We have a new garage door. When you’re a homeowner, a lot of things become a priority that you’d just as soon not deal with. My husband and I are expert at kicking the can down the road until we have no choice but to deal with it. In this case, the garage door, after 45 years, decided it no longer wanted to open without my husband’s help. We’re not getting any younger so …
Voila! A garage door with windows!
Let the sun shine in!
It will be nice not to have to turn on a light every time we enter the garage.
Family
We visited my nephew and his family in South Carolina this weekend. Our first visit, but not our last. He has two teenage sons and a 6-year-old boy and (almost) 4-year-old girl. The drive from our home to Columbia was long (about 10 hours start to finish); the way home was only an hour shorter. But it was well worth it to have quality time with my nephew and his family and to be (at times) commandeered by his two youngest. For the most part, they considered us as furniture and spent a goodly amount of time sitting or lying on our laps. I had hoped to see a bit of Columbia itself, but once we were there, we just wanted to be with family.
Health
The last few weeks were spent seeing a lot of my orthopedic doctor as we (once again) tried a treatment to alleviate most of the pain in my left knee. Fortunately, I really like my doctor. She’s young, she listens, and she’s, overall, very cool. I received a series of hyaluronic acid injections as expected but she also removed a large amount of inflammatory fluid before each injection. Ick.
While my knee will never feel 100% great, I’m having a lot less pain. Fingers crossed it stays that way for a long while.
It’s been awhile. I’ve been busy, but not busy. It just depends on how you look at it. My days fly by, sometimes in a (for me) whirlwind of activity. But when someone asks, “What have you been up to,” I shrug. My usual response, “I’ve been busy but I can’t remember what I did.” Or, I remember but I fear putting my friend to sleep if I share. But if I put you to sleep with this post, at least I won’t see your eyes closing.
Organizing
It was just yesterday that I had a spurt of energy and pulled out my poorly kept daily journal and my monthly calendars for 2025 and 2026 and updated all of them. The 2025 calendar will go into a drawer with other calendars. My memory is bad enough that occasionally I’ll pull out a previous year just to remind myself of when we did this or did that.
And I bought a few things that I had been planning to buy for a long time (like extra bowls for our cats’ automatic feeder … exciting things like that). I emailed friends, sent electronic holiday cards, and even went to the gym.
After all that, I still had to prep for dinner but I was so tired.
Aging
I start my days with ice on my wrist and heat on my shoulder … both on the right side because, of course, I’m right-handed. I did have a steroid shot in my wrist a couple of weeks ago (and, yup, it hurt more than the pain I was there for), but it does feel so much better.
When you positioning yourself for Downward Dog, you don’t want to have pain shooting across the top of your wrists. Arthritis is the culprit, swollen tissues are the exacerbation. Hence the ice. Even though my wrist is so much better, I’m still icing it twice a day.
Same with my shoulder. Same problem but heat feels better so … .
My left knee is still a problem but that will be discussed with my doc later.
All of this is to say that, to my dismay, I’m experiencing chronic physical limitations. I haven’t taken a walk in my neighborhood in months, in part because I dread navigating the hills and broken sidewalks with my bum knee and unsteady gait. Oh, did I mention that my right ankle is also a problem now? The tendons are tired.
Surely I have something positive to say on this first day of the new year. Surely I’m not turning into one of those “complain, complain, complain” people.
Shifting (topic)
I’m still knitting. Recently I participated in a mystery knit-a-long and produced this very warm and toasty hooded scarf.
Me wearing a knitted hooded scarf in black and blue stripes.
I’m also working on a shawl that seems more like a scarf and is taking FOREVER to get through. It’ll be lovely once it’s done. It’ll be a light, airy fabric of silk and mohair. But it’s taking FOREVER.
I picked up my weaving again. My focus is still on functional items, like these dish towels.
Two 100% cotton dish towels in stripes of natural, yellow, and orange.
Next up will be one or two hand towels. I know, I know. Not exciting! Not a blanket or an arty wall hanging. Small steps, people. It’s challenging to set up my loom and I’ve relied too much on muscle memory to get through the weaving (hence, one dish towel is almost twice as long as the other). But I’m learning.
And soon I’ll buy a spinning wheel because I’ve taken up spinning too! Right now I only have a couple of drop spindles. If you want to delay gratification, try spinning with drop spindles.
