The Perfect Knife

Back in the days when you could buy old quilts at estate auctions for change, I would hang out at those held at old farms. Sometimes I scored a really wonderful quilt, which I would repair and hang on the wall of our house with 12' ceilings. Researching the fabrics and designs was fun, and I would make up stories about the women who pieced these lovelies. My more modern house doesn't have the ceiling height the Ohio Stars and Drunkard's Paths require for proper display, so most of them have been carefully packed away. However, at one old farmhouse, I felt compelled to bid on a kitchen knife as well, and its use continues today, at least 25 years later.

The kitchen floors in this white frame house curled with old linoleum, the enamel table in the center of the room showed rust spots under the crackling, and every pot and pan was up for sale. This one knife, with a smooth old wooden handle and an "s" curve of a blade from years of being sharpened, had clearly been a favorite. I bought it. It reposes next to the fancy knifes with shiny blades in my kitchen, and if I don't dry it quickly, rust skims its surface, but I love that knife. It's light, well-balanced, and razor sharp when I get its blade done just right. Every time I pick it up in lieu of one of the new knives, I feel its age and know that this knife, clearly homemade, served its owner well for many years, and me for many more.

One day, one of my children will be gifted with this knife. I feel as if I must pass on its secrets, its story, until its blade shatters into nothingness as it slices one last Hanover tomato. If only I knew what it had to tell me. Mostly, I make up my own tales for it. That's good enough for me.

Home at Last

Phew. Loved NYC with my mate. Spent a whole day at the Metropolitan Museum, replenishing my art history well. Artifacts from Afghanistan was a stellar exhibition. I grew up in part of the Middle East, and this display was among one of the best I've seen. Beautifully curated.

Caught some musicals, but our fav production was "Mary Stuart," which has some spectacular staging and great acting. The scene where it rains on stage was amazing. I kept wondering where all that water was going to go, and it just puddled right there on the stage for at least fifteen minutes as everyone got soaked. Found the men wearing business suits, while the women wore Elizabethan dresses, a bit odd. Simple set, effectively lit, and the costumes played along with the change in light colors - plain black, black and gold, etc.

Shows what great acting can do - my beloved was a total Mary Stuart fan, while I thought the play's weight went to Elizabeth I. She got my sympathy. Two great actresses for the price of one ticket. Wow.

The only disconcerting part of the vacation was that our hotel was overrun with painfully thin young teenagers wearing too much makeup, skimpy clothes, and deadly high heels, all pretending they were older than they were. Some kind of modeling competition was going on. I wanted to grab those girls, wash their faces, and tell them to get out of those tacky, trashy clothes. What are we doing to kids that they think this is beauty? At their age, I was wearing jeans and jodhpurs, had smashed helmet-hair from my riding helmet, and was mucking out stalls every day. No makeup. I sure didn't worry about how I looked, LOL. Now my horse, that was another matter. She had to look great, and she did. I even did French braids on her tail. I feel so sorry for those girls at the Sheraton. And I wonder where their parents are, and why they're allowing this?

Back to work. My mind isn't focusing yet on SIGNS ,but I can whip it back into shape. I'd better. . .

Self-healing Websites

Well, it did its thing and got itself up and running again. Good thing, since I was in the complete dark. I really need to get better educated here about Web stuff.

Missing RWA in D. C. this year so I can take a trip to NYC with my beloved. We'll see some shows, get to the museums, and eat good food. Our twenty-fifth anniversary was earlier this year, and we decided to do something every month to celebrate. I'm enjoying this year-long party! It's been a fast twenty-five years, that's for sure.

Talked via Skype with Guatemala Girl, alias Daughter #2, and she's in love with the country. She'll be heading for Belize and Mexico soon, so that means she'll be home in about a month. We miss her. Then she's off to school again for her fourth year of architecture. Two more years, and she'll be ready to take her licensing exam! Hard to believe.

Web Site down

Don't know the root of the problem, but my web site seems to be down. Just in case anyone is lookin' . . .

