One of my very favorite shops on Etsy has to be ForeverFall. Her dolls are so adorable I just want all of them. To quote her bio... "When I was a kid, I used to draw pictures of pumpkin towns where it was forever fall and the villagers celebrated this big on-going Halloween fest. I like to think that my works are items that could have been purchased at the markets in these make-believe towns." I just love that! The little quirky smiles they have on their faces, and their little attitudes just make me happy everytime I look at them. And the addition of the little ornaments in their hair is just so inventive. I'm smitten! The names of them are even more inventive. Do yourself a favor and take a look at her shop. You'll be glad you did.
Things always pile up when I leave, even for a few days. Bills to pay; dog hair to vacuum; house plants to water. Time to toss out some of the inadvertent experiments in biological warfare that were growing in the back of the refrigerator. Time to organize my receipts from travel in the hope that much of it is deductible; time to critique my students' latest assignments . . .
In my on-line house, it's time to post a new newsletter, time to complete a requested on-line interview for another blog, and, at long last, time to update my website -- about a year overdue.
My previous web mistress found herself overwhelmed with other obligations so now I have a new web mistress and she's already hard at work, sending me proposed looks for the various pages. It's going to be, I think, fresh looking and easier to read and navigate.
I hope to incorporate the DAY OF SMALL THINGS blog -- which was no more than a stop gap measure when I couldn't get in touch with my previous webmistress -- into the updated website. And I plan to add to the recipes and folklore pages on my website.
I'm also trying to figure out how (without spending big bucks) to do a good quality recording of me reading a bit of the new book (so Joan and Marilyn in New Zealand will get an idea of what Appalachian dialect sounds like.) Any ideas? Anyone?
And speaking of ideas, if any of you take a look at the website and have suggestions for additions or improvements, I'd love to hear them. We may already be working on it -- or it may not have occured to us.
And when both my real and my virtual houses are in somewhat better order, I'll be more able to focus on writing the next book . . .
I just ran across this shop VoodooDollDesigns. I just love her hair accessories. Such pretty skulls, the round one is a owl skull. They would be amazing for a fall wedding.
When researching the origins of Halloween, you find out about the Celts from 2000 years ago, celebrating Samhain, who lit bonfires and wore costumes and masks of animal heads and skin.
Then there's the Christian's All Saints Day and All-Hallows...
but it was in the early 1900's in America that the tradition turned more into what we have now.
They started having vandalism issues around that time during Halloween,
so they started offering kids bribes or treats to keep them from causing mischief on Halloween night.
BRIBERY.
That's what you're doing when kids come to your door.
You're giving them a bribe not to destroy your property.
Wow.
For me, Halloween is about having fun with my family.
Lovely to be home again after several days on the road! I had a fine time and met some lovely people.
But, virtually speaking, I'm gone again. My post for today is over at Jenny Milchman's blog Suspense Your Disbelief -- where I ask the pressing question "Are we each awaiting the coming of a heavenly messenger, naming us The Grand Hooyah and Master of the Universe??
Jenny calls this post a "Made it Moment" and asked me when I knew I'd made it. To which I replied- but you can see what I said over there.
My older boy is able to answer that question affirmatively, if not entirely accurately. He did live with us in this barn for three summers -- the last summer stretching till the end of October.
The first summer was 1973. Our son was not quite one, not quite walking. We had just bought our farm and were camping out in the upper part of the barn, getting to know the place and our neighbors. The following summer my husband and a friend were building our house -- getting it to the 'dried in' stage before we had to return to our teaching jobs in Florida. And the third summer, we were back with all our belongings and various helpful friends and family, making the big push to finish the house before cold weather.
Unfortunately, it began to get cold toward the end of October and when we awoke one morniong to find snow on our sleeping bags, we moved into the unfinished house where we at least had a wood stove. What bliss!
It was a wonderful experience though, living like in the barn -- cooking on a Coleman stove, bathing in the branch or in a washtub, the big entertainment at night watching the lightning bugs. When we moved to the house we actually said that we should move back to the barn every summer -- but of course we didn't.