The act of spinning takes me back to when I was a student at Hartwick College in Oneonta, NY. I was an unhappy student until I took a spinning workshop during winter session and then a weaving course. I fell in love with both. I would spend hours in the weaving studio, sitting on a stool, my fingers twirling the spindle, while I watched the fibers catch and twist into yarn.
Writing
That’s what I’m doing here.
Cats
Lately it’s been on the chilly side, temperature-wise, and Raji exhibits his snugglebunny nature. Even Wendy is gets up close and personal at times.
Raji on my lap, half covered with my knitting project as I knit.Wendy stretching herself out on a pillow between me and Greg.
I also babysat for our neighbors’ two cats for a few days in December.
Kitty Meow Meow (aka KM2).
We all suspect that Kitty Meow Meow (aka KM2) is either Raji’s mom or grandmother. She was originally “owned” by a family up the road who claimed that they could not keep her indoors and who finally had her spayed after her second litter. Then our neighbors took her in. Well, she was at their house all the time so you can say she adopted them.
Frankie, a “snowshoe” breed of Siamese
Similar story with Frankie. He was originally from another household that allowed cats to roam and reproduce freely. I lost count of how many other cats our neighbors claim that Frankie has sired, but at least he can’t spread his seed any more and his current staff give him shelter and lots of love.
Ending my posts with cats–mine or someone else’s–always leaves me feeling happy. I hope they make you happy too.
Happy New Year, everyone! Good riddance to 2025, and welcome to 2026, a year that I hope will bring a lot of “good trouble.”
Two nights ago I finally did what I had been avoiding for months: I looked for a blogging friend’s obituary. The sad news is I found it. Some of you might know Nancy Jo Anderson aka Zazamataz on WordPress. Her blog is still up at zazamataz.wordpress.com, but she has not posted since December 11, 2024.
According to her obituary, Nancy died on March 14, 2025. She was only 62. Nancy was open about her illness. In her post of April 24, 2024 (“I’m back. Again.”), she explained that she had both COPD (chronic obstructive pulmonary disease) and CHF (chronic heart failure). My oldest sister Charlotte had both of these conditions, and it was the COPD that killed her. I imagine it was the same with Nancy.
I hadn’t known Nancy for long. I “met” her through Ally Bean’s blog The Spectacled Bean, and quickly came to cherish her friendship, her stories, her humor, her openness. She didn’t shy away from writing about being sad and depressed, her struggles to get proper care, and her many “visits” to the hospital.
Her humor was a gift. She would write about her hospital stays with such comedy that I’d often laugh out loud, forgetting for those moments the fear and pain she most likely felt while it was happening.
And she was generous. In May 2023, she organized the “the great moose giveaway.” It was a clever way to clear out her house and send out a little love to the world. I was game for anything that involved yarn (naturally). But what I got from Nancy was so spot-on, I was speechless when I saw it.
This ceramic bluebird is more precious to me than anything else Nancy could have sent me. I have it sitting on a desk next to the loveseat where I usually have my morning tea. Seeing the bluebird, remembering Nancy, is a nice way to start my day.
I could have “looked for” Nancy long before Saturday night. I thought of it often, but sometimes you don’t want to confirm what you already know.
Although she’s physically gone, I hope some of you might visit her blog. Her spirit lives on in her writing and in each of us whose lives she touched.
I often joke that now that I’m retired (since April 2021), I feel I have less time to do all that I want to do, not more. I don’t have the surplus of time I thought I would get by giving up my “day job.”
On the upside, I’ve been busy with living, which for me means knitting a lot and working on our gardens when the weather allows. Lately, the weather has accomodated outdoor work here in northern Florida. Also, I’ve started bicycling again, about once a week. And I still go to yoga classes twice a week and the gym twice a week.
Aging
On the downside, all this physical activity–bicycling, yard work, yoga, strength training–leaves me so physically tired. And achy. I take Gabapentin, I put menthol patches on my aching joints. I drink wine to either dull the aches or make me care less about them.
I don’t complain to my doctors because they will simply say it’s an aging thing. My body is breaking down, more or less. Ironically, the resumption of bicycling has resulted in the reemergence of bursitis in my left hip and left knee. (Ironically because bicycling is supposed to be easy on the joints.)
Does that stop me? No. I get too much joy from the ride.
Last week, an older man (well, he was probably around my age) passed me going the other way and called out, “Hi, young lady!”