Watched Michael Waltrip Racing's announcement of MW's retirement (semi) and replacement by Martin Truex Jr. Good move for all parties, but boy howdy, will I miss seeing MW at the track every weekend. At least he'll be in the 52nd running of the Daytona 500 next February.

Now to find out what's wrong with the web site. Oh goody.

Post-Fourth Recuperation

So, the racing Saturday night was stellar. The top five cars made a night of it until the last lap. I'm sure Kyle Busch isn't happy, nor is Kasey Kahne or JoeyLogano, all of whom got a piece of the #18 car as it flipped from hitting the wall just before the finish line, but that's what you get with restrictor plate racing and the "don't pass below the yellow line" rule. I'm sorry, but Nascar is nuts. Before this written-in-stone rule, drivers understood that the yellow line was fair game on the last lap, and used it until Talladega last year when Regan Smith got robbed of his win because he chose not to block and wreck Stewart coming to the checkered flag and dipped below the line. Last Saturday, Stewart blocked and wrecked KyBu. Same thing at the last Talladega race, when Edwards went airborne. When will Nascar reconsider the yellow line rule? Restrictor plate racing is dangerous enough, and 'Dega and Daytona will continue to have last-lap wreck-fests if something isn't done. No one wants to see fans or drivers hurt.

Watched "Independence Day," a Fourth of July tradition in our house. Its pacing is perfect -lots of slam-bang action with enough lulls for the viewer to catch a breath or two. Ate potato salad and deviled eggs, another tradition, and hunkered down for the Daytona 400 and its fireworks display. Having been there in '06 when Stewart last won this race, and watched the subsequent magnificent fireworks the track provides, I look forward to seeing them on TV every year.

Cali-the-puppy still thinks she's a lap dog, although she' getting close to 30 lbs, I'd guess. She enjoys movie night and trying to fit onto her daddy's lap. He always wanted a lap cat, now he has a semi-lap dog. We laugh uncontrollably when she starts snoring.

Taking a break from SIGNS. I'm so happy to be back with these people.

Redecorating and Lost Days

When my beloved changed the ceiling fan in our bedroom, he initiated an avalanche of redecorating. Nothing like a new, shiny white fan to prompt repainting the ceiling. Then the walls, of course. And since they went from yellow to White Chocolate, that means new curtains, bedspread, headboard, dust ruffle, valances. . . you get the picture. The worst part was having to dig out the drawers so I could paint furniture. I decided to go for the beachy look, and it didn't take long to decide that the furniture all needs to be painted beachy colors. Now I've found my box of antique lace, I'm making new pillow covers and . . . . again, it's pretty clear I've sunk into the morass of redecorating. Since we get into a major overhaul only every ten years or so, it's worth the time to have something new and bright to admire, but sheesh, is it a lot of work!

The worst part is, I look up and it's already five o'clock, I'm whipped, and I haven't written a single solitary word. This has gotta stop, or I'll be a cranky woman. No writing makes me want to run screaming into the street, and since the neighbors think I'm a little odd anyway, I'll have to get some writing done before I confirm their worst suspicions.

And Daytona is this weekend, which means very very little will get done on SIGNS. Not gonna miss Daytona!

Oh, and the shoe count continues. Add my good black high heels, the ones I can actually wear without falling on my face, to the pile of dead leather that Cali has decided are her new toys. Maybe this is God's way of telling me I don't have to ever wear high heels again. Hmmm, I think I like that explanation.

Books and Shoes

I admit, I love shoes. Always have. So does the new puppy. Have no idea how she wiggled her way into the closet, but the blue Timberlands are now doggie toys. Sigh. Good thing she's cuter than cute.

