Shoot.
Must lose 25 pounds for high school reunion in 11 days.
I am going to ask this chocolate fish for wisdom. If he cannot tell me how the heck I can do this, I am going to eat him.
Clearly I am off to a good dietary start.
Last year, before a speaking engagement at Powell’s Books, I went shopping.
I hate shopping. The crowds, the lights, the noise, and all these pant sizes that I am SURE have shrunk in the last year.
I am not into fashion, and I can’t find anything unless my daughters pick it out and tell me what to wear.
Unfortunately, I needed to get something to wear to my presentation at Powell’s that night and Rebel Dancing Daughter and Adventurous Singing Daughter were unavailable to come with me.
Way to wait until the last minute, right?
I dragged a bunch of dresses into the dressing room at Macy’s. It was like entering fashion hell for me, complete with a hot flash and bad lighting that emphasized my cellulite and a grumpy face.
I groaned and whined and moaned.
I didn’t realize I was talking OUT LOUD to myself in the dressing room until I heard someone thunk the wall between us. I’m sure she thought I was an utter loon.
I should have been embarrassed at talking to myself at such a loud volume, but I am too old for embarrassment anymore.
These are the things I said, again out loud, beforeThe Thunk.
1) That dress looks good on your boobs but not on your butt, Cathy.
2) You need Spanx.
3) Where do we buy Spanx?
4) Would Spanx give me a hot flash? I don’t want to have a hot flash at Powell’s.
5) Your butt is too big.
6) How did your butt get that big?
7) Please stop eating chocolate.
8) You look like you’re sort of pregnant.
9) Why are you even trying on this dress? What are you, Pollyanna?
10) That is way too expensive. We’re not buying that!
11) Take that off. Justtake it off.
I know. Pathetic.
I didn’t find anything to wear for Powell’s.
(If you were next to me in the dressing room at Macy’s and you heard me talking to myself, don’t be alarmed! I talk to myself, and my characters, all day long. I am safe to be around, now don’t you worry.)
I called my friend, Karen Calcagno, who I was supposed to meet for dinner before the reading. I canceled because I was going to have to raid my closet for something decent to wear. Karen and I have been friends for twenty years. We have seen life together. Lots of it beautiful, some of it harsh and sad, and it has sometimes knocked us both on our butts.
But we still laugh a lot and it has been a staple of our friendship. Karen is also very wise. She told me, after I had blubbered on and on, “Cathy, go home. Put on your favorite pair of jeans. Put on a t – shirt. Get that beautiful lace shirt you have and wear that. Be comfortable.”
And that’s what I did.
I was trying to find something fancy to wear to Powell’s, but I don’t do fancy. I do jeans. So I wore my favorite jeans and the lace shirt to Powell’s, exactly as Calm Zen Karen told me to do.
I spoke about my book “What I Remember Most.” Lots of people came. They were all friendly and fun. My journalism teacher from high school was there, as usual. One of my favorite book clubs. My husband. Funny girlfriends.
I don’t think they cared what I wore, but I felt better in my old jeans than a dress, that is for sure. And I would have felt like I was suffocating and hot flashing in Spanx.
Once again I learned my lesson: Be you. You’re best being you.
Hello everyone! Below is my essay on marriage and interview with Bobbi Dumas for Read A Romance Month. I hope you like it! Check out her website on the link below…
So. I am supposed to write an essay on the joy of romance? Well, this one is coming to you from a woman, sometimes cranky, sometimes not, who has been married for twenty two years.
Let me first introduce my long suffering husband. I always refer to my husband in my writings, in my blog or essays, as Innocent Husband. Why? Because he is not to be held responsible for anything I say or do, poor man, and that holds true for today.
Heaven already knows that when that man reads my books his eyes bug out of his head like a toucan’s and he gets this shocked expression on his face as in, “What? You wrote THAT? You think THAT? WHO ARE YOU?”
Innocent Husband had no idea who he was marrying twenty two years ago, or that I had such a bizarre imagination, I’m sure of it. I do think he has gotten to know his wife better by reading my books, and that has has been an unnerving and mind rattling experience.
Again, poor man.
But back to romance. The truth is that even though I love adding romance to my
women’s fiction books, and I like romance in my personal life, I can’t say I get all goofy – gaspy over it. In fact, sometimes – and this might make you not like me – I have to tell Innocent Husband to quit being so sappy. He rolls those toucan eyes every time.
