Anger Management

This is a Cinco de Mayo rose. I just love the subtle lavenders in with the brighter shades. I bought this rose at Santa Fe Gardens, which is the local bricks & mortar presence of High Country Gardens. If we weren't on water restrictions that forbid new plantings, I'd go every weekend and pick out just one new friend to take home.

It feels good to me to garden again. To spend some time with the earth and the plants.

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote on Word Whores about how I've given up so many hobbies, to make time for writing. I don't regret that choice, by any stretch. The last couple of years have been very productive for me. You folks out there might not be able to tell, because it's mostly going to yucca juice right now, but I've been writing these fabulous novels that will be published ANY SECOND NOW. I've got a good root system of several series going. When I look at my portfolio, it feels good.

Hell, I feel sexy just saying I have a portfolio.

Yesterday, I mentioned to the fabulous author Laura Bickle that I'm trying not to be angry that I'm going to RWA this year with the same novel I pitched last year. She told me she thought I should be angry. That it's healthy to express that anger, rather than tamping it down and seething over it.

She's right.

I am angry and that feels good, too. It makes me mad that no one has fallen in love with this novel like I feel it deserves. It pisses me off that so many agents tell me they love it, the premise, the writing, the characters - and ask me to send them the very next thing I write. I'm angry and that fires me up.

Yes, I know I could self-publish. Or submit to a press directly. I'm choosing not to at this point.

I see so much dithering in the publishing world right now. So many of the industry professionals are hunkered down waiting to see what will happen. I hear many editors have been instructed not to acquire anything at all. I see agents making what seem to be desperation moves, selling clients' work to epresses with no track record. Established authors are turning down NYC deals to self-publish. (Courtney Milan is the latest news that way.)

We all want to make the thing happen. To get the stories to the readers, to make a living doing what we love. Everyone seems desperate to get rich and terrified of going under.

So, I'm coming back to the idea of balance. I'm spending more time in the garden, hand-watering and adding mulch to retain moisture.

I let myself be angry and it felt good, too.

It's good to want things.

Settling In

Yes, we are.

To answer all who've been asking.

There's been particular concern over the kitties. It's true: kitties have a major rep for hysterics over this kind of thing.

Not ours.

Yes, the three-day stop-over at my mother's was traumatic. Ted and Isabel stayed at her house in Denver from Thursday to Sunday morning. A plan intended to avoid the more intense kitty trauma of having to See Furniture Being Moved. But they hated being separated from us and were apparently convinced we'd abandoned them forever.

But within hours of arriving here, they'd already established patterns. Teddy has her morning nap room and evening nap room. And Isabel is LOVING the secret garden. Here she is, crashed out after a morning of leaping after bugs and spinning among the flowers as the hummingbirds dart overhead.

We have been similarly finding our patterns. Cocktails on the patio watching the sunset is a no-brainer. We've managed to have five meals at home in a row -- that were not pre-prepared in any way.

And the food is so good.

If you haven't lived in a rural, dare I say, underserved, community, you don't know what I mean. I remember when my writer/photographer friend, RoseMarie moved from New York, she had a fit because she couldn't get lettuce that wasn't wilted. She even bullied the Safeway produce manager into telling her when the produce truck would arrive, so she could be there to get her lettuce fresh off the truck. "It ARRIVED wilted!" she wailed to me.

You get inured over time. Accustomed to making do. To buying one of the two varieties available. You don't expect much. No one up the highway from you expects more, so the good stuff never comes into towns like that.

Not so here. Last night I made Shrimp Newburg. The shrimp were succulent and tasty. The skim milk was organic, fresh and came in an adorable bottle. They have spelt sandwich bread! Am I sounding silly?

That's the thing about low expectations: it makes the new world that much brighter and tastier.

Having a wonderful time -- Wish you were here!