. I've always been impressed by Barbara Kingsolver's approach to her books - she starts with the theme and builds a story around it. Never was able to do that myself. But I'm writing that way now, and it's happening. The proof, as they say, will be in the pudding, if I can sustain the story this way. It's fun so far.

The Golden Oars mystery, the first in a series my good friend Kat Jorgensen and I are writing, is drawing to a close. We have way too many pages, a ton of good stuff we'll have to cut, but that's the nice part about planning a series. We can use the goodies in another book. The four crime-fighting middle-aged to octogenarian members of an all-women crew team turned out to be both funny and poignant. We love them, and hope to find them a good home. (As in publishing house, not retirement, LOL.)

Cheating and The Clean Cut Kid

Carl Edwards, he of the super abs, aw-shucks grin, sparkly white teeth, and on-the-surface-sunny attitude towards life, has been docked 100 points, lost his crew chief for six races, and seen a hundred grand fine levied against Bob Osborne, his crew chief. Jack Roush, the Cat in the Hat, lost a hundred owner points, plus his driver, Carl, had the ten extra win-points for smashing the field in California last weekend ground down the dispose-all. NASCAR is proving it's made of stern stuff, a refrain that has been heard a lot since Daytona 2007. Was the penalty appropriate for a lid missing off an oil tank in the #99 car? Hmmm. Roush's guys say the bolt that held it down came off, as did the lid. Accident. No harm. No foul. Roush's Geoff Smith says NASCAR is cutting off hands for stealing a penny. Rusty Wallace on ESPN's Nascar Now agrees -says it wouldn't help the car's on-track performance a bit to have a missing lid.

Then why was a photo of the car, with a backflipping Carl in Victory Lane, circulated by email around the NASCAR garages? The picture clearly showed the missing lid, and the crew chiefs and car chiefs all knew what that meant. Only Toyota has given specifics, because it tested, in Germany, a car with the lid missing, and got about 170 lbs. more of downforce. And downforce means a faster car with better handling. It'll stick like glue to the track and go where the driver steers it.

Did Osborne think NASCAR wouldn't notice the missing lid? Not care? How can anyone be so clueless and be a crew chief? This sort of thing doesn't help Carl Edwards a bit. A lot of fans still remember his on-camera act when he threatened Matt Kenseth last fall in Martinsville. The good ole Missouri boy morphed into a snarling, fist-pumping jerk. Maybe he was having a bad day (well, duh, yeah!), but don't act like the Hulk in front of a camera with a Speed reporter holding a microphone in Kenseth's face. You're bound to get caught. And he did.

And so did Bob Osborne. Play it straight, guys. Cheating isn't the right way to win. NASCAR has taught that lesson over and over - when will you get it? My parents taught me that lesson at a very young age, and I've never forgotten it.

The Black Screen of Death

Many computers and I have traveled these perilous roads of the Internet together. Starting way,way back when Dells were user-friendly and WP was the word processor that came with them, I've been present at the slow demise of too many of these incredible and totally mysterious creatures. They hiccup, they cough, they slow down, they slowly grind themselves up in the morning, until I give up. Sending them to the attic, the boneyard of dead computers, happens when I just can't figure out why they aren't working like they used to, and I've spent too much money on experts who can't tell me either.

The HP laptop from hell gave me no warning. Not a blip on the screen. I was writing away, (thanking my lucky stars I'd just backed up the last half hour of work on the jump drive) when the screen flipped to darkest black. Outer space, no stars, no galaxies, blackblack. This is the same laptop that, when it came out of the box two years ago, dropped keys, and HP told me it was "user error" and they wouldn't replace the keyboard unless I paid them big bucks. Stellar customer service. I should have known it was an omen. But for two years, I've written books, downloaded to my itunes, and ignored the HP's failings. And this is how it pays me back.

Of course I didn't have everything backed up. The HP is at the shop now, and if my guru can't get stuff off the hard drive, I'm sunk. Into the deep. No air tanks. The latest version of LOLA, which I've been rewriting over and over to get it right, isn't on the jump drive. I know, I checked. I deserve what I get for being so stupid, but sheesh...I never expected an instantaneous black screen of death.

I think I'll work on taxes. That should make my day complete.