Dinners out with white linen napkins are lovely. Flowers are lovely. But what gets me going is what’s behind the romance. The deep stuff. The stuff that has held us together for over two decades, and it has not all been pretty.
With no further yakking, this is what I have found romantic in my own life with Innocent Husband:
1) Raising kids together. Our kids are 18, 18, and 21. Yes, we had twins, and yes we had three kids under the age of three at one point. Two words: Controlled chaos. It was like living with our hair on fire and not having time to stick our heads under the sink.
There’s nothing romantic about nursing two kids at one time at three in the morning in bed for months on end. But knowing that I could whack Innocent Husband in the shins and he would haul himself up, gather up two babies, and put them back in their cribs because I was too wiped out to move – now that’s romantic.
Romantic is raising teenagers together – now that’s turned my hair white under the dye – and knowing that when tough stuff comes up we will talk out how to handle it, maybe argue, in private, but we will, in the end, present a united front to any Rebellious Teenagers living in our home to get them back on track because we both love and adore them. Romantic is doing what’s best for the family even when you both want to run away to the backwoods of Montana and live in a shack.
2) Taking care of all four of our parents as they were sick, and dying, together.Candlelight casts cool shadows, but knowing your spouse is behind you, supportive of you, when you are gone, yet again, to take care of a parent, to take them to chemo or radiation, and you come home and they give you a hug, even though you look like you’ve been through a tornado, and your mental state is shredded, now that’s romantic.
3) Going through the ups and downs in life as a couple. Someone recently told me, in looking at my website, that it seemed I had a perfect life. I about died laughing. Anyone who I am really close to knows the truth. In 22 years Innocent Husband and I have had twirly highs and murky lows. But we’re still here, still laughing, and I haven’t yet thrown anything at his head. This is fortunate because head injuries bleed a lot and I wouldn’t have wanted the carpet stained.
4) Fishing on our drift boat. Well, okay. He fishes and rows. I read and eat chocolate.
5) Driving to the coast for clams because we feel like it. Clams. Butter. Garlic. Bread to help wash it down. Can’t move when we’re done, but YUM.
6) Chatting about little things that are pleasant, as “pleasant chat” can be so relaxing. Because, after all, not everything in life has to be serious, all the time.
7) Laughing in the middle of the night. Our kids have told us that our laughter has woken them up at night. But that’s what I want for them: A spouse they can laugh so hard with that the kids wake up.
8) Innocent Husband is huggable.
Romance is fun. Exciting. Woo woo. But, after twenty two years, I know to my bones that true romance, the joy of romance, is found day to day, the good days and the lousy ones, the times of success and the pits of failure, the excitement and the grief. When two people stick their heads up after dealing with whatever life has shoved or thrown or exploded or miraculously gifted to them and they instinctively reach for each other’s hand, that’s freakin’ romantic.
Some would say…smokin’ hot sexy, too.
Cathy Lamb: When did I feel sheer joy? Well, as I am writing this in the DMV, experiencing the hell of
lines that never end, sheer joy will be experienced when we are released from this blocky prison. Where is Dante and his nine circles when you need to yell at him?
Other moments of sheer joy: Hiking in Glacier. A bonfire on Cannon Beach at night, alone to think as the waves rolled in. Pizza/Pajama/Movie night with my kids and Innocent Husband. Reading on my back porch. Seeing two huge pink pigs in Edinburgh, Scotland, and a cow sticking out of a building.
I also feel a deep sense of simple happiness when I see hummingbirds, chocolate, coffee, flowers, rivers, snowy mountains, and sunsets that look like massive sky paintings.
Orcas Island in the San Juan Islands always brought me joy.
The island was our family vacation spot for so many years. My parents are long gone, cancer being the horrible culprit, but one day I hope to get the courage to return, and stop being afraid that going back to Orcas will make me cry, as I remember our fun family vacations there, camping in a tent, lighting fires at night, hiking around a lake.
I had some of the greatest moments of peace and happiness on that island with my gang.
Currently the “sound” that brings me joy is Beethoven’s fifth symphony. Every time I listen to it I think that it’s not fair that someone is that brilliant.
How Great Thou Art, by Carrie Underwood brings me to tears each time.
I am also a sucker for Back in Black by AC/DC as so many “younger and wilder” memories are attached to that. So glad they didn’t have facebook and phones that took photos when I was younger. I mean, how many of us cringe at the thought of our youth and people taking photos of all the stupid things we did? Yep. I’m talkin’ to YOU.
Books that brought me joy? Let’s start from the beginning: The Narnia Chronicles. It was in those books that my imagination took off. I also related, big time, to Beezus of Beezus and Ramona fame.
