Six days post op and I woke up this morning to orders from my husband to make a shopping list unless I wanted him to choose everything. Well, we shop together most of the time so it’s not as if anything would be much different, but still, I should be able to come up with more than the “coffee, half and half, milk” that had topped my list and sat in all their splendour for a half hour.

I feel fine and yes, I have an appetite, but for some odd reason nothing sprang to mind as a craving, nothing sounded “good” and trying to anticipate what I might want when he returns to work tomorrow and I can’t drive was futile.

Perhaps I’m not as “fine” as I thought.

Ginger snaps!

Steel cut oats!

My list now has five things on it. And I decided to grab the new book that had been smothered under a pile on my desk and glance through it (worried that I’d get inspired to want to actually cook something, and thus blow to hell and back any idea that I am convalescing and must be treated like a delicate flower) and thus found myself soaking up the beautiful voice and imagery of The Pat Conroy Cookbook: Recipes and Stories of My Life.

And running across this sentence, that I promptly wanted to read aloud to everyone I knew:

“You never know where Nathalie is going with a train of thought; you simply know that the train will not be on time, will carry many passengers, and will eventually collide with a food truck stalled somewhere down the line on damaged tracks.

And then–

An idea struck.

I love this book. I’m only on page 16 and I love this book, and I think I’ll give it as a Christmas gift.

And then–

A different idea struck.

What if I get together with a few of my friends and we have a book exchange? We each must bring a book we love–old and battered off our shelf or new and shiny, it makes no difference–and this is our Christmas party? A book exchange of books we love.

Part of me is already saying, “Yes but I will probably end up with something I don’t like and the odds of coming up with a book I love that I haven’t already foisted off on my friends is slim and it will make this hard, not fun–”

And then–

I thought, wait, it can be a bigger group, a group of the females in my family, and my friends, and they can invite anybody they want, too, so that the group swells larger, and how do we do this, do we have them wrapped and nobody can see them? Or do we have them open so each person can take turns saying what they love about their book, and how do we exchange them? Oh, I don’t care, this sounds fun.”

And then–

I started an email to my sister, to get her involved, but stopped.

And then–

I changed it to two high school friends instead.

And then–

I changed it to two other friends.

And then–

I thought about how much work was involved in this idea and how I don’t really want to do it, even though it does sound like a nice party in my mind where everybody has wonderful taste in books and everybody who gets a copy of the book I bring (in my mind’s eye there are more, how can that be?) adores it and thinks I am divine for finding such an unknown gem (even though my most recent effort to share something I truly loved was met with polite thanks and none of the effusive delight I had anticipated)–

And then–

I stepped carefully back from the precipice, closed the email window and returned to my book, to look for something to put on the list.

And then–

I put the book aside, wondering what got into me to make me want to find something to cook, when I don’t have to? I’m not even supposed to, truth be told.

Sod the list. He can buy what he wants.

I want to sink back into my novel, and return to a world where I can create anything I want with just words.

Without having to actually do the work involved with making it happen.

The world that has possessed me for well over a year, haunting me when I wasn’t actually putting words on paper, but that I have been wrenched away from for too long now.

And then–

I will have returned to my bliss.

As I’ve mentioned before, I love moleskines, the pocket sized, with lines.

But where I used to use them only as a capture device, I have finally branched out. I have sort of suddenly started using the large soft-cover moleskines for writing. By hand. Which is tricky, since within minutes my hand starts cramping and within hours I can no longer read or remember some of what I’ve written.

Yeah, sounds like a good plan, huh?

["Writing content?" you ask. "Is she finally getting around to a bit of the promised writing content? And this? Is it?"]

Oh, hush. I’m getting there.

Sometimes when the muse is playing hard to get, I find that I can go to the local Tex Mex cafe and sit with a bowl of chips and salsa and pull out my favorite fountain pen (except I have the extra fine nib) and–okay, sometimes, the iPod, too, with music that fits my story and mood–and somehow, words come there that weren’t coming at home.

Maybe because they don’t count. They’re unofficial. They aren’t even allowed to show up in the manuscript yet, not even in the rough draft. They are just messy words in ink that might even smear, that might not ever make it to prime time…

And they show up.

It’s odd how that happens.

And more often than not, those words go home with me and get typed into the manuscript and wow, they are good.  Good enough to keep in that rough draft, anyway.  Sometimes several hundred of them.

Do you realize how many years I’ve been writing? And never, ever wrote by hand? And suddenly, I’m doing it with regularity?

I guess you can teach a drinking aged Pooks new tricks, huh?  (Did you really think I was going to use the o-word there?)

