The Furious Spinner

Hope you had some signs of spring today. It was sunny and warm here today, but I was inside most of the day. Mario is recovering from a little bug. This meant I was up at the crack of dawn. (Don't know why; just don't sleep a lot when he's sick.) 6:30 a.m. I made two batches of two soups: aduki bean and veggie. Turned out I had bought the wrong winter squash yesterday, so I walked down to the grocery store and got some butternut squash (for the soups). This was at 8:00 a.m. Crisp clear morning. Wrapped up in my 15-year old winter jacket, 25-year old scarf, and 34-year old mittens. (I bet I own clothes that are older than some of you. That is very strange.) I love things that last, but all of these items are on their last threads. Maybe I can get someone to make a quilt out of them or something. My parents gave me the mittens for xmas when I was sixteen. They're just so warm. Except for the thumbs which no longer exist. Mario bought the scarf for me when we lived in Ann Arbor.

I'm babbling, though, aren't I?

Yesterday I went to the peace bridges demonstration and protest in Hood River. I didn't stay long. It was windy, cold, and Mario was waiting for me at home with the sniffles. There were about 50 people.





In Portland, thousands protested. Today the front page of the Oregonian had photos and a story about the demonstrations, which was surprising and exhilarating. Protests happened all over the globe. Perhaps middle America will soon stand up against this war and this administration.

In any case, yesterday, a few dozen of us stood on the bridge with signs; the cars going by underneath on the freeway waved and honked. (I actually had no sign. I waved and chatted.) Afterward I went grocery shopping. Went home, made dinner, then did library work. Mario read Church of the Old Mermaids and marked it up for me.

Today I looked over my copyedited manuscript for Broken Moon. (Did I tell you that's the new name of Camel Jockey which was Nadira's Moon which was She Combs the Desert for Fallen Stars. I like Broken Moon, and it works for the story.) I love the process of creating a book. I know I've said this before. I love writing the book. I love when the book sells. Love the contract negotiations. Love the process of the cover. (Mostly.) Love the copyedited manuscript. Love going over the galleys. Love getting my copies. Love, love, love. I love the process until the book actually hits the bookstores.

Once it gets published, it's out of my hands. I have absolutely no control. It either sells or it doesn't. Mario and I have done all the things that "experts" have suggested writers do. We've done local publicity; we've written letters to every public library and bookstore in the United States (or nearly so); we've made bookmarks; we've made postcards and sent them out. I've gone on area book tours. Didn't make a bit of difference. Squat. We spent thousands of dollars for nada. This time, for Mercy, Unbound, I'm relying on my publisher, good luck, and good luck. It'll either do well by word of mouth, etc., or it won't. I love Mercy and I love her story, so I'm hoping she'll get to tell it.

Speaking of writing and writers. Here's a pic of me working at my desk (well, actually I'm looking at the camera, but I was working at my desk.) It's from about a week or more after the first operation. (I can't see much difference, but the left side is a bit less swollen. Since the polyps pushed out my bone, the upper part of my nose will most likely never be the same again.) Once the second operation is over, we'll take another pic. This is my room. It looks out at the Methodist Church across the road. In this pic you can see Bear dancing behind me, a couple of witches on the wall, one of the bookshelves, the mermaid cigar box Mario got me in Tucson, and the flute bag (with the flute inside it) that Genevieve sent me. And for those interested in haute couture: I'm wearing my old man sweater (that's what I call it) and pajama bottoms. This is my work outfit.



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