In A Bookish, Quilty Mood

New mug rug. Fabrics are those I'm considering for the quilt explained below.... At times, this life feels, seems, looks UNFATHOMABLE. Regardless of how faithful we are to a creed, how at peace hearts remain in abject misery, how unshakeable love dwells within us, and despite the FULL SUN we're seeing here on the North Coast, the tyranny and horror and anguish and death suffered by others hits our chest muscles like we are right in the thick of all that darkness. I'm not merely thinking of what's happening in America, or the oncoming winter storm that will cause severe distress for millions in my home nation. There's Gaza, Ukraine, Sudan, Iran.... Massacres in Iran have quelled the protests for now. Yet thousands, perhaps upwards of thirty-three thousand, have died in one government's attempt to throttle democracy. Scores more have perished in other places, I don't wish to diminish those atrocities. But this uprising in Iran is a month old, or it was. And ot...

This shot has nothing to do with 1963 Manhattan, but it's pretty, and there you go! Snapped in June of 2006 while we lived in Northern England. When writing a saga, characters emerge that at first seem like bystanders. Stanford Taylor, an aloof New York art dealer, came on the scene early in The Hawk , but little did I know how vital would be his role, and certainly how little did I know him, hehehe. Yet over the course of, ahem, MANY chapters, Stanford became one of my favourites to write, to display, to move along the story in his rather formal, detached bearing that alters significantly within the novel. Today's chapter that I just read aloud to myself is a perfect example of how a fictional soul turns into one far more than two dimensions. And how love weaves all through us, even when we believe ourselves incapable of it. Keep sparkling; our lights make all the difference in this crazy world!     Chapter 98   On the third morning of Stanford’s vacation, he woke al...

From yesterday afternoon once I attached the last two rows to the lower section. However, I am itching to write about this quilt, maybe because I've been silent concerning the surprise cozy. So despite having to sew together the first seven rows and the last six rows, here's a post about a saturated colour quilt that has captured my heart in a very intense manner, as though it's the last quilt I'll ever make. Hmm, that's a bit of an overstatement. I glance around, searching for Future Me. No sign of her, which is for the best. Because this post isn't about Past Me or that all-knowing aspect of myself, ahem. Nope, this is about a highly beloved bunch of rainbow squares that were arranged with barely a second thought nearly two weeks ago. Before Renee Good was murdered. Which I mention because her death certainly impacted how much I adore this quilt, yet not in a melancholy way. More in a how vibrant was her existence, how meaningful. How lively and warm and how c...

First seven rows are done. The next two are on the work table, awaiting one from the bottom section. So, heartspace . The word came up in conversation a couple of weeks ago when I was pouring out my heart to my beloved. The issue was minor in the grand scope, yet meaningful, in that what we discussed didn't tax my intellect, but severely strained my, well, heart. Certain things we can wrap our brains around, but that inner chest muscle is a different organ entirely. When I put the above fabrics on the design wall, it was merely to decorate the space, and that stack of fabrics was within easy reach; I cut them last year when making a banner in October for probably the second No Kings protest. When I cut fabric, I tend to CUT FABRIC, because it's a process. It's gathering various prints that make me happy, then placing that stack near the ironing board, where I'll press them, cut them, and repeat until it's time to do something else. It takes a few days, in that it r...

A camellia to honor Jen! Photo courtesy of my husband. People enter our lives for a reason, a season, forever. Sometimes those distinctions bleed into one another, so I can't rightly say how Jen S. fits; more than a reason, not quite a season? Yet one solid purpose was to proffer Liner Notes as a title for the author's page at the conclusion of my novels. For the last few days, I've been reading the final quarter of Home and Far Away , which is definitely my favourite story emerging from, well, not merely my creativity, but as a gift from God. To whom I credit all my fictional and life efforts, but especially the writing. My almost twenty-year literary path has been one of fun, exploration, tears, and self-examination, among other treats. This morning, as I completed the novel, I then read the Liner Notes . If you aren't into music, or merely stream all your songs, Liner Notes hearkens to the day of vinyl, where the artist or recording company spilled a little or a lo...