On another grumpy note, I have to say, I hated the movie that won the Oscar for Best Picture. It's the only movie last year I wanted to leave before it was over. No hero's journey, nothing redeeming, nothing but unremitting violence that exceeded even my pretty tolerant limit.

I should go back to bed and pull the covers over my head, LOL.

Been a while...

I guess I've been basking in the joy of the start of a new racing season, which is a pretty lame excuse for not posting. Still, Daytona was a good race. Not the heartbreaking ending last year, when Harvick nosed out Mark Martin, but no complaints here. Kinda ironic that Kurt Busch pushed Newman past Tony Stewart, given their contretemps earlier in the week and subsequent trip The Hauler Where Bad Boy Racers Go.

It's almost that time again!






Yes, I can almost feel the stands trembling, hear the engines roar (tho the COT just doesn't sound the same, sigh), smell the exhaust fumes. Daytona's Bud Pole Shootout is this Saturday, and starts the new year of NASCAR racing. I'm psyched. Even though Ward Burton doesn't have a ride, I'm ready to roll. We're not going this year - other obligations have intervened - but at least we did FanFest in January with the testing as a bonus. I'll be pulling for all the underdogs - Ken Schrader in BAM's car, David Reutimann (go David!), and for Boris Said to get the pole. He deserves it, after losing it last July to a thunderstorm that forced qualifying to wash out with him sitting on the pole. Being outside the owner's points meant he had to go home after a lightning fast qualifying run earlier in the day. Bummer, she said.


So, I finally figured out this digital camera. Can't seem to make the video I did while running the Daytona track work except on my computer, so it's not going to show up. Believe me when I tell you, the track is bumpy like crazy around turns one and two. A real rollercoaster. At a measly 120 mph in a standard Impala SS (very cool car), my stomach hit the roof of my mouth. Add about 70 mph more, and I'll bet it's downright scary for those of us with common sense and no death wish. The guys out there driving those speeds probably think it's a ton of fun. And that's why they earn the big bucks.


I'll post pictures of the track and fanfest - you might be able to pick out Robbie Gordon, Jimmie Johnson, Casey Mears, Carl Edwards, David Reutimann, and Greg Biffle. It was night, so lighting was minimalist. I have another batch of pictures with Jeff Gordon, Juan Montoya, Reed Sorenson, and Jacques Villeneuve, which I'll try to post later.
On a writing note, 22 pages yesterday! Yes!!

The Ghost and Mrs. Muir

Oh my oh my - just by chance, I stumbled upon The Ghost and Mrs. Muir on TCM the other Sunday, just before the Super Bowl. I was in the throes of pulling together a big bowl of homemade potato salad, needed more sour cream, the grocery store was a nightmare, and feeling generally tired of the whole Big Game Party scene, when I saw that the movie was starting. Grabbing my hubby, who only remembered the TV series (which I never saw), I plunked him down beside me to watch. I've never forgotten seeing the flick on TV when I was about 13, I guess - it was instant adoration. Gene Tierney was lovely, Rex Harrison sexy, and a ghost story to boot - what else could a girl want? That was all I remembered, and watching it again lo these many years later, I had to laugh. Looking back while enjoying the movie all over again, I know what caught my fancy all those years ago - the notion that one could write a book, walk into a publisher's office, and leave three hours later with a contract and advance large enough to buy a house overlooking the sea. Plus, it was an impossible love story. If only I'd known when I was 13 what I know now, LOL, about publishing and writing. However, this time around I noticed the witty dialogue, how it defined the characters so clearly, and how much I miss that sort of art in newer movies. Next thing you know, I'll be sounding like an old fogey! Oh, and the lighting - just perfection. If you get a chance, watch it.

On a literary note, Leigh Wyndfield has a book launching today. SECRET OBSESSION is marvelous - I read it in draft mode and was sucked into the very original romance to such an extent, I remember it vividly a year later. Set on an island off the Outer Banks of North Carolina, it has a setting and characters you don't see in romances today, especially the sexier ones. This one has just the right amount of hot for those of you who like your romances that way. I highly recommend it.