Other books that I’ve loved? The Good Girl by Mary Kubica. The Winter Guest by Pam Jenoff. The Color Purple. The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry. The Poisonwood Bible. Song Yet Sung. The Cellist of Sarajevo. Slaughterhouse Five. City of Thieves.
Pick your Chris! Chris Hemsworth, Chris Pine, Chris Pratt, Chris Rock, Chris Evans or Christopher Plummer (circ. 1964 aka Capt. Von Trapp?) – trying for a little diversity! ;o)
I have to pick a “Chris?” Hmm. That’s hard. I will pick Keanu “Chris” Reeves. He’s my man.
Kristy Woodson, Dear Carolina, up and coming author.
Beth Hoffman, NY Times bestseller, Saving CeeCee Honeycutt and Looking for Me.
Amy Sue Nathan, The Glass Wives. Amy also writes the popular Women’s Fiction Writers Blog.
All of today’s authors, Amy, Cathy and Anita, are part of a group of great authors known asThe Tall Poppies! A few of them did Read-A-Romance Month content, too.
Amy Impellizzeri – AmyImpellizzeri.com – Amy’s RARM post (thanks, Amy!)
Marin Thomas – MarinThomas.com – Marin’s RARM post (thanks, Marin!)
Sonja Yoerg – SonjaYoerg.com – Sonya’s RARM post (thanks, Sonja!)
I hope you’ll visit ReadARomanceMonth.com every day in August to see what 93+ of your favorite authors have to say about the Joy of Romance. (Check out the calendar.)
Cathy Lamb shares a scene from her new romance, My Very Best Friend.
Cathy sets the scene for us …
Cathy: My new novel, My Very Best Friend, is about two best friends. One, Charlotte Mackintosh, is a bestselling time travel romance writer living like a hermit on an island off the coast of Washington. She has no romance in her life. She gets the irony of that. The other best friend, Bridget Ramsay, is missing. A few more cryptic hints about the story? It’s set in Scotland. There’s a special garden with a flowing purple clematis. A run-down stone cottage. A man in a kilt with an unforgettable smile and a priest who mysteriously disappeared decades ago. There are crazy activities with a new group of daring friends, including lingerie bike-riding at night and Highland dancing on top of bars, excellent Scottish desserts and a tumble into love. But where is Bridget?
EXCERPT…
My name is Charlotte Mackintosh. I am thirty-five. I love science. I have degrees in physics and biology. One would think I would work in a lab or teach at a university. I don’t. I write time travel romance novels. My ninth book was released four months ago.
My pen name is Georgia Chandler. My mother was from Georgia, a southern belle, and Chandler was her maiden name.
For me to be a romance writer is a perplexing joke. What romance? I don’t have any in my life, haven’t for years, since The Unfortunate Marriage. I have named my vibrator Dan The Vibrator. That should tell you about the sexual action I get. Which is, so we’re all clear, none.
My late father, Quinn, was Scottish, hence my last name, and his mother had the Scottish Second Sight. She saw the future, all mottled up, but she saw it. Sometimes she didn’t understand it herself. I remember her predictions, one in particular when I was seven and we were making an apple butterscotch pie with a dash of cinnamon.
“You will travel through many time periods, Charlotte,” my grandma said, rolling out the pie dough with a heavy rolling pin, her gray curls escaping her bun like springs. “All over the world.”
“What do you mean?” I rolled out my dough, too. We were bringing the pies to the Scottish games up in the highlands the next day, where my father was competing in the athletic contests and playing his bagpipes.
“I don’t know, luv. Damn this seeing into the future business. Cockamamie. It will drive me to an early grave.”
“I want to travel to other planets and inspect them for aliens.”
She placed her pie crust into the buttered glass baking dish. “You will live different lives, child. You will love deeply. And yet…” She paused, her brow furrowed. “It’s not you.”
“I don’t think so, Grandma. I love science. Specifically our cells. Mutations. Sick cells, healthy cells. Toran and I pricked our fingers yesterday so we could study our blood under my microscope.”
She eyed me through her glasses. “You are an odd child.”
“Yes,” I told her, gravely, “I am.”
My grandma was right about time travel. She simply dove into the fictional realm of my life without realizing it. McKenzie Rae Dean, my heroine, travels through time, lives different lives, and loves deeply. But McKenzie Rae is not me. See how my grandma got things jumbled up and yet dead right, too?
