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Archive for February, 2011

Link love

I am lucky to count some pretty awesome writing women among my friends, and it just so happens that three of them have news to share.

Vicki Pettersson, urban fantasy writer extraordinaire, has a shiny new website here. If you’re one of those people who likes to wait for a series to be complete before you start it, it’s time to get reading. The final installment of her NYT Bestselling Signs of the Zodiac series will be out at the end of May. Vicki’s one of the most focussed writers I know, an inspiration to anyone who struggles to put her butt in a chair and get to work. She’s amazing.

The lovely Rose Holck, writer, librarian, parent, and talented cocktail mixer, is eagerly awaiting the release of her first book in March, called Leavenworth. I happen to know she has author copies in her hot little hands already, and I’m thrilled for her. Her new website is here.

And finally, today, a book deal announcement from my friend Linda Grimes, here. Like Vicki and Rose, Linda put aside the book she’d poured her heart and soul into learning the craft and wrote the one that got her a book deal. Tough choice to put aside a book you’ve spent years with, even temporarily, but it worked for these three. Something to think about…

Congrats on the new sites and the new books, ladies!

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Ever felt strongly enough about something to write a letter to the people involved? We all have our causes, sure. But every once in awhile, I’m reminded of just how varied those can be.

One of the blogs I read from time to time is called Letters of Note. It’s a great place. Real letters, mostly to or from famous people, are posted there every day. Today, a few Muppet-themed letters went up, here: http://www.lettersofnote.com/2011/02/i-love-my-muppet-life.html

When I got to the last few in the bunch, I had to shake my head. There’s someone out there who can make an issue of just about anything.

Beware the Count. You have been warned.

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Housework philosophizing

It’s a dark, rainy Sunday afternoon here in the Lower Mainland of BC. There’s a separation of clouds and ground today, but only just. I’m pretty sure I could reach up and touch the heavy gray weight of the drippy masses from my rooftop.

It’s a perfect day for doing nothing, reading a good book, or even writing. I got away with the first for a couple of hours this morning, except for making waffles, but none of the rest is on the list today, sadly. Instead, it’s a catch-up, clean-up afternoon. Self-imposed for the most part, I suppose, but necessary.

The one good thing about having to do my own housework (and I may as well believe there’s at least one good thing about it, no?) is that it’s a good time to think. Vacuuming and cleaning bathrooms and loading the dishwasher occupy my hands, but not my thoughts. And so my mind is free to wander, to construct future scenes for the WIP, to daydream, to simply think about whatever comes to mind.

The silent philosophizing I get involved in while I’m folding laundry or cleaning the kitchen floor makes me wonder about the women, now and in generations gone by, who spend/spent the bulk of their time tending to their homes. I know the sort of stuff that goes on in my own mind when I’m alone, my hands occupied with a mindless household chore. So I wonder, what went – or goes – through theirs? What sorts of daydreams and arguments and solutions to the world’s problems present themselves when you spend your child’s entire school day in pursuit of household perfection? Is there a certain kind of zen peace in doing that day after day, or frustration that daydreams are the best adventures in a day-to-day life? Both, I imagine.

Household perfection will never be mine, I’m afraid. But a couple of hours here and there of daydreaming while I dust… that’s pretty much unavoidable. So I’d better get on with it.

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Disbelieving Camera

It’s January 27, technically the depths of winter here in the northern hemisphere. But as all Vancouverites know, unless we’re hit with something unseasonable, we’re almost ready to head into spring in our fair city, regardless of what the calendar claims. Sure, it’s chilly and damp out there, and it gets dark way too early. My poor fingers were stiff with cold by the time I got home from walking the dog and standing around the playground with my girl today. But my garden has pushed up the first evidence of the lush season to come. My phone camera refused to focus on it, for unknown reasons. Perhaps it couldn’t believe its lens?

(Edited to note that I neglected to submit this post, so it’s showing up a few days later than written. Sorry!)

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