The Moon of Lost Objects Found

I have no idea what to title this post. I've been up to my eyeballs in edits (Lord help me), alternately turning up the thermostat, then turning it down, practically running through my morning (now afternoon because I mistakenly believe it's warmer outside) walk (it's still cold out there!), working on tax stuff (not really, but I know where the box is with the receipts, LOL), and finding lost objects. I'm not kidding - came home from Florida, and couldn't find a darned thing, including my house keys and my fav bedroom slippers. Now, however, they're all accounted for, including a pendant for a necklace I misplaced years ago. I'd assumed it had been vacuumed up long before this. I guess I can name January "The Moon of Lost Objects Found." Been reading the books I have to judge for the RITA award. Interesting batch. Watching Gordon Ramsey bully restaurateurs into being better businessmen, and realizing that we artistic types don't like the business side of what we produce. Well, I do, but I think I'm probably the exception. My daughter the foodie turned me on to Ramsey, who I initially thought was a foul-mouthed bully, but I'm beginning to see the method in his madness. Personally, I'd do him bodily harm if he talked to me "that" way, but he has a knack for exposing the lazy, the arrogantly foolish, and the poseurs for what they are.

Ah, I now know what to title this short entry! I keep telling myself, the daffodils are coming, the daffodils are coming. . . .

Daytona Testing and Sun

We're back - some of us are more sunburned than others, but the good news is, we soaked up rays and watched the COT testing at Daytona until we were about to OD. Fanfest was a hoot - Gordon (both Robbie and Jeff) kidding around on a stage, Jimmie Johnson complaining he spent too much time on the couch stuffing his face over the break, and David Reutimann wishing plaintively he were in the top 35 and had the guaranteed car problems and that was all. Mark Martin looking like a munchkin with a big grin. It was all good.

Confession time: I goofed off. Read some of my TBR pile, including a stack of Sue Grafton I've been saving. It felt like eating Schwan's ice cream non-stop - but boy howdy, was it fun to do nothing but read someone else's work. I think I managed to turn off my inner-editor at least part of the time, LOL.

Will post some pictures once I figure out how to upload them from the camera I received this Christmas. My children were tired of being the officially designated Nascar photographers, so they insisted I learn to do digital. I guess it's time...

Farewell, O Christmas Tree, Hello, Daytona!

The Frasier fir dribbled needles, although with an amazing paucity, as it exited the house today. Lights are down, boxes of ornaments packed with a semblance of care, and the pine roping thrown into the go-to-the-dump pile. Christmas is officially over!

Which leads into the next great adventure, Daytona. We're heading down thataway for Sprint Cup testing and Fanfest, which we've never attended before. The truth is, these white legs need a beach in the world's worst way, and if I can get them into some rays and see Nascar at the same time, it's all good.

All this post-Christmas cleaning has me tackling closets with a fierce determination to weed and toss. My youngest daughter says it's manuscript-avoidance, and she's probably right. A clean closet provides instant gratification, whereas the manuscript-that-never-ends ....well, doesn't. I may have to kill off all the characters to find some closure!

Here's wishing everyone a great and peaceful New Year. I'm reading Barbara Kingsolver's ANIMAL, VEGETABLE, MIRACLE and feeling an environmental shake-down coming up, along with the clean-closet mania. Oh, and the new bio of Sam Ervin. Good books both. Happy reading in 2008!

December is almost over?

AARGH! How did that happen? I look up, and it's almost Christmas. Sheesh, give a girl a break!

The munchkins are home and the old Scrabble board is getting a good workout. They've become cutthroat players. Gone are the days when I let them win - now I'm fighting for my life, LOL! All the gifts are wrapped and mailed, the tree gets decorated tonight (a live Fraser, of course), and a red velvet cake is in the oven. Life is good.

Now if I could just find time to finish some proof-reading. I declare, I just don't have the patience for proofing. Even reading backwards doesn't help. Each time I look at a page I've finished, there's another typo. Heaven help me. Does Santa deliver proofreading gift certificates?

Gave myself a gift and read Barbara Kingsolver's ANIMAL DREAMS. I may have read it a long time ago, I've forgotten, but what a wonderful book. Her PRODIGAL SUMMER ranks up there as one of my favorites on the Keeper Shelf, and ANIMAL DREAMS belongs with it.