Many of her other second sight predictions have come true, too. A few haven’t yet. I’m a little worried about the few that haven’t. Several in particular, as they’re decidedly alarming.
I live on a quiet island, called Whale Island, off the coast of Washington. I have a long white house on five acres. I rarely ever have to leave my view of the ocean and various whales, my books, garden, and cats. I have had enough of the world and of people. Some people call me a recluse. I call them annoying.
My publisher wants me to travel to promote my books. I went on book tours with the first book, hated it, and have refused to go again. They whine. I ignore them. What do they know? I stay home.
I walk my four cats in a specially designed pink cat stroller twice every day. They each have their own compartment with their name on a label in front.
I read gardening books for entertainment, but they are only second to my love of all things physics and biology. I have a pile of exciting books and articles in my house on both subjects, including astrophysics, string theory, the human genome project, and cellular and molecular biology. Seeing them waiting for me, like friends filled with enthralling knowledge, flutters my heart.
I might drink a tad too much alcohol. Wine is my vice. I drink only the finest wine, but that is a poor excuse for the nights the wine makes me skinny-dip in a calm bay by my house and belt out the Scottish drinking songs my father taught me while cart wheeling
I am going to Scotland because I must. My mother asked me to go and check on my father’s house, fix it up, and sell it. “I can finally close the door to the past,” she told me. “Without cracking down the middle, but I need you to go and do this, because if I go, I’ll crack.”
I told her, “That doesn’t make sense, Ms. Feminist.”
She waved a hand, “I know. Go anyhow. My burning bra and I can’t do it.”
I have not been back to Scotland in twenty years, partly because I am petrified of flying and partly because it’s too painful, which is why my mother, usually a ball breaker, refuses to go.
I’m nervous to leave my cats, Teddy J, Daffodil, Dr. Jekyll, and Princess Marie. Teddy J, in particular, suffers from anxiety, and Dr. Jekyll has a mood disorder, I’m sure of it. Princess Marie is snippy.
But it must be done.
My best friend, Bridget Ramsay, is still living there. Or, she was living there. We write letters all the time to each other; we have for twenty years.
Until last year, that is. I haven’t heard from her in months.
I don’t know what’s going on.
I have an idea, but I don’t like the idea.
It scares me to death.
Truth often does that to us.
Find out more about Cathy and her books at cathylamb.org.
http://www.usatoday.com/story/happyeverafter/2015/07/28/my-very-best-friend-excerpt-cathy-lamb/30733599/
Cathy Lamb is the author of My Very Best Friend, a novel that explores the changing nature of friendship and what it means to really embrace living. My Very Best Friendis Lamb’s ninth novel.
Brandi Megan Granett: I had the privilege of talking with Cathy about what makes her tick as an author, how she keeps the ideas coming and the power of friendship, romance and love.
Let’s begin with the big question — you’ve written a lot of books — what keeps you motivated as an author?
Cathy Lamb: What motivates me as an author? Deadlines.
Yes, a looming deadline, even a deadline six months out, is a huge motivator. You see, if you don’t turn in the book, you have to give the money back.
That would be tremendously unpleasant, equal to flossing the teeth of an alligator.
On a friendlier note, I’m motivated to write because I have an obsession with telling stories. I love to write. I feel compelled to write. I have to write. If a space alien took my hands away, I would probably put a pen in my mouth and write, that’s how much I love writing.
How do you find new stories and characters to write about?
Everywhere. I am an excellent eavesdropper. I am also quite talented at daydreaming for hours on end. I can get inspiration for stories and characters from newspaper articles, wisteria, Scotland, bridges, a black eye, anger management, herbs, ancestral history, the word ‘run,’ lingerie, screaming and stalking, mean or strange people, laughter and the Oregon coast.
Where did the idea for My Very Best Friend come from?
To be honest, I wanted to go to Scotland. It’s where one of my daughters goes to school, and I wanted to see where she was living, studying and dancing the night away. So, I set the book there.
I wanted to explore women’s friendships with each other. Specifically, long term best friends.
I was also intrigued by overgrown gardens, stone cottages, a brilliant but socially inept time travel romance writer who has no romance, terrible secrets, my fury at the Catholic church and the abuse scandals, Scottish drinking songs, lingerie bike riding and a man in a kilt.
All those thoughts were jumbled up together, tossed in the air and out came My Very Best Friend. Sort of. It took twelve edits to get it into decent shape…
My Very Best Friend paints a lovely portrait of modern day Scotland. Do you get to visit the places you write about?
