Triscuits, or a Lesson in Calico

I love Triscuits.  But they’re full of msg and other chemicals, so I went online to see if there was a recipe for them somewhere that I could make.  I couldn’t find one for home-made Triscuits, but I found one for healthy snack crackers so I gave it a go.  I carefully rolled the dough out to a paper thin consistency and then put garlic on top along with onions, kosher salt, poppy and caraway seeds.  Noms!  Into the oven on 450 for 10 – no, 12 minutes.  Then out they came, smelling like a fresh everything bagel.

I nearly burned my mouth on the first two, but boy, were they good.  As typical when I’m cooking, my calico wove herself about my feet, begging for a taste, so I picked up a (now slightly cooler) cracker and offered it to her.  She took a sniff, then did that “I’m insulted that you would even think I’d eat that” dance backward that cats are so good at, then retreated to another room.  Alas, not a cracker fan.

The directions indicated that it would be a good idea to leave them out to cool for a while before packaging them up to store them, even going so far as to suggest they’d be fine on the counter for a couple of days, so I left them to cool overnight just as they were on the parchment paper. 

The next morning I got up to feed the cats.  As I stumbled past the crackers I reached for one.  Nom!  Nice and cool and crisp, with just the right mix of flavors.  I had another.

A little while later it was time to leave.  But when I got to my car I remembered that my glasses were still in the kitchen, so I ran back up to retrieve them.  There on the counter was that deceitful little butt-licker, enjoying the salty treats.  The same ones she said NO to the night before.  The very ones I left out all night, and ate with such relish the next morning.

Butt-flavored Triscuits.

The Jane Austen Fesitval . . . and THE DRESS

This July I attended the much-dreaded Jane Austen Festival in Louisville, Kentucky.  I have to admit, after the initial mis-step, making the dress for this thing wasn't so bad.  They do provide you with directions, after all.  Sewing is kind of like making cookies in that respect.  And it doesn't make you fat. The worst part for me was when I tried to do something called a flat-felled seam.  I think I goofed up and did some other type of seam instead.  But no one inspected it, issued a grade, or even frowned, so all in all I was pleased.  I even put the dozens of pleats in without crying.

The dress was so heavy in the back that the front part kept riding up high over my chest - instead of UNDER the boobs it tried to creep up near my neck.  Tons of safety pins solved that problem. 

So, what did I wear, exactly?  I wore a chemise.  Overtop of that, I wore a hand-made corset (really).  Then, overtop of that, I wore a petticoat.  And at last, overtop of that, I wore the gown.   

Et, voila!

 

 

I swear, I'm actually much skinnier than this dress makes me look.  It made me look twenty pounds heavier than I actually am, and since I am currently carrying an extra twenty pounds, this was not a good thing.  All in all, when my sisters and I (and a new-found cousin) finally got together in Kentucky and went to the festival, we had a wonderful time. 

 

And in the end, that's all that matters.

The Art of Writing a Novel

This weekend I attended a two-day workshop presented by Alexandra Sokoloff on screenwriting structure for novelists.  It was incredibly helpful and I highly recommend it to anyone who wants to take their writing to the next level.  Her website:  http://alexandrasokoloff.com.

You know, when I sat down and wrote my first novel – and it only took me thirty days, which should tell you something – I thought all you had to do was puke plot onto paper.  Ha!  No one, but no one, will ever see that pile of dung. 

 
Now however, having written several novels, I’ve mastered show-don’t-tell, setting as character, the hero’s journey and its archetypes, how to create sympathetic protagonists, and have eliminated dialogue tags and my beloved-but-oh-so-forbidden semicolon.  I know enough now to understand that I have barely scratched the surface.   It’s a good thing I didn’t know there was more to it than that, or I’d never have started this whole writing thing.

OF NOTE:  This week, The Bookshop Muse is releasing its much anticipated Emotion Thesaurus.  Grab your copy, you writers you!  You won’t know what you ever did without it.  http://thebookshelfmuse.blogspot.com/

Ironing the Monster

Okay, I can't do anything about That Damn Dress unless I iron the fabric.  The problem is, I bought like 8 yards of the stuff.  I set it out on top of my kitchen table though and commenced to sweat iron.  The only problem with that is I have cats.  My cats LOVE it when I change the sheets.  And this was the biggest sheet of all!

Now how the heck am I supposed to iron with this cutie re-wrinkling the whole thing?

Cutie, cutie, cutie, cutie .... Mama LOVES the kitty!

But yes, I got it done, and I put the dang monstrosity back into the box (the fabric, not the cat).  Until next time ....

The Reluctant Seamstress

More on the Jane Austen Festival

Okay, so it’s been – what – six months?  So far I have washed the material and evened out the ends.  I also took out the pattern and looked at it a couple of times. 

And that’s all.

My sister made me that corset, by the way.  I wonder if I can get away with just wearing the corset over top of my regency-style shorts and tee shirt ... and live to tell the story.

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Okay, so several weeks ago I wrote a little skit starring my sisters (and me).

On a sunny day in July Jane Austen Festival …

Paula:  “Isn’t this a beautiful day?” Closes eyes, inhales deeply. “Just smell those Rosa Centifolia Pomponia.”

Janet