Only sixty-someodd days until Daytona and racin' starts again. Hanging on by my fingernails.

Thanksgiving and gratitude

I'd love to thank each and every person who has written me about enjoying the Tal Jefferson mysteries. You'll never know how much it means to a writer to hear she's entertained someone who picked up her book and couldn't put it down.

The Golden Oars mystery is moving along, despite the holiday and beautiful weather just begging for me to work in the yard. A pivotal scene worked its way onto the hard drive just today, and I'm tickled pink with it. Of course, I'm just trying to keep up with Kat Jorgensen's output. She's one chapter ahead of me, I think, so I'd better keep myself in gear and the engine running.

Have a happy and thankful Thanksgiving, and know that I, like most writers, appreciate each and every reader. What a great bunch of folks, to put it mildly.

Eighty-nine days and counting

Until Daytona. No, not the Cup race. I hate the COT, now the full-time, boring ride that makes the Cup chase an IROC race. At least IROC pitted champions from all kinds of racing against each other, which made for some excitement. Me, I'll be going truck racin'. Yep, the series where the Old Dogs like Skinner, Sprague, and Hornaday drive like demons, and the youngsters like Chad McCumbee try to figure it all out. NASCAR Cup has become the vanilla pudding of racing for me. I'll keep my season tickets for a while longer, but only because it's fun to meet the fans in the parking lot where we all tailgate and chat, swapping hamburgers and favorite race stories. I have a feeling the COT edict is driving out the nuts-and-bolts men like Robert Yates and Ray Evernham. Creativity isn't allowed, and technical edges are squelched by NASCAR faster than you can say "suspension." It's sad. Money men will run the teams and bring in drivers based on demographics and marketing (can we all say Jacques Villeneuve and Patrick Carpentier, oh, and Juan Montoya...), not guts and sheer talent. Where's Danny O'Quinn, Busch series Rookie of the Year in 2006? Todd Kleuver, former protege of Mark Martin? Only Joey Lagano is getting a free pass, and that's because he's so talented, the Powers that Be can't ignore the kid. Plus, he already has a lucrative marketing deal in place.

Sounds a little like the publishing business, doesn't it? Marketing can make or break an author so fast it isn't funny. Thousands of books pour into the box stores, and how many get that fancy, eye-catching set-up as you walk in the front door? Sure, I know publishers pay for that square footage, but who gets to be the chosen one? No matter how great your book, if you don't have marketing behind you, bonne chance. It's the same in racing - your sponsor's money puts you in the best equipment, if you have a good one like Budweiser writing the checks. The #4 car has State Water Heaters on its hood. I can only imagine the disparity in dollars. It's the same with a book that hits the market. Remember that the next time you pick up the first book that catches your eyes as you enter the bookstore. Marketing money paid to put it there. Take time to head for the back racks where everything is spine-out, and check out a few of them. I think you'll be surprised at how wonderful those non-supported books are.

The munchkins are home for the holiday, buried in homework and theses, which keep them glued to their laptops writing. Wish I could say the same. I need to finish The Golden Oars with my buddy, Kat Jorgensen, before the end of the year, our self-imposed deadline.

HoHumTheChaseisGone

Boring, boring, boring - Phoenix wasn't a bad race, but the coverage was. ESPN shows only the 48 and 24 cars, and let me tell you, there was a whole heck of a lot more going on deeper in the field than they covered. Want to know why ratings are down for the Chase? It's the coverage, the boring, blah announcers, and no new stories. There's one in Joe Nemechek's contract to driver for the team that dumped Kenny Wallace - there's another one in David Ragan's car control when he almost spun out - and a good one in Aric Amirola's jump into the 01 car. Do we hear them? Naw, we get more gushing about how Knaus has figured out the right setups for the COT. I doubt I'll even tune in to see Homestead. This is just sad.

Spent Saturday at a Michael Hauge workshop in Maryland. I love to hear how other people analyze stories and how to make them better, and Hauge delivered. When I finally got how he was using his buzz words, things clicked. My new hero had been bothering me because I knew he was missing a crucial element, I just didn't know what. After Saturday, I know. He's now a complete person in my head, just in the nick of time. If Hauge comes anywhere near you, and you want to look at your work from a different angle, GO hear him talk! Many thanks to the WRW chapter that put on the program and ran it beautifully. More thanks to my travel buddies and partners in crime, Kat Jorgensen, Carolyn Greene, and Day LeClaire. We're a wicked team, LOL.

