Time Has Been Consumed in Great Quantities.

Zelda, our new kitten (as of last month), is taking up a surprising amount of time--she's got an insane energy level (as kittens tend to) and needs a lot of attention or else she goes nuts and literally bounces off walls and other surfaces. She likes to be underfoot, as in under your actual feet. Or racing across the top of the piano, which is a big no-no that results in the scary voice saying "NO! BAD KITTY!", or occasionally the time-out room. But she's very, very sweet and very cute.

That's not the only reason I've been on hiatus. There was last week's Summer Blog Blast Tour, which meant interviews with authors posted every day at our writing blog. It was really the prep work which took a lot of time--gathering the supplementary information and links, and formatting everything.

I've also had a fair amount of other work--another poster for the Prospect Theater, which I'll post as soon as I make a little graphic of it; a website for my in-laws' law firm (warning: may not look right in IE 6 or below--still tweaking code); essays to grade for Rob's art appreciation classes (he has three this summer, paying for our new AC); planning for the Welsh conference (yup, still President) and a writing conference in LA where I'm going to be part of a panel of bloggers; neglecting my ongoing research job which is actually one of the few of these tasks which actually pays money; and revising my damn novel, which is taking a lot longer than I was hoping. I wanted it to be revised and a proposal out of the house by June 16th. Now I'm just hoping I can get it out before I leave for the Welsh conference on July 21st. I'm very anxious to get this book in front of somebody while it's still somewhat fresh and topical. And I will probably be taking another freelance job--this one's a paid one, yay--doing some sort of editing work and possibly press releases for the State Theatre, an independent art-house theater here in Modesto.

This past weekend was relatively eventful because we attended PR2, aka Pig Roast 2: Pig on a Spit, Goat in a Pit (the official slogan). This year we were involved with the planning committee, which consisted mainly of periodic smaller-scale beer-drinking parties to discuss Pig Roast activities and logistics. It also meant showing up at our friend Brian's ranch house the night before PR2 to help test out the bocce ball court, which was set up in the almond orchard out back, set up lights for the bocce ball court (consisting of half Christmas lights and half tiki torches), and season and spit the pig. My role mainly involved taking some very graphic pictures of a pig carcass being strapped to a huge metal pipe with hose clamps. (Will post some of said pictures soon--not for the squeamish!)

So, yes, as the slogan indicates, this year there was also pit-roasted goat as well as the roast pig. The goat was roasted off-site, however, at one of the planner's parents' place. It involved some elaborate setup involving putting the goat in the fire pit, covering it with banana leaves and sealing it up with mud and cooking it overnight, though I'm sure I'm missing a few steps there. Both roasts were very tasty, and there were an array of pot-luck salads and desserts as well as freshly made sweet potato fries.

Brian's place is the perfect spot for a pig roast, since he lives out in Hughson on a ranchette surrounded on two sides by an almond orchard and on the third side by a tomato field. Hughson is about fifteen minutes' drive out into the country from our house. You drive southeast-ish from our house, past the Modesto airport (now offering 4 undoubtedly tiny flights a day to LAX and 5 flights a day to SFO) and into Ceres (which Rob will assure you is a shithole). Go left on Hatch, and drive for about ten miles straight into the country alongside the irrigation canal, past the orchards, past the sign advertising horses for sale, past the sign advertising chicks and bunnies for sale, past more orchards, past the Gurdwara Sahib Sikh Temple (lots of Sikh farmers out here), past some oddly incongruous McMansion tract housing, and then make a right into some more orchards and you're just about there.

It's kind of weird to live so close to "the country." On the other hand, our weekly organic CSA boxes rock big-time. This past week we got four varieties of beans (French Filet, purple, wax, and green), cherry tomatoes, summer squash, white nectarines, a cantaloupe, and two ears of corn. Bad-ass, I tell you.

Summer Blog Blast Tour Is Not Here!

Greetings! If you've come to my site looking for the Summer Blog Blast Tour of interviews with children's and YA authors, that was unfortunately due to an accidental misprint! This is my personal blog, but you can find interviews with Gene Yang, Ysabeau Wilce, Svetlana Chmakova, Kazu Kabuishi, Chris Crutcher, Julie Anne Peters, and Justina Chen Headley at Finding Wonderland: The WritingYA Weblog, which I contribute to along with TadMack.

For a full schedule of interviews on the blog tour, with locations and dates, please visit Chasing Ray. David Brin, Mitali Perkins, Holly Black, Jordan Sonnenblick...the list of authors is amazing, and the interviews promise to be fantastic. Colleen at Chasing Ray is the genius (and the workhorse) behind the project, and the other bloggers are really the cream of the crop as far as sites that focus on children's and young adult literature. For more info on the tour, click here.