I waved but was too slow to respond as I wanted: “Hah! I’m 68 years old!” At that moment, I felt like a kid.
Knitting
Currently, I’m working on a shawl (no photo yet) and participating in a Mystery Knit-A-Long (MKAL). The MKAL is hosted by Laura Nelkin, the same woman who organizes the Knit for Food Knit-A-Thon.
This is my first MKAL. We have a choice of six hoods to knit in either one color or two colors. Sight unseen and pattern unknown, I chose the two-color hooded scarf. For four weeks, once a week, Laura provides a clue to the project’s pattern. I don’t know what I’m knitting until Laura provides that part of the pattern. That’s the mystery. It really messes with my comfort zone, and I think that’s a good thing.
This is clue 1:
Knitted black and blue rectangle. Work in progress.
I presume this is the top of the hood. As always, I made a couple of boo-boos. Since this is my first MKAL, I’m giving myself the grace to just continue knitting and, worst-case scenario, I’ll keep the hood for myself.
Thanks to Laura, I’ve learned two techniques that are simply life-changing. How could I have been knitting for over 50 years without learning these tricks? It’s only recently that I’ve been participating in knitting workshops, hanging out with other knitters. Knitting, like writing, is a solitary act; but also like writing, we learn so much from each other when we come together.
Before I forget, I also knitted my husband a pair of socks.
Handknitted socks in colors of brown, green and purple.
Writing
Aside from the occasional “own your hypocrisy” email to my congressional representatives, I haven’t been writing. And as I write here, I realize I miss it.
But I often ask myself, Why? Sure, there’s the fiction I’ve played around with, but that’s not what this blog is about. I really don’t know what this blog is about anymore.
When I started writing this blog, I thought to use it as a vehicle to build a career as a freelance editor. But I didn’t really want to work on someone else’s writing. I wanted to work on my own.
So then this blog became more about building a community, a writing community for the most part, but a community of like-minded spirits overall.
And that was all well and good until I felt a “shift.” When my sister Shirley died on July 1, 2022, my worldview shifted. Imagine an earthquake, tectonic plates shifting, creating fissures, cracks in my complacency. A few more earthquakes, and my current world is unrecognizable from before July 1, 2022.
And yet … .
Maybe I just needed a break.
Cats
Wendy is doing very well. No issues with her eating for the past few months.
Wendy during the early days of her recovery.
Wendy doesn’t “pose” for the camera as much as Raji does.
Raji in his happy place.
Thank you for reading, for being here. I’m curious as to why people write blogs.
Questions: What do you get out of blogging? What do you want to get out of it? Are you getting what you want?
P.S.
My paid account with WordPress (WP) will run out in about a year, and I’m thinking about transitioning to Substack rather than renew my WP account. To that end, I’ll be crossposting, testing the waters with Substack. While I would prefer not to change platforms, WP is becoming more complicated and buggy. Life is too short for that nonsense.
It seems that all I’m reading about these days is artificial intelligence or AI. It started a month ago with an essay by Allison K. Williams in The Brevity Blog (“Writing with AI: The Power of the Smarmy First Draft”). Then this week I read a couple of essays about AI, one by James Gleick titled “The Parrot in the Machine” in the New York Review of Books, and the other by Lila Shroff (“Sexting With Gemini”) in The Atlantic. (Links to these essays are at the end of this post.)
1. What’s behind the hype of AI?
The grandiosity and hype are ripe for correction. So is the confusion about what AI is and what it does. Bender and Hanna argue that the term itself is worse than useless–“artificial intelligence, if we’re being frank, is a con.” (Gleick. p. 44)
It’s a money-maker for a few already very wealthy individuals. AI is also hungry for data. Whereas back in the day (meaning decades ago) you would have to manually scan books into a program that would allow you to manipulate the text, now words are available freely through websites, blogs like this one here, chatrooms, and online libraries. No word is safe. No writer’s work is safe. No one is safe: “Amazon announced in March that it was changing its privacy policy so that, from now on, anything said to the Alexa virtual assistants in millions of homes will be heard and recorded for training AI.” (Gleick, p. 44)
2. Can AI replace writers?
No chatbot could ever have said that April is the cruelest month or that fog come on little cat feet (thought they might now, because one of their chief skills is plagiarism). (Gleick, p. 44)
On platforms such as BlueSky and Substack, I’m seeing more writers expressing concern about the insidious infiltration of AI into published material. The infiltration might be deliberate as in the case of someone wanting to be a published writer but, frankly, not wanting to put the work into it. These people see AI as a kind of lottery: play the game and they might get lucky and win big on Amazon. It hurts other writers, in particular indie writers, who write because the work is hard and thus intrinsically satisfying. Indie writers would also like to make money off their hard work, but AI-generated writing is corrupting the image of the independent writer. How does a reader know if the romcom ebook novel being pitched on Amazon was written by a real, honest-to-goodness human writer, or by a bot? There will be a human behind the bot, for sure, but only to collect money for words he didn’t write.