I made use of the experience in Old Wounds -- the barn that Elizabeth's family is living in is based on our barn and that dark rectangle there on the front is a shutter which, when pushed up is the window Rosie sat at to watch Miss Birdie and Cletus come up the road.
And my older son has an excuse for all time for any less than polite behavior he may commit.
The old tobacco barns that dot the landscape in our county sometimes puzzle uninformed visitors who remember snug red New England barns or massive white-boarded Midwestern structures. The visitors laugh and shake their heads and go back home to tell their friends about the ignorant hillbillies of Appalachia -- too shiftless to make a barn that'll keep the weather out. Sometimes they assume that once there was chinking between the logs and the present generation hasn't bothered to repair it. But they're wrong on both counts.
These beautiful old silvery-gray buildings were meant to let the air in -- built specifically to air-cure burley tobacco, at one time the major crop in our county. Inside the barns, stout tier poles stretch from end to end, four or five or more tiers high. When the tobacco was harvested, the stalks of the whole tobacco plants would be impaled on tobacco sticks -- five plants per stick. Then these sticks would be hung from the tier poles, rank after rank of wilting yellow-green leaves till the barn was full. From September till November the leaves would cure in the mountain air, their tarnished chartreuse hue giving way eventually to a rich golden brown that said the leaves were ready to be stripped from the stalks, sorted and graded, and taken to market.
Proud old barns, built right for the job they did.
Leaving today for the middle of the state -- I'll be speaking at the Cary public library tonight at 6, then staying with the always delightful Molly Weston in Apex.
On Thursday, I'll head for Greeneville, SC to speak to the Upstate Chapter of Sisters in Crime. On Friday I'll make my way back home. . .
So I likely won't be blog visiting or answering comments . . . but I will re-post some older posts and be back for real (what is real?) on Saturday!
Q: You're always talking about how much you've learned from your editor -- can you give us an example?
A: Oh, yes! One of my favorites is 'Milk it!' (This week's assignment in my writing class, as a matter of fact.)
I first saw this comment on the edit of Signs in the Blood. My protagonist Elizabeth was in a scary situation and needed to stop her car and get out. So that's what she did -- in about two sentences.
In the margin, Herself penciled "Milk it!" meaning that I should wring every last ounce of tension possible from the scene. So there were sweaty palms and fumbling with seatbelt latch, yadda, yadda, till the escape had been effected -- maybe two pages later.
Here's a hypothetical example of a moment of high tensions being prolonged. Suppose you have a character who is running away from someone, don't just write "She ran along the road and flagged down a passing car with friendly people who who gave her a ride home."
Too short for tension to build - it's over before it's begun.
Instead, in this scene, the character should run, slip and fall, get up, run some more -- always aware to the footsteps growing ever closer. She should try to flag down a car only to have it zoom past her; she should keep running, slowing because of being out of breath or a stone in her shoe or something.
All the time, the pursuer is getting closer. Maybe she passes a house and sees someone in the front yard but when she calls to them, that person scurries inside and slams the door shut.And the pursuer is getting ever closer.
This could go on for quite a bit (I'm sure you could think of more stumbling blocks in her path) before the friendly car comes along. When it does, it could slow and she would think she was saved.
Then it could speed back up and go on. And she would despair. Then at last, she could see its brake lights go on and it would back up and the driver would ask if she wanted a ride.
From early morning with Eggs Benedict and Mimosas . . . to evening moonrise with Filet Mignon with Red Wine sauce, stuffed potatoes, broccoli with Bernaise . . .
And probably the most decadent cake around -- four chocolate layers with raspberry jam between the layers and chocolate frosting and whipped cream on the outside --
we celebrated John's birthday yesterday!
Maybe just a little tea and plain toast today . . .
The names of them are even more inventive. Do yourself a favor and take a look at her shop. You'll be glad you did.