And to my delight, you can now get Noodler’s Black Waterproof Fountain Pen Ink from Amazon. Free shipping (since I also have Amazon Prime, that is very cool, because I can order it and not pay shipping, which I used to have to do when I ordered it elsewhere. Plus, I’ve never bought this black before, and was actually kind of wanting Hunter’s Green, but I am pretty sure black is the only waterproof ink, and I’ve found that when I use highlighters (have I mentioned that I love highlighters?) they sometimes smear the ink and, yeah, I decided my next bottle of ink would be waterproof, because if I can’t read my own writing when it’s not smeared? Smearing is not an option.

And while we’re at it, I stumbled across another cool site that pays attention to notebooks and such.

Notebookstories.

Check it out.

Pssst. By the way, I just ordered a new Lamy fountain pen.

It’s purple.

Excuse me while I squeee.

Well, lots of stuff, mostly research for the novel.

But I’m also reading Flesh and Fire: Book One of The Vineart War.

When I preach, I remind myself that the Collegium was created for one purpose: that the world not forget Sin Washer, and how–and why–He came to us.

And thus begins the prologue in which the world is revealed, a world where Vinearts have the responsibility of tending the magical grapes and making the wine-blood that was created by Sin Washer’s blood.

Magic and wine-making, a compelling combination, and the first book that has held my interest enough to make me sit down and read it in a long time.

That’s the book du jour on planetpooks.

And I’ve been kind of busy writing.

But whilst I’m writing, I thought I’d share this post about writing, and living, and zen, and other stuff like that.

There are two problems with it.

It makes me want to buy that book.

Which isn’t a problem, because, okay, just did that.

However.

It makes me want to clean house.

Don’t worry.  I’ll get over it.

(And I think Toni might think I just used too much white space.)

I’ll get over that, too.

I bumped into trouble when I discovered that the adder bite doesn’t have an immediate reaction, which kind of kills the drama.

“SCREAM!!!!!!!”

::whistles::

:: digs toe in dirt::

::clock ticks::

::two hours later::

“Ouch! I hurt. Oh, and hey, I think I’m going to vomit, and look at that, my leg is starting to turn black….”

Bugger that.

****this is where a picture of an adder

would be if I didn’t refuse to put such a picture

on my site because it would give me nightmares****

Okay, I just gave myself nightmares looking for a picture of an adder to link to above for those of you who want to see one, and you notice there isn’t a link, right?

You’re on your own.

I love process.  I love reading about how other people write. I love talking about process. I love knowing habits, struggles, quirks, agonies, ecstasies, superstitions, muses.

And I also think that when one talks too much about how the sausage is made, one may ultimately remove the magic from the story.  Not for oneself, but for those who later read it. I’m glad JKR wasn’t keeping a blog the entire time she was writing the Potter series, and that each book arrived, like the magic it was, fully-formed and ready. I’m glad I didn’t know which sections she worried over, which ones she fretted might not make sense or might not fulfil her vision. I’m glad I didn’t have the author’s personality firmly imprinted on me while I was reading, and was instead, able to sink into her universe.

So my own selfish need to babble about the process is at odds with what I think benefits the book ultimately, and thus, these babblings may disappear.

That said, let the babbling begin.  Don’t expect profundity, just my mutterings as I work my way through the process of finishing the first novel I’ve written in over fifteen years, and a novel that is far more complex than anything I’ve ever tackled in my entire life.

I don’t know who is still here, if anybody.  Perhaps you have abandoned blogdom for facebookdom or twitterdom.

Perhaps you still keep an eye on a few blogs, and perhaps this is one of them.

The state of pooks these days is that I’ve written about 100,000 words in the past few months.  Yes, I’m writing a novel, not a screenplay.  Not just a novel, but the first of a trilogy.  Oh, and this 100,000 words is maybe 2/3rds or so of it.

I’m finding myself wanting to chronicle this process, and this is the most practical place to do that.

So yes, I’m back, and I’ll be writing about writing.  If that intrigues you, stick around.

In the meantime, I’m struggling with a plot snarl which I hope to work out over chips and salsa at the local Tex Mex joint, and will return later to play “catchup.”

How have you been? Feel free to let me know!

If you’re new?  ~waves~ Let me know that, too!

Pooks

And because it pleases my muse today….

In fact, I bought it: Mirabilis

More about Mediaeval Baebes here.

1979.

2009

Kinda makes ya smile (even if they are the damned Steelers).

You’ve heard of driving gloves.  Well, I just received my order of typing gloves, and I’m in love.

Now on those icy cold January February days when my thermostat is down low (unlike our president, and yes Mr. Obama, I adore you, but I’m looking at you) and my hands are freezing, I can keep them warm and toasty and still type!

Besides which, aren’t they darling?

Fingerless knit Gloves – Comes in several colors!

Of course, because this is Dallas and it’s January, even though it was below freezing and so icy they canceled school four days ago, today it’s 65 degrees and climbing.  Oh well, I’m sure I’ll get to wear them one of these days soon.