Reread SILENCE AND SHADOWS by James Long. It holds up well, and this time around, I realized I like it the way I like Pat Murphy's FALLING WOMAN. The use of dual time frames, each separated by hundreds of years, yet paralleling the current story, sucks me in without fail. I'm also a sucker for archaeologist heroes/heroines. I had visions once of digging in the dirt and discovering a lost civilization, until the reality of filthy hair, no showers, sleeping bags, and tents (save me!) sank in. I'm a room service kinda girl, I fear. Although the bugs wouldn't bother me a bit. Just so you don't think I'm a total wimp, I did battle tonight with a tick from the garden (the gardenias are so laden, I pick handfuls every day), and I won.

Painting the bedroom sucks up time I don't have. Gotta finish the woodwork so I can restore order and calm to the oasis. The chaos of furniture under tarps, light switches removed, etc., always gets me. My beloved has done the hard part - the ceiling - so I drew mullion-duty. Ick. Back to my itty bitty paint brush.

What's Going On?

Hoped to see the shuttle launch, but it was scrubbed early yesterday morning for a gas leak problem. Isn't it odd, that after so many years and so many launches, problems arise that stump the brilliant ones who know what they're doing with those rockets? We saw one a few years back - all smoke and noise, incredible shaking and rumbling - and I, for one, can't help but wonder why only seven more launches remain on the schedule. The Russians are taking over for us, aren't they? That's what I hear - and again, I wonder. What the heck is going on with our space program? I still remember the thrill of hearing that an American landed on the moon. My generational bias may be showing - I thought we were the best at this business, once upon a time.

Maybe when all the US publishers are ruled by corporations with headquarters in Berlin, Moscow, and Beijing, we'll wonder what happened there, too. So much for publishing houses in the US of A....

My sunburned back is probably affecting my mood - considering I put on sunscreen, I'm really ticked. Wait, maybe I'd better check where it was manufactured before I start complaining about its lack of efficacy. . .

Carl Long Racing Needs Help

Although I try to hide the fact I'm a lawyer, albeit retired, sometimes I want to get back in the game so badly it hurts. Especially when I see someone getting kicked around unfairly. Unfortunately, there's not much I, or any other lawyer, can do to help Carl Long with his Nascar penalty of $200,000 in fines for him, and $200,000 in fines for his crew chief. His Ernie Elliot engine, rebuilt after being excessed from the defunct Chip Ganassi garage, was .17 off the mandated measurement. This was after it had blown up, too, and was never used in a race. A non-points race, I might add.

Long and his crew chief are part-timers, racing when they can scrape up the money and equipment. These fines effectively put them out of business, and since there's a 12 race suspension as well, Long can't work his job with Front Row Motorsports in the Spring Cup garage. So long to earning a living.

I went to www.carl-long.com and donated a few dollars. If every fan of the underdog racer did the same, just $5, and 40,000 of us did it, we'd have his fine covered. Make it $10 each (lunch at McD's, for heaven's sake!), and he and his crew chief will be in the clear money-wise. Don't let the nitwits at Na$car win this one. Racing isn't supposed to be about kicking the little guy because you can. It's about beatin' and bangin' on the track. I'm going to vote with my dollars and boycott all official Na$car merchandise this year. If I'd buy a T-shirt or a pin, even a cap, at a track, I won't. Those dollars are going to Carl Long Racing.

Un-Twittered

The good news is, I figured out how to get rid of the Twitter garbage on this page.  The bad news is, the prior post now makes no sense.

However, I'm a happier camper.  After six chapters of SIGNS, I realized I didn't like my hero's name. Normally, characters come to me already named, but when they don't, it's pretty much a mess.  Today I bit the proverbial bullet and played with names.  One fit. Thank goodness.  The first name sounded like a prig, and he's not. He's a good ole boy who fixes cars and plays the fiddle.

Uhhh... All a-Twitter?

I had absolutely no idea every time I posted a Twitter, it would show up on the sidebar for this blog. None. It's a bit embarrassing, since I've been posting to see if I'm getting the thing done right. A lot of it mystifies me, and the fact my tech-savvy kid can't help throws me. She's a die-hard face-booker, and thinks Twitter for the birds. Literally.