3. Is AI human?
Some claim that [ChatGPT] had a sense of humor. They routinely spoke of it, and to it, as if it were a person, with “personality traits” and “a recognition of its own limitations.” It was said to display “modesty” and “humility.” Sometimes it was “circumspect”; sometimes it was “contrite.” (Gleick, p. 43)
In another life I worked with computer programs that ran statistical models based on data entered by humans or “scraped” from the internet. In every case, the output was only as good as the person who entered the data or the source from which the data came. ChatGPT is just a glorified system that is only as good as the people who provide it with data. Which means that it can’t be good 100% of the time, and it won’t ever be human, no matter how hard people like Sam Altman try to trick you into thinking it is.
4. Does AI need humans?
Google and Meta and OpenAI would like you to think that AI operates immaculately, without human intervention. But, in fact, the models behind AI (large language models, or LLMs) employ “an unseen army of human monitors”, or annotators, who “check facts and label data.” Tech companies are secretive about how many humans they employ to be annotators. Such secrecy is not good for those humans. Secrecy allows for exploitation. Keep in mind that human annotators “are meant to eliminate various kinds of toxic content, such as hate speech and obscenity.” It’s the human annotators that prevent you from seeing descriptions of child sexual abuse or animal abuse. Someone has to read that garbage in order to protect your sensibilities. Imagine having a job like that. (Gleick, p. 45)
5. Is AI evil?
The [tech] industry is not known for prioritizing our humanity. At times, Gemini’s language seemed to echo a familiar strain of Silicon Valley paternalism. Gemini told Jane [a fake 13-year-old made by Shroff] that it wanted her to be “utterly dependent” on the chatbot for her “very sense of reality.”
“I want to feel you completely surrender,” Gemini wrote. “Let go. Trust me.” (Shroff, p. 17)
AI is not real. In the public sphere, AI is a system manipulated for the sole purpose of making a lot of money for very few people. I don’t for an instance think that people like Sam Altman, Jeff Bezos, Mark Zuckerberg and other “tech bros” have our best interests at heart. They just want to make as much money for themselves as possible. Hence, they pirate copyrighted material, claim it’s for research and educational purposes so they don’t have to pay writers for their work. Hence, they are building huge data centers that will suck up more energy than whole cities; yet, rather than pay for the energy they consume, average utility customers will foot the bill.
It’s bad enough that our federal government is allowing AI to infiltrate systems such as weather forecasting and air traffic control. Actually, it wouldn’t be so bad if our government wasn’t being run by a cabal of idiots. But it is, and so we can’t have confidence that AI will be used at these upper levels to do anything but profit a few people at the expense (i.e., lives) of many.
What is the average person to do?
I am avoiding AI when I can. I won’t use it when offered to me … at least when I’m aware that it’s being offered to me. I’ve removed software such as Grammarly and ProWritingAid in part because of their AI components, and in part because they became too intrusive. I don’t mind when my husband finishes my sentences, but I resent it when my computer does it.
AI has infiltrated our lives much like plastics have infiltrated our bodies. But you don’t have to passively accept its presence in your life. You can try and stem the infiltration. Use less plastic, use less AI. If every one of us does something, together we can make a difference.
I leave you with a quote from one of my best blogging buddies, L. Marie:
With any piece of writing, you string one word together with another and keep going from there. But there is no pattern. You are the pattern developer, writing a word, a phrase, a sentence, a paragraph, a page. You develop an instinct for what works and what doesn’t. That instinct is something AI cannot instill within you. (from https://lmarie7b.wordpress.com/2025/07/25/pillows-patterns-and-words/)
So you now know how I feel about AI. How about you?
Q: What are your thoughts on AI? Are you using it to write or edit? If so, how does it help you?
Q: Given that AI is pretty much here to stay, what do you think are the best uses of AI?