Of Martinsville, Mice, and Men

It's taken me a while to get back to the blog world because we've been on a pilgrimage. Don't laugh when I admit it was to race tracks. After Martinsville, and dropping the munchkins back at their respective schools, we loaded up the truck and decided against going home. So we wandered through Southwest Virginia, stopping at Morgan-McClure's headquarters (home of my fav driver, Ward Burton) in Abingdon, and then from there, farther into Tennessee to Bristol Motor Speedway. The leaves were lovely, despite the drought, and we stopped along the way whenever we felt like it.

Bristol feels like a Roman coliseum. The high seats, the small, short track (just a hair over half a mile) and the steep banks (up to 34 degrees) echo, even without the sellout crowds of 160,000, of screaming engines. As I tried to walk up the banking on the concrete track, all I could think was that it takes steel cojones to drive on that track. I wouldn't even try to rollerskate it.

The Martinsville race was a bit of a let-down. By now, I should stop complaining about the Car of Tomorrow (now the Car of Today), but it seems to me that the racing just isn't as wild on the short tracks like Martinsville and Richmond. It's kinda like when your favorite driver switches genres, and you're holding his or her newest book, going "what happened?" I remember vividly when David Morrell did that to me - went from westerns to Brotherhood of the Rose. The great part about Martinsville is that Ward made the race, the hot dogs are still bright pink, and the weather was perfect for racin'. The bad part happened after the race.

Carl Edwards didn't like something that happened on the track with his teammate, Matt Kenseth, and he went after him while Matt was being interviewed by Speed. The look on Carl's face, even though he wore sunglasses, was ugly. Shoving Matt around, he started to walk away, then swirled and raised a closed fist and thrust it in Matt's direction, pulling back just before connecting with Matt's chin. For those of you who don't follow Nascar, Edwards is buff. Built like a prizefighter. Matt is smaller and definitely not buff.

I've liked Carl. Admired his gusty driving. But the "incident" turned me off, big time. Battered women and abused children have seen that "look" before, as well as the bullying threat with a closed fist. In Virginia, it's against the law to lay hands on someone like that. It's called assault. Carl could scream at Matt all he wanted, and that's okay with me. Beat and bang away on the track. That's Nascar. But shoving and closed fists aren't okay. Carl deserves a hefty fine and probation. What he did in front of the cameras was not only stupid and illegal, it was also cowardly. Picking on someone smaller than you is for mice, not men.

Writing and Vogue Patterns

I've been reading what other writers have to say about maintaining sanity in a world where we who live in our minds are considered a bit ...odd. Exercise works for me - my two mile walk in the morning is more of a plotting session than a physical workout. Getting out into the real world helps - I do my share of volunteer gigs, teaching Sunday School, etc., but I need other forms of creativity to keep my brain cells perking. Recently, I re-discovered how much I love to sew.

I've sewn all my life. I know - it's an old-fashioned deal, but I was raised by women who could whip out a Vogue pattern in hours. Fabrics, their colors, their weight, how they mesh, how they will drape, all attract me. I wandered through a fabric store (a dying breed, I fear) the other day, fingering bolt upon bolt of fabric before I found the right one for a new pattern I want to try. Before the project was done, I'd adjusted the pattern, substituted my own ideas, and voila, produced a blouse that wasn't boring, didn't look as if it had been churned out in a sweatshop somewhere, and fit.

Even better, I'd thought about where to take this new book I'm playing with. Working with my hands frees my thoughts, and even though I'm paying attention to what I'm doing as my trusty Husquervarna runs like a Hendrick engine through layers of cloth, I'm living with my new characters. Talking to them. Listening as they lecture me. The conversation felt as productive as if I'd spent hours spent in my yard, planting, pruning and weeding. Plus, I didn't sweat as much, LOL.

My creative well is now swathed in some very nice lightweight wool and a lovely silk, and feeling quite full, thank you very much.