Been writing in between getting in my other daughter's way as she packed to go to Guatemala. She should be there by now, so we're waiting to hear what she thinks. She's designing a meeting building for the Highlands Project, so she packed mostly architectural supplies. Hope she has enough clothes, but I doubt it. Getting a level, plumb, and design supplies in the duffle bag was more important.

Been skipping through some books I hoped to enjoy. Not a one caught my fancy. Bummer. Won't name them, as most are NYT bestsellers. In fact, I found the lot to be boring and very same-ish. Yikes. I need to read some Jane Austen to cleanse my brain cells of this cynicism.

The new puppy has been re-christened Calamity Jane, or Cali for short. It fit better on her name tag than Callie. Calamity is more descriptive. I won't go into the depths of her destructiveness, because she's really a very sweet dog, but I'm exhausted from trying to keep her amused so she won't eat every shoe in the house. Or turn over every trashcan. Or chew up every newspaper and book. Or eat every bed skirt...you get the picture. We've bought bones, Mr. Squeeks, chew toys, you name it. Nothing is as good as a sneaker, evidently. One she dragged from the closed closet, no less. The girl has talent.

Wicked

Wicked good, as the Brits say. It is the Brits, right? Anyway, my beloved and I trekked two hours down the road to see the roadshow of the Broadway hit, WICKED, and I have to say, it was stupendous. Marvelous sets, stunning costumes, wonderful lighting, super songs, and totally talented singers and dancers. The theater was packed, and I can see why. The musical's reputation is well deserved. If you get a chance to see a production near you, GO.

While I waited afterwards for the line into the ladies room to resemble something smaller than an infinite conga line, an usher and I discussed older musicals we loved. We agreed on West Side Story, South Pacific, and My Fair Lady, and of course, Camelot. Both of us could name some of the stars on Broadway in each, and then, we realized that those Broadway shows later became films. Nowadays, films (The Color Purple, Legally Blonde, Nine to Five, Billy Elliott) are going to Broadway. When did the trend reverse itself? And why? Is there a dearth of writers who are willing to slave on a Broadway production first? Or is the allure of Hollywood money and prestige trumping stage efforts? I imagine so, and who can blame the writers/songwriters? Millions of people go to the cinema, while fewer can get to Broadway.

Since one of my children has taken up a life on the stage, I've rediscovered the joys of live drama. The audience is physically connected to the actors by being in the same space with them, breathing the same air. In smaller theaters, we see them sweat, work, and strive to put the play's best foot forward. The audience becomes an extra character in the production. I love that feeling.

Speaking of extra characters, we have a new puppy. She came from a local rescue shelter for a foster care stay and has ended up as a permanent part of the family. It's a good thing she's charming, funny, and terribly smart. Our 16 year old cat is trying to train her to be civilized, but he has little patience these days for puppies, and who can blame him? He's a long-time dog lover, but Callie clearly has never been taught respect for her feline elders. She'll learn, even if it's the hard way.

Sad, Sad Days Ahead

As if the suicide of suspended Nascar Nationwide driver Kevin Grubb, found dead in a hotel room, isn't horrible enough, now Cup driver Jeremy Mayfield has been suspended from Nascar competition indefinitely because of a positive drug test. I'm crushed. Just as I was thinking Mayfield was getting his team on an upswing after his gutsy driving in the Richmond race, he not only doesn't make the Darlington field, but his suspension is announced an hour before race time. What a downer of a note on which to start what should have been a fun night race.

I'm not taking sides - Mayfield has an explanation, he alleges - and Nascar has made some colossal blunders, such as suspending Tim Richmond back in the '80s for taking Sudafed, and acting as if Mauricia Grant made up every little detail in her multi-million dollar sexual/racial harassment suit. Then they go and settle the suit to the obvious satisfaction of Ms. Grant, as well as firing two employees mentioned in the pleadings. As to Tim Richmond, it's a sad, sad story about the death of a very talented driver from AIDS, and it's clear Nascar didn't have any idea what was going on, except Richmond seemed to be very ill at times.