I visited Scotland in October. It was my second visit. The first time I went post — college, when I was still near broke. All of my other settings, yes, I’ve visited. But as most of my books are set in Oregon, this does not make me a world traveler. It makes me an “Oregon traveler.”
A more clear explanation of this would be: I have a bunch of kids. I’m a full time writer. I have a home I try to keep reasonably clean. When the dust bunnies leap up and bite me, I dust them away. So, I’m busy.
I travel in my head far more than I travel in reality, which is unfortunate, but I do want to travel more in future so I can at least pretend to be cool.
What steps do you take to create place with your words?
Ah. Good question. I love setting. I want the reader to see, feel, smell and taste where I am in the book. So, I try to include all the senses to create that place for them so they’re in the scene with me, not lurking along the edges peering in.
If my character is in a village in Scotland, staring at a 900 year old cathedral, trying to figure out where that priest disappeared to all those years ago, I want them to be right beside her, puzzling out the mystery.
If my character is running naked along a river at midnight, trying to get rid of her anger and grief, I want my readers on that run, listening to an owl hoot. If my character is watering her ex — husband’s Corvette with a garden hose, I want the reader to feel that cool water and hear the ex wife cackling. If my character used to weigh 350 pounds, I want the reader to know what that feels like when she’s lumbering down a city street and people are snickering.
Charlotte and Bridget offer the reader a glimpse at a complex relationship. What did you learn about friendship from spending time with these two? What do you think their experience demonstrates?
There was a gap in time where Bridget was not writing letters back to Charlotte, which was worrisome. My Very Best Friend is set in 1990, so no email, twitter, etc. Some would say this was a better, more charming time.
Anyhow, when they were reunited, outside of a cottage in Scotland, their relationship was the same in some ways, they still laughed and dove deep into interesting topics of conversation, but it was different, too, as Charlotte realized the extent of what Bridget had hidden from her, the wrenching secrets she had that Charlotte had no knowledge of.
The love and friendship was still there, but they recalibrated. Friendships can take a break. You may not see or talk to a friend for a long time, but true friends return to the same place they were before. Charlotte and Bridget did that.
Charlotte is a romance writer who finds romance. What do you like best about writing about love, romance and, most importantly, sex?
Sex really isn’t that good without the romance, care and love. It may be hot and lusty, but good down to your soul? Eh. So, when I write about falling in love, romance and sex, they all tie in together in my books if my protagonist is with the right man. Which, in the end, if I do have a romance, she is.
However, the women characters in my books go through all the difficulties that most of us women have gone through, or are going through now — cheating boyfriends, inconsiderate donkey men, men who surely have a lizard sitting on their brain because they couldn’t possibly be that dumb. Could they?
As someone who has been married for over 22 years, I will admit that I like to live vicariously through my characters as they leap into the emotional dangers, passionate highs and tricky lows of falling in love. And, I like to create truly awesome men who stand by their women.
What makes Toran a great match for Charlotte?
Toran and Charlotte fell in love as teens. They are soul mates. I believe everyone has a soul mate, but I, cynically, believe that most people won’t meet that person. Being honest, what are the statistical odds? It’s quite poor.
But Toran and Charlotte found each other. They are both intellectual, quirky, and love science, farming and the environment. They like to drink beer and sing Scottish drinking songs. They both work hard and like working hard. They like rolling about in bed, eating delicious desserts, rainy nights, books and reading, politics, etc. They trust each other. They like each other. They are utterly in love and well matched on every level.
Can you talk about your writing process?
Every novel I write gets many journals. I sketch out plotlines, characters, arcs, etc. But not too much. I have a general idea of who my character is, her name and profession, her family and all the problems she is dealing with as her life caves in around her. The rest is like a cloud. Way high up there, fluffy, unclear.
I discuss my idea with my agent and editor and a few family members. When the plot is as solid as a fluid thought can be, I write. 2,000 words a day, 10,000 words a week, or I don’t go to bed on Saturday night. I set edit goals, too. Edit 10 pages a day with the first edit, fifteen in the next, etc.
I edit all my books 12 times total. It’s a mess. When I’m in the middle of it, I’m a mess. The house is a mess.
Then it’s done, and I celebrate by having chocolate and coffee, my usual treats, and in about four days, I’m usually bored so I start thinking about my next novel…
You can keep up with Cathy Lamb or Facebook or via the author’s collective, The Tall Poppies.
