Impending...

Snow

 Sliding slow

Snow.

Mackeral Sky

Mackerel sky, mackerel sky,
Never long wet, never long dry. 

That's what we had Friday morning -- a sky filled with rows of cirrocumulus or small altocumulus clouds, named for its resemblance to a mackeral's skin and usually indicating a change of weather.

The temperatures climbed into the forties, icicles were hurtling to thhe ground, and the sun shone all day. But the sky and the online weather forecast are predicting more snow on the way.

And on the north side, which includes our driveway, the snow hasn't melted. And it's not even winter yet.

Things To Do While Waiting . . .

Almost sixty years ago, when I was a Girl Scout, I made a pomander by sticking whole cloves in an apple. It took forever and made my fingers sore, as I covered the entire surface so that not a speck of red could be seen. And the pomander -- a Christmas gift for my mother -- hung in her closet for years -- the apple shrinking and drying and the cloves smelling wonderful.

About twenty years ago, I thought it might be nice to repeat the endeavor, possibly using oranges or tangerines as I'd seen done in a magazine somewhere --  some nice patterns and you don't have to cover the entire surface.

So I ordered a pound of whole cloves. And that's as far as I got.  The cloves have been sitting in a jar on a shelf all that time. (They keep very well.)

But while finding things to occupy my time while waiting to hear from Herself -- ironing,  rearranging the living room to get ready for the Christmas tree, cleaning out the refrigerator -- I was about to throw out (well, give to the chickens) some clementines that weren't very good -- not rotten, just a bit dry -- and suddenly I thought of those cloves.

Things to do while waiting. . .

Is This the End? - FAQ

In response to some questions/comments on my past two posts, I feel I need to say that it's not actually my decision as to whether there'll be another Elizabeth Goodweather book after the one coming out next year.  It will be the publisher's decision and they'll make that call based on sales. 


Sad but true -- it's a business.  If a series isn't continuing to sell more with each new release, the publisher will often drop the series.  And when a series hasn't done that well, it's unlikely that another publisher will want it. 

So what's an author of a dropped series to do? Often the author will come up with an idea for another series --  under a different pen name.  


Why a different name?  To entice booksellers and readers to take a chance on this 'new' author.  If Glamora Tynnsdale's (made up name)  books about a amateur sleuth who is also a professional tuba player haven't done well in the past, evidently booksellers will be reluctant to order her new series about a psychic CPA who solves murders -- unless that new series is written under a different name -- say, Tynnsdale G. LaMore.


Silly games.  But the reality of publishing is this -- it's all about the bottom line.

I still have good ideas for more Elizabeth books though . . . and conventional wisdom says that it often takes five or six books to really establish a series.


We'll see. I feel good about Under the Skin which is coming next October. But only time and sales will tell if the numbers are good enough to warrant more Elizabeth books. It will be probably be 2012 before it's clear one way or another. More waiting . . .

And, yes, I'm still waiting  to hear if my new characters find favor with Herself.  Maybe if I changed my name as well  . . . Victoria Elan . . . Victory Lane . . .

The Waiting Game... with Snow

Out the back door, looking north. . .

From the dining room windows looking east . . .

And from the kitchen, looking east and south . . .

We woke Tuesday morning to a world of snow.

By mid afternoon, it was over...

 

And the clouds were moving away.

My agent is enthusiastic about my proposal and has sent it on to Herself ...
now for more waiting.

 

FAQ- Something New

It snowed most of the day yesterday. There was a break around ten when the sun actually made an appearance and I crept down the steep and icy road to bring warm water and feed to the chickens.

In spite of the cold, which is intense, I'm feeling pretty cheerful as I finally got my proposal for the next book together and emailed it off to my agent for her thoughts before it gets sent on to my editor.

Approval is not, alas, automatic.  Herself has rejected my ideas before, telling me I could do better. And I have.

This time though, instead of focusing on Elizabeth or characters I already know, I'm riffing on an idea that Herself and I discussed back in October. It's a bit of a departure. Though it's still set in familiar territory -- Marshall County --  there is a whole new cast of characters --  and that's where the FAQ part of this post comes in.

Q:  Do you find that once having established the locale and characters, that writing additional books in the series is easier/quicker or not? 

A: When Darla sent me this question some weeks ago, I pretty much ignored it, not having considered it one way or another.  But now,  having spent quite a lot of time constructing family trees and back stories for a bunch of new characters who may or may not turn into characters in a book, it's quite obvious that I'm basically reinventing a world -- or at least the people in it. And it's a LOT of work!

Once I'd written a couple of Elizabeth books, I was on firm ground --I knew these people and how they were likely to act. It was just a matter of bringing this familiar cast to a new situation and turning them loose.

But here, in this proposal for a new book, I'm just getting to know these folks. Rachel and her great aunt Mim, Leonie and John Standingdeer are still nebulous figures in my mind. And yes, it would have been easier to go back to the old familiar gang. But there's always the danger of things growing stale or even preposterous -- how many murders can a fifty-something herb farmer reasonably expect to find herself involved in anyhow?

I hope Herself like this idea -- or at least most of it. I'm already getting attached to these folks. 

And of course I'll keep you updated.

 

All Day Snow .. and the Winners!

It's been snowing all day long and I've been up in my workroom, watching the flakes swirling outside the windows and trying to organize a proposal for the next novel to send to my agent and thence, perhaps, to Herself.

It's not easy. But more of that later...

I am emerging just to say that I've drawn two winners for the fairy crosses -- Helen T in GA and Victoria in CA! If you all will email me your addresses, I'll put the goodies in the mail -- as soon as I can get out...