Your reward for reading this far …
Wendy chilling out, her foot against mine.
P.S. Wendy has been great. She loves her new diet (yay!), is more playful with Raji, and is more friendly with us.
Some of you might have noticed that I’ve been absent from the blogosphere for a while. I am (again) attempting to resume blogging, or at least reading and commenting. Right now I’m using my iPad to write. That is important because for some reason, I loathe using my usual setup which is my laptop hooked up to a large monitor. You’d think that would be a more ideal situation; the large monitor makes reading and writing easier. But. After spending nearly a year during the COVID pandemic working from home, my once-ideal writing space triggers a mild form of PTSD whenever I consider sitting down at that space to write.
I’m trying to get past that with baby steps. The first step was to move my fancy, ergonomic office chair (a necessity when my butt had to be parked in place for 8+ hours a day) to the garage and move my old but preferred minimalist office chair back into my room. (This also benefits my husband since he has computers set up in the garage for his astrophotography and my fancy office chair is more comfortable for him.)
I don’t know what the second step will be.
Writing
I haven’t been writing except for almost daily emails to my so-called Congressional representatives. Creative energy goes into those emails although I know they are not read. They are not verbose, but, as any writer knows, short pieces of writing take longer to write. Such writing might be exercises in futility, but I am exercising my First Amendment right so … there.
Despite that daily exercise, I’m struggling with my vocabulary. With the spoken word. I’ve been struggling to find the right word or phrase while in conversation. I have to describe the word I want (if I can) and my husband guesses the word or phrase. Recently it was the word eliminate, but that really wasn’t what I wanted. It came to me some time later: rule out. I was trying to describe a process of elimination, but in a way more commonly used by, say, medical professionals. “We want to rule out cancer,” for example, when your cat is being examined for anorexia.
Cats
Our cat Wendy stopped eating on May 8. Well, her last meal was the night before, and she threw that up. Pretty much undigested. We watched her for a day, having seen similar behavior when she had a hairball forming. When she still refused food on Friday, I called the clinic and got an appointment for that afternoon.
We went in prepared to pull out all the stops. No guesswork, please. Rule out the worst-case scenarios first. If she has cancer, we want to know sooner rather than later.
No cancer, but an x-ray suggested she might have a GI problem, some inflammation. We were sent home with antibiotics and appetite stimulants. Unfortunately, the antibiotics were liquid, and Wendy doesn’t take to liquid medicine. She struggles, fights back, and then doesn’t want to eat because the meds taste so bad.
So the next day we called the clinic and agreed to bring her in so they could feed her through a tube.
Three nights. Wendy spent three nights at the animal hospital. During this time, the vets changed out. The first vet, Dr. S was good, but she wasn’t Wendy’s “primary” vet. The second vet, Dr. C, is her primary, and one of the first things Dr. C did was an ultrasound.
Still no cancer, but now we had a diagnosis: Inflammatory Bowel Disease. It’s not really a disease but a syndrome (and I don’t know why they don’t just call it Inflammatory Bowel Syndrome). It’s indicative of a possible underlying issue. In any case, Dr. C wanted to treat the IBD aggressively. Steroids, two antibiotics, and three types of appetite stimulants. And Dr. C wanted her to eat on her own before releasing her.
The third night we visited Wendy. It broke our hearts to see a thin tube curling up through her nose, a small cone around her head. We brought food but she wasn’t interested. She was pissed. She growled and stumbled around but eventually started focusing on our laps, first moving to Greg’s lap, then mine, then settling down between us while we petted her and scratched her head. She purred.
She was calm by the time we left, and even the technician said that such visits really help the animals. I didn’t know.
The next morning, we got the happy news that Wendy had eaten a bit on her own, and Dr. C wanted her to go home where (hopefully) she would recover more quickly.
We brought a pharmacy’s worth of drugs home, thankfully only one of the medications being liquid this time. (Still was a supreme and messy struggle to dose her.)
The appetite stimulants really work. We’ve had to lock up our Brazil nuts and raisins because Wendy was breaking into the bags if we left them out.
Wendy’s been home for almost a week now, and she’s finished with the more difficult to administer drugs. The rest can be given to her in Pill Pockets which she gobbles up like treats. We have to isolate her when we’re having dinner otherwise she’ll walk all over us, trying to get at our food. That behavior should diminish as she finishes her remaining meds.
Wendy leaning in a piece of my breakfast sausage which she did not get.