Follow Brandi Megan Granett on Twitter:www.twitter.com/brandigranett
Hello everyone,
I’m speaking at Powell’s Books in Cedar Hills in Beaverton, Oregon on Tuesday, August 4th at 7:00 about my new book My Very Best Friend.
I would llloovve to see you. I will attempt to be entertaining.
A little about My Very Best Friend….
An old stone cottage in Scotland.
An overgrown garden. A man in a kilt.
Lingerie bike riding at midnight. Tea and crumpets.
Two best friends.
One is missing.
Today is the book birthday for Cathy Lamb’s latest novel MY VERY BEST FRIEND. It’s Cathy’s ninth book, and had me turning the pages late into the night. And if you know me, that’s no small feat. I’m an early-to-bed kinda gal.
Sometimes I have an idea what a book is about before I start reading, sometimes not. Even when I do, my expectations of story seem to vanish on page one as I allow the author to do his or her (oh, who are we kidding, usually HER) job.
That’s definitely the case with MY VERY BEST FRIEND.
I was whisked away to the Oregon and the life of Charlotte Mackintosh, a romance writer who has no romance in her life. She’s an odd duck, to say the least, which made her completely endearing. Charlotte is also generous and kind and while she hadn’t traveled in years, she sets off to Scotland to sell her parents’ old cottage, where she lived until she was about twelve. The story takes us then to Scotland–and that’s where the whirlwind begins!
Cathy is a master at pacing. I sometimes felt like I couldn’t keep up with how fast I wanted to read. I’m not sure that makes sense but so much is happening I wanted to take it all in. There’s friendship, heartache, mystery, romance, and some real growth by Charlotte, and all the other characters, by the end of the book.
I read a review somewhere (I am sorry not to attribute its author, but I am not searching for one line in one review!) that said something like the reader learned something new on every page.
SHE LEARNED SOMETHING NEW ON EVERY PAGE.
And there you have it, folks. Always share something new with your reader. What the characters are doing, saying, wanting, needing. Who they’re being, where they’re going, how they’re failing or succeeding.
I’ve read stacks of writing books and interpreted them in a way that benefits my own writing and in ways I believe I’ve helped others. I’ve taken scores of workshops, gotten pages of feedback, and analyzed my own work and others. But this is one of the most helpful thing I’ve ever read. Take it straight to your writer’s heart and leave it there. And read MY VERY BEST FRIEND to see how it’s done.
I think MY VERY BEST FRIEND is, indeed, a prime example of keeping a reader on the edge of her seat in a book that’s not a thriller. It’s women’s fiction with a generous dollop of romance. It’s happy, it’s sad (oh so very), it’s funny, it’s complex (but easy to follow), and it’s also whimsical. I picked up this book when I had time to read and when I should have been doing other things.
What can I say, my friends? Cathy Lamb has done it again.
Amy xo
Greetings from Oregon!
My new novel, My Very Best Friend, is now on the shelves.
So what is this story about?
An old stone cottage in Scotland.
An overgrown garden. A man in a kilt.
Lingerie bike riding at midnight. Tea and crumpets.
Two best friends.
One is missing.
I truly hope you like it.
I will be speaking at Powell’s Books in Cedar Hills in Beaverton, Oregon on Tuesday, August 4th at 7:00, and I would love to see you.
I am wishing you a wonderful summer filled with books, chocolate, coffee, and time to daydream.
In a few decades, my sister and I will probably be just like these two.
Tulips, chocolate, books and more books, cackling and laughing together under a table.
And what’s in that coffee they’re drinking? A bit of kahlua?
Castration, sex and studs, chicken cacciatore, and advice on writing. Those are a few of the articles that are in my newsletter.
This is my second newsletter in ten years. I’m on a roll, as you can see. If you are feeling dare devilly (Did I just make up a word? “devilly” is not a word in the dictionary, I don’t think…) and want to sign up for my next newsletter, click on the link below.
https://www.facebook.com/cathy.lamb.9/app_100265896690345
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Greetings from Oregon where I continue to eat too much chocolate, drink too much coffee, and daydream as if I have nothing better to do than marvel at clouds.In the last two years I have found another hobby: Gardening. I believe I may now be addicted to hanging flower baskets. This is, indeed, an odd addiction.It is amazing what goes on in a backyard when one is determined to sit in a chair and not think. Squirrels chase each other. Hummingbirds and blue birds hang out. Frogs hop. Garden snakes try to frighten me. Geese fly overhead as if they own the place. Late at night, even though I live smack in the middle of suburbia, I even hear coyotes “singing.”