It's particularly annoying that Nascar won't say what drug they found in Mayfield's specimen, but I understand privacy concerns. It's up to Mayfield to work it out, and I hope if there's a problem, that it's faced squarely and handled appropriately, for his sake. Shane Hmiel has said he suffered from severe problems for years, and self-medicated to try to feel better. After his suspension, he found a treatment program that has helped him immensely, and I'm just grateful he didn't end up like Grubb. Truck driver Aaron Fike has also benefited from being discovered with a heroin addiction, and is, from what I read, well on the road to health. Good for them.

But it's still scary to think they raced while high. That's unacceptable any way you look at it.

Richmond: Start-and-Parkers

Although the weather played the rain-game off and on, it couldn't dampen the crowd's enthusiasm. Despite not selling out, the stands looked fairly full, and the parking lots sure were. Our tent was used by several tailgaters who forgot theirs,and we met some lovely people and had a nice time chatting during the off-and-on downpours. Friday night, we brought some Nascar-newcomers to the track, and I'm guessing new fans were born. Good racin' both nights. The entire weekend is a mini-vacation for us - we love the atmosphere, the camaraderie, and talking with people we'd never have met if we hadn't gone to the track.

A big shout-out to under-funded Jeremy Mayfield for his guts and stick-to-it-ness Saturday night in the Cup race. His car wasn't great - he was a back-fielder the whole night - but he kept pitting and working on it, and by golly, he finished the race in 35th place. (Ahead of Jimmie Johnson, I might add.) At least he was running. A handful of cars pulled into the pits after a few laps, clearly start-and-parkers. When the pit stall doesn't have one crewman or a single tire, you know they're not planning on racing. The economics of fielding a car are daunting - $250,000 for one race if you're going to do it right. There's no way the purse will cover those expenses, not if you tear up your lone car. I have a crazy idea. If Nascar insists on having 43 cars in the field, set up a S&P fund. It'll be used by those teams with more spirit than money, and allow them to at least buy tires to try and stay in the race.

A lot of writers are start-and-parkers. They rush into the first hundred pages with all kinds of enthusiasm, then reality sets in. There's not enough story, they haven't figured out where it needs to go, or the sheer labor of writing discourages them. While I don't believe in writer's block, I do believe in planning ahead so you don't run out of steam when you hit the first plot point. It's akin to having a crew, tires, and a crew chief in your pit stall. You need that backup, a plot, an outlines, characters planned ahead of the actual writing, to keep the car (oops, book) on the track.

'Dega

Yep, it was typical Talladega - wild racing, crazy wrecks, scary seconds as Carl Edwards hit the catch fence. I hope the people behind the fence are okay - they never had time to even cover their faces before Carl was heading for their laps. You can see the wreck video on nascar.com. Fox coverage of the post-race situation wasn't too stellar. The least they should have done is acknowledged there was a situation and offered to update the public whenever they were knowledgeable. A big congrats to Brad K., who was driving a James Finch car (with a Hendrick chassis and engine) that didn't even make the Daytona race in February. Nothing like beating your boss, Earnhardt Jr., at the track where he's a master!

The weather has heated up here in the South, well over ninety degrees F. The azaleas won't last long, but the dogwoods have held up for weeks so I can't complain. I'm on my gardening kick, per usual for this time of year, but with my book running full tilt boogie, I can't play in the dirt as much as I'd like.

Richmond race weekend coming up next! Can't wait. I'm so ready for a full weekend at the track.

Blackout

My daughter took this photo of some of her fellow architecture students. Since they're dressed in the stereotypical black that plagues the architectural profession, I thought it was a fun photo, expressing individuality despite the "uniform." I got a kick out of it.