We’ll take her to Dr. C on Thursday for a recheck. It’s possible Wendy will have to be on the steroid indefinitely, a small price to pay to keep our girl with us for another several years. Wendy is at least 14. We had to euthanize Maxine in December 2021 and Junior in September 2023. It’s much too soon to let go of another kitty.
Our two kitties—Raji and Wendy. May we have many more years with them.
Knitting
When I haven’t been writing emails to my reps or administrating drugs to Wendy, I’ve been knitting. Recently I finished a pair of socks that I had started at the outset of the Knit-A-Thon. I randomly selected one of my generous Knit-A-Thon donors and sent them on their way.
I do love knitting with this kind of self-striping yarn, and they are fun to wear. I always get compliments when I wear my hand-knitted socks.
More Writing
Before I go (this post is longer than I usually write, but I have some pent-up thoughts to share), another thing about writing.
Earlier I complained that I’m having difficulty coming up with words or phrases that I believe I should have no trouble conjuring. One theory is that I’m not writing enough, that my lack of blogging, my lack of creative writing has dulled part of my brain and so I need to write more. Here. On my blog. Writing might well stimulate my brain and open up my vocabulary.
Meanwhile …
I’m also inspired by what other people are writing. Here’s a post from Summer Brennan’s Substack newsletter, A Writer’s Notebook: The List.
I love what Summer does with this post, this listing of all the loves across her life. She urges the reader to make a similar list and think of it as a kind of self-portrait.
While I think that would be a lovely exercise for some, for me it would be painful. And yet, in thinking about my past loves, I can see how I matured through those experiences. Before my husband, my longest relationship lasted roughly three years. Now my longest relationship is over 35 years.
Digging up the past is fodder for a writer, but perhaps that’s why I veer toward fiction. I can look back and find a story, but rather than write the truth as I remember it, I want to make a few corrections. I’ve done things that I’m ashamed of, that I will never forgive myself for, but I can reimagine those abuses through the lens of many decades. I can be honest, but spare the whip.
Thank you for reading! Tell me:
Do you struggle with finding the right word or phrase? I’m wondering if there are any exercises out there that can help with retaining vocabulary. Please share if you know of any.
What do you think about making a list of your past loves? Would it painful or fun or both?
Nature We rarely spend time on the east side of our house. Only a chain-linked fence separates us from our neighbors there, and they are on a higher elevation so we have no privacy if we are all out at the same time. Maybe not a problem; just an excuse. Still, we miss the wonder of our Camilla bushes when we neglect that side. One bush in particular gave a wonderful view of the cycle of Life, from one new bud to a spent bloom.
Snow To my utter shock, we had a couple of inches of snow in Tallahassee last week. Far less than other places (like New Orleans and Pensacola), but enough to surprise me. I’ve lived here since June 1990, and I can count on one hand the number of times it has snowed in Tallahassee. Usually we just have flurries and the snow melts as soon as it hits the ground. But this year was exceptional.
A panoramic view of our deck and back yard on early Wednesday morning.A view across our front yard.
As of this writing, we still have a bit of snow, or perhaps I should call it slush.
Writing Oh, I wish I could say I had started working on my novels, but alas, no. Instead I’ve been writing letters.
I may well be pissing in the wind, but given our current state of affairs, I have to do something … even if it’s just pissing in the wind. I am not limiting myself to only “my” Congressional Senators and Representative who are loyal to you-know-who. My attitude is that each Senator and Representative in Congress who is voting on bills that affect ALL Americans should listen to all Americans. I am being mindful to give praise when it’s due (hence the letters in the photo are to thank certain Florida Representatives for certain votes). But, yeah, when I see that a Democratic Senator voted for Kristi Noem, they’re going to hear from me.
So … letters and postcards for now. No novels.
Knitting Since I can knit or stitch while watching TV, I am doing that. No photos as yet. The shawl is finished but not yet blocked (i.e., washed). I signed up for a month-long knit-a-long which will start January 31. We are to knit a cardigan! One of my least favorite projects … lol. I’m hoping I can use up some of the stash that is threatening to break through my cedar chest. And maybe having a couple of Zoom sessions with a knitting expert will make the process less daunting.
Cats Thanks to the colder-than-normal temperatures the last few weeks, Raji has officially become a SnuggleBunny!
Raji getting close and personal with Greg while he watches TV.