And for those wondering what the hell I've been doing (and why I haven't been blogging about it) the past couple of weeks...well, see above. Plus, I promise an update soon. Swear to God.

Flickr Fiction's New Home; Modesto Madness

So, of course the Berkeley student who stole the Nobel Prize medal out of the Lawrence Hall of Science is from Modesto. Of course. In other news from today's Modesto Bee, a young man died of autoerotic asphyxiation, and the city prepares for Graffiti Summer. Incidentally, a friend of ours was stabbed in the leg at Graffiti Summer when she was 16, which apparently prompted a downplaying of the festivities for a few years. Yes, Rob and I moved to a very strange place.

We Flickr Fiction-ites now have a new group home on Ning for your convenience - bookmark the site for easy reference and viewing of everyone's writings. My contribution for this week is called "At the Top" and starts thusly:

"Huffin' and puffin' and blowin' your house down," Scott Mason said, grabbing a protruding part of the rock with his right hand and pulling himself up to the top of the boulder with sheer brute strength...

Visit our "Ficktion" page for more.

Occupado

This week is crazy. Here's one post I wrote about it on the YA Writing blog. There's just been so much going on. I have photos I want to post--namely, giant organic vegetables from our CSA subscription (including a leek as long as my arm) and the new kitten, Zelda (who is little and black). Zelda's been taking up a bit of time because she was ill with a respiratory infection when we got her last week from the animal shelter. So there was some medication and a vet visit last week. Now that she's doing better, she's spazzing out all over the house. I swear, that kitten can play for eight hours a day. She and Roxie are starting to get along fairly well now, though, which is a relief, since the first few days Roxie was hissing and actually growling at her. But they've been playing and napping together, and as long as Zelda keeps her distance most of the time, they seem fine.

But I have this wedding on Saturday that I'm a bridesmaid for, and a huge rehearsal barbecue tomorrow, so until Sunday I'm pretty booked. So no substantial blog posts until next week...

Flickr Fiction: Rosemary for Remembrance

Daria fingered the long, rustling grasses, picking through them for roots, herbs, and healing plants, head down, intent. Watching from a few feet away, Ink scratched the itchy spot on her head, digging her nails deep underneath the dark cowlick at the back.

"Don't scratch. If you scratch, I'll have to spread the rosemary paste on your scalp again. You won't like it." Daria's voice was stern and matter-of-fact; she didn't quite look up. "How a foundling like you who's been living in the forest managed to make a den for the night with poison ivy for a pillow, I will never know. And you nearly a woman."

Ink didn't reply. Ink rarely spoke. There hadn't been a need, when she'd been living alone, and that had been two years now. She was out of the habit. Even now that she'd been a full springtime with Daria, she still hardly said a word. But that seemed to suit Daria, who didn't appear to expect answers.

Ink's blood mother had expected answers. When she didn't get them, she would reach for her walking-stick.

That seemed a lifetime ago, now. Ink looked up; the sun warmed her face from a sky studded with tiny puffy clouds. She let a tiny smile stretch the corners of her mouth.

"Don't dawdle," Daria said. She straightened for a moment, hand on her lower back, and pointed to a stand of brilliant pink flowers several feet away, under a gnarled oak tree. "Over there--I need foxglove."

Ladyslipper, Ink said to herself, trying not to forget the names she'd given things while she'd lived in the forest. Names the plants themselves had seemed to tell her, but she wasn't about to tell Daria that. Not yet. She walked slowly to the patch of foxglove and began gathering the flowered stalks in a bundle. She had walked nearly all the way around the tree before she noticed what had been growing in the shelter of the tall foxglove.

She let out a small cry. Whitecaps! They had been her favorite--such a treat to find them when she'd been eating nothing but sun-dried old apples, boiled tubers, and bitter walnuts for weeks. The tiny mushrooms, just boiled in her battered tin cup with water from the stream and the little onions she called teardrops...it reminded her of nights spent alone huddled by her small fire, but also of her mother before...before Maisy...

The girl known as Ink swallowed hard against the ache in her chest. She gently plucked the small handful of whitecaps and cradled them in her free hand, the bundle of foxglove sandwiched carelessly under her left arm. She walked quickly back to Daria where she squatted, plucking catmint leaves for tea. Ink stopped beside her and held out her hand.

"How did you...?" Daria trailed off, and the lines around her face softened for a moment. She pulled Ink to her chest with bony arms, letting the tears wet the front of her linen shirt.

***

This week's piece was inspired by this photo by Flickr user dis cover y. I think this was probably influenced by the little potted herbs I just put on the kitchen counter this week. Check the usual suspects for more Flickr Fiction: The Gurrier, Isobel, Elimare, Chris, TadMack, Neil, Valsha, and Mari.