New Beginnings

Without the huge old dogwood, nestled under the bracketing oaks, my front yard looks like a new place. The dogwood finally reached its end last fall, and we decided against replacing it immediately. I'm glad we waited. With new azaleas, hostas, and tulips planted where the dogwood once stood, that area catches my eye as it hasn't done it in years. We'd become comfortable with its prior arrangement, and the invisibility factor had set in. It was what it was. Not now. I'm constantly looking out the window to check out the new yard design and getting a kick out of it.

Starting a new story has the same effect upon me. I love the thrill of something fresh and different. I can't wait to see how it grows and what its final look will be.

Motivations

How important is it to a story for a character's motives to be spelled out completely, along with supporting scenes? Or are we willing to accept that people do things for no reason other than it seems like a good idea at the time? In real life, I think I accept that explanation. In a book, not so much.

What motivates people to do something extraordinary (think of the person who rushes into an inferno to save a stranger's life, with no thought of personal danger), as opposed to those who act in the smallest of ways with serious weighing of consequences before the first step? Confused? Yeah, me too. The worriers sometimes forget their fear and rush in where angels have to think twice. And sometimes, those we expect to be the most heroic, aren't. Degrees of heroism fascinate me. The little boy who shares his lunch with the outsider who can't make friends in the second grade is as big a hero in my book as the winner of the Medal of Honor. Well, maybe almost as much. I'm working on redefining my literary definition of hero these days.

April showers are upon us, along with a cool day that isn't feeling too spring-like to me. I'm ready for the sun and warm breezes! Mexico seems like ages ago (it was only a month!) but I'm ready to go back, LOL>

Amendments

I woke up this morning feeling guilty about a mild trashing I'd given a book in my previous post. I'd been led to believe the novel was better than it was, and to say I was disappointed is mild, especially since I paid for a hardback edition. However, I realized I'm not comfortable slamming, even mildly, anyone else's work. A book is your child, and when your child is criticized, it's awful. Hence, I removed the paragraph. The previous entry probably makes little sense because of that missing piece, but now you know why. So much for my life as a reviewer, LOL.

I'd much rather praise books. I have shelves of books I read over and over. WINTER RUN from Algonquin Press is one of those small gems. MONTANA 1948, another. FALLING WOMAN by Pat Murphy (yes, it's sci-fi, but so cool and perfectly paced) is in tatters on my keeper shelf. Anything by Mary Balogh, who knows how to write true emotion. Dick Francis for his perfectly imperfect heroes who are honorable above all else. I'll make a list one of these days and post it here.

A week without Cup racing. At least there's the Nationwide series this Saturday. After the UNC blowout last night, I'm ready for some baseball, LOL.

Tweaking Books and Race Cars

I didn't think the Texas race this past weekend was as bad as it looked on TV. With the cameras following the leaders, the viewer doesn't get the big picture. I have a feeling a ton of teams in mid-pack and back were working like demons in the pits to make their cars better. Would have loved to hear an interview with a crew chief like Bootie Barker. Plus, where's the Scott Speed interview? Wonder if he's ready to admit this Nascar deal is harder than he thought it would be?

Is Joey Lagano going to get bumped down to the Nationwide series? I doubt it. Gibbs likes the boy, and he has talent. Remember, Jeff Gordon smashed a ton of cars his rookie year. This year may be rough on driver and team, but Zippy will pull both together sooner rather than later. And how about Tony Stewart? You go, boy!


Which leads to another point about writing. When do you take critical advice, and when do you dump it? It takes guts to tell a seasoned editor/fellow writer to back off and leave your book alone. I'm a firm believer that "clear" eyes can read a rough draft and give you feedback about the next draft, but there comes a time when you have to take control of the book and be responsible for it as its author. I once had an editor who rewrote just about every sentence in a book. At first, I, being very green, thought "Okay, she knows what she's doing," until I realized, she was trying to rewrite my book in her style. At that point, I dug in my heels. Now, when I re-read that book (what a painful experience) I can tell where my paragraphs survived, and where she ruined it.

Tweaking. It can ruin a good race car and destroy a book that has the bones to be good.