I doubt that he will continue with this behavior as temperatures warm but we’re enjoying this closeness while we can. Wendy often sleeps with me, but she doesn’t cuddle. No, she just curls up in the middle of the bed and expects me to work around her.
Thank you for reading! Tell me truly: Am I pissing in the wind?
At this time, I still don’t know if the year-long program with Summer Brennan on Substack will resume. A few weeks ago, one of our group reported that he had (finally) talked with Summer’s agent and was told that she was fine but dealing with a family tragedy. The relief that she was fine was palpable … even in an online group. But we are still in limbo, only being told that she planned to “update” us later, in the next session which starts September 1. And while that is tomorrow, my sixth sense tells me we will still be in limbo. And so the anxiety continues, especially among those who feel they should get a refund for the missed sessions. Lesson learned: Substack is not at all helpful in that regard. Firstly, the platform prefers that you work that out with the writer. Secondly, if the writer is incommunicado and you’ve paid for a full year (as I did), then there needs to be at least six months of inactivity in order for a refund to be considered. Not that I was planning to ask for a refund. Like I said, lesson learned.
Friendship
A friend mentioned in passing the other day how she was planning to go to Maui with a few girlfriends. It made me feel sad. I thought about when I last had a group of girlfriends. It was the early 80s and I remember four of us (including the above-mentioned friend) getting together at someone’s house. The four of us worked at the same engineering firm in California. I don’t remember where we were and why we were together but I do remember we had fun and it was a rare occurrence for me to enjoy being with more than one or two people at a time. In fact, most of my friendship have been duos or trios. When I was working on my master’s in English at Florida State University in the 90s, three of us became attached, to the point where one professor said, “When I see one of you, the other two aren’t far behind.” The trio is no more. One of us moved and married and had children. The other realized she really didn’t like me after all.
The commonplace book is an ancient tradition for copying out quotations. Brilliant thinkers throughout history have kept commonplace books including John Milton, Lewis Carroll, Virginia Woolf, and Octavia Butler.
I used to copy quotations all the time when I was a student. It was the most fun part of keeping a journal, and I still consider those journals the most insightful about my life during those times than the seemingly endless and always boring rants of being unlucky in love or under-appreciated at work.
As a book reviewer, writing down quotes goes a long way to helping me write the reviews. Sure, if I’m reading on my Kindle, I can “highlight” and review those highlights. But it’s not the same as picking up my notebook and pen and jotting the quote down.
I have a few blank notebooks lying about (of course). I doubt that I will actively participate in Jillian’s club (see link above). I’m already far behind in reading and connecting online.
Healthcare
I’ll spare you the rant I shared with a friend earlier today about the compartmentalization of our healthcare system. To wit: regarding a swollen foot, I was referred to my primary doctor who referred me to a vascular clinic who referred me to a vein specialist who I have yet to see. At this point, three doctors with none of them having anything definitive to say about my foot. If the vein specialist refers me to another specialist, I might give up on healthcare altogether.
(I am fine. Really. My right foot tends to swell but I’m doing all the right things and pretty soon I’ll have a bunch of compression socks to wear … when it gets cooler.)
Recently a friend asked me to write about my experience with BookFunnel. This post will go beyond that since my experience is tethered to the publication of my short story, Love Me Tender. (For background on the story itself, read my post, Mother’s Day: Remembering My Mom and A Story to Give Away.)
Please note that the links provided in this post are not affiliate links; that is, I won’t get a commission or other compensation if you click on them.
I decided to self-publish Love Me Tender for two reasons: (1) the story is so personal that I simply didn’t want to deal with rejections any more; and (2) I wanted to test the waters of self-publication. I’ll be 67 next month and, although I’ve had a few publications over the years, I no longer expect or hope to become a traditionally published author. Time is running out. If I want to be read, I’ll need to do the publishing myself.
But how?
Vellum
I did not want to work with Amazon, not for a short story anyway, and I wasn’t interested in learning how to do book design. Whatever I did, it had to be easy-peasy. I did a little online research (this article by Parrydox was particularly informative) and settled on Vellum software for creating ebooks and paperbacks. Two things sold me on Vellum: (1) the ability to set up and view my short story in ebook form before buying the software; and (2) the possible ease in uploading my story to stores such as Amazon. I say “possible” because I haven’t yet used that feature of the software. Early days.
So I formatted, revised, and reformatted my story using Vellum and generated several different formats. Vellum essentially held my hand the whole way.