Deduction Theology - Suitable for Sunday

“There is nothing in which deduction is so necessary as in religion,” said he, leaning with his back against the shutters. “It can be built up as an exact science by the reasoner. Our highest assurance of the goodness of Providence seems to me to rest in the flowers. All other things, our powers, our desires, our food, are really necessary for our existence in the first instance. But this rose is an extra. Its smell and its colour are an embellishment of life, not a condition of it. It is only goodness which gives extras, and so I say again that we have much to hope from the flowers.”

From Arthur Conan Doyle's "The Adventure of the Naval Treaty" -- Sherlock Holmes examines a flower and deduces the goodness of God.

In the case of this odorless orchid, however, I personally would deduce a sense of humor. (are those large insectoid eyes on the white protuberance at the center? Mouse over the picture and click for a close-up of Divine Humor. )

Another re-post from the beginnings of this blog.

Cockatoo

This fascinating book is the story of Roy McIvor, a noted artist of the aboriginal people of Australia. Told in his own words, Cockatoo recounts the unexplained removal of his Guugu Yimithirr people from their homeland during World War II,  the years of exile during which almost a third of their number perished,  and their eventual return to rebuild their community.

The book is richly illustrated with Roy McIvor's paintings and is full of stories of everyday life as well as the legends and lore of his people.

 Reader Wil  in the Netherlands sent me this book, saying that she thought I'd like it because of my interest in indigenous peoples.  Indeed, I'm reminded of the shameful treatment of the Native Americans -- especially the Removal of the Cherokees and the Trail of Tears.  

(Reader Wil's daughter, who lives in Australia, was instrumental in the making of this book.  It was she who interviewed Mr. McIvor (the uncle of her ex-husband) and wrote down his stories with such loving care.)

As Martin H. commented yesterday, "This is really what blogging should always aim to do...lead us by the hand into a different world. Wonderful!"

Wonderful, indeed! Thank you, Reader Wil, for leading me into Roy McIvor's world!

Yunwi Tsundi and a Drawing!

I'm recycling two older posts and having a drawing today. Read on . . .

This gorgeous boulder lies at the edge of our orchard and things live under it. Possibly a groundhog or two, maybe some rabbits or there could be snakes. But whenever I see that long dark opening, I think of Little People -- not the Munchkins of Oz but the really little people - Shakespeare's English fairies small enough to use a shed snake-skin as a wrap and his elves who make jackets of bats' wings. Or maybe the Yunwi Tsunsdi.

It was the Cherokees who once hunted in this area that told of the Yunwi Tsunsdi - a race of Little People living in caves of rock here in the mountains. Handsome and well-formed, with flowing hair reaching almost to the ground, they were reckoned to be kind, helping lost people and especially children to find the way home. But, the old legends warn, the Little People value their privacy and if any traveler attempts to follow the sounds of their drumming to their dwelling-place, the Little People will cast a spell that will send the wanderer even further astray, turning him around and around and bewildering him forever.

Fairy crosses or fairy stones are formed from staurolite, a combination of iron, silica, and aluminum that often crystallizes into cross-like shapes. Traditionally carried for luck, fairy crosses are said to protect against witchcraft, disease, and disaster.

Cherokee legend says that the Little People, the Yunwi Tsunsdi - a race of tiny reclusive beings known for their ability to find lost people -- were dancing and drumming and singing at a location near today's Brasstown, NC when a messenger arrived, bringing news of the Crucifixion. The terrible story made the Little People cry and when their tears hit the earth, they turned into the tiny crosses that can still be found in the area today.

 

The fairy crosses in the picture are very small -- about the size of my little fingernail. (No, I didn't find them myself -- they came from the Silver Armadillo in Asheville.)  And come Monday,  I'll draw two names from all the comments on this post to receive one of these little treasures.

The section below in italics is from THE DAY OF SMALL THINGS -- where Least is given a fairy cross.

She was like a half-tamed woods creature -- poked her head out the bushes a little ways and waited. Big blue eyes in a dirty sun-brown face, hair a greasy snarl, and a dress no better than a feed sack with holes in it.

I can do something about that, I thought and I felt in my skirt pocket for my charm.

'Come up here, honey,' I called and she inched out of the bushes and up the steps, her feet a-dragging.

But when she got close, she looked me in the eyes even afore she looked to see what was in my hand and that was when I knew.

'Oh, honey,' I said, feeling as if I might bust out crying, 'they's so many things I have to teach you and likely not much time. But we'll make a beginning with the story of the fairy crosses and how they came to be.'

When I put the little cross in her hand, she studied it close, running her finger up and down over its ridges. Then she looked up and whispered, 'This is from the little things, ain't it?'

Law, they was a catch in my heart at them words.

 

And Then There Was Snow . . .

Afer a night of heavy rain we awoke to snow yesterday. By afternoon the decks had seen heavy traffic from the birds.

And much of the light snow had melted. But to the east, the distant Blue Ridge was still frosted  and shone pink in the setting sun.

Our north-facing slopes get little sun at this time of year and they too still wore a drift of snow.

Gray Day

 We're entering the time of year when I have to learn again to appreciate the beauty of dark skeletal branches against a gray sky . . . the orderly confusion of an abandoned nest . . .

And to wonder about this all white addition to the Canada Goose flock by the river.  He or she has been with them for a month or more -- seemingly accepted as a part of the group. Has the interloper found a mate? I can't tell.  But I wonder what the others make of it. 

In the past, the geese have stayed there all winter. I hope they continue to do so because I suspect this domestic bird wouldn't be capable of flying long distances.

It's almost a Little Mermaid in reverse story.