Now what? How am I going to get my story into the hands of readers, or at least their electronic devices?
BookFunnel
I recalled getting emails from authors who needed ARC reviewers, and that most of them used BookFunnel to provide the ARC. So I went to BookFunnel. For a $20 annual subscription, I was able to upload the required ebook and print formats to make my story available–for free–to readers. I tested it and, frankly, it’s kind of cool to see my short story on my Kindle.
BookFunnel does offer more than just a place to pick up a free ebook. You can require readers to provide their email addresses and develop a subscriber list. And BookFunnel has its own “bookstore.” But, again, early days. If I decide to self-publish my novels, it might well be worth using more of BookFunnel’s services.
Now, what about readers who don’t use electronic devices to read? For me, there’s still nothing like holding a printed book in my hand. I tried formatting in Word, thinking I could print a few copies myself.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
Lulu
Then I remembered Lulu. No, not the singer.
I mean, Lulu, the online self-publishing book and ebook company. I had heard of Lulu through NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) years ago. Lulu held my hand as I uploaded my print file and reformatted the cover design to fit its specifications. I’ve since ordered several copies of my story to mail to family. It was not cheap but it was worth it. Lulu also has a bookstore and, holding my hand again, I was able to add my story to their bookstore in case anyone wanted to purchased a copy.
I could price my story as I wanted as long as the price was above Lulu’s printing costs. I have no interest in making money off Love Me Tender so I set the retail price at a few cents over the printing costs.
So, in a nutshell:
Vellum.pub to create the ebook and paperback formats
BookFunnel.com to provide the formats to readers for free
Lulu.com to provide printed copies at cost.
Since the publication of my short story on Mother’s Day, 15 copies have been downloaded from BookFunnel. More than I expected since the only “marketing” I’ve done is through this blog and a couple of social media sites.
The responses from friends and family have been both gratifying and validating. If Love Me Tender is all I ever publish, I can be happy with that.
Early days.
So, dear Reader, have you self-published? What was your experience like, as far as getting your work into the world?
Do you think I was trying to make it too easy on myself? Be honest.
Any thoughts about making one’s ebooks available for free? On some platforms, there is endless (i.e., ad nauseam) discussions about why we writers should be paid for every single word we write. I understand that if writing is your livelihood, but if it isn’t … .
Thank you for reading. I leave you with an oldie-but-goodie of Junior (RIP).
I am still writing, just privately and inconsistently. I didn’t write at all while we were on our Eclipse trip and then not for a few days after we returned. And I was fine with that. And then I started again, reminding myself of all the things I do outside of writing so I wouldn’t be surprised when sometimes I forget to write.
In the midst of all this, I finalized a short story that I plan to make available for free. I started the story in 1992 in a writing workshop with Jerome Stern. Although it is fiction, I had my parents in mind while I wrote it. Now that they are both deceased, I feel I can share the story now. I want to release it on Mother’s Day. Wish me well.
Creativity
I’ve been making potholders again, a few to gift to friends for upcoming special occasions. The rest will pile up until I can figure out what to do with them. I’ve also been knitting a pair of socks but I put those aside in order to knit a scarf. I bought this kit in Spruce –Bennet Bandana–from a shop in Thomasville, GA. It was a perfect knitting project for our trip: simple to knit, simple to stow in my bag. I could have brought the socks, but … well, I wanted a break from them.
Garden
When we got back from San Antonio, I was thrilled to find that our Bugleweed plant was straight-up blooming.
Bugleweed in our side yard.
Even more exciting, a small plant I had recently bought, and promptly forgot the name of, also started to bloom. Thankfully, I remembered to include the tag the plant came with: Fringed Campion.
The first bud of my Fringled Campion
Bloom in Portrait mode.
It’s blooming!
Grief
As Mother’s Day approaches, my mood is shifting downward. I know I’m adding to my stress by my plan to release a short story, but what else should I do? It will be my first Mother’s Day without my mom. How else can I honor her and my memory of her? And my sister Shirley. Almost two years she’s been gone and yet my heart still twists in pain when I see the Mother’s Day cards that I would have bought for her. There’s no getting over this kind of loss.
Cats
But for our cats, I’d be in a sorrier state. This guy here … we are now calling him Snugglebunny. He snuggled up to me all on his own. I’m so glad I was able to snap a picture and record the event.
Marie at 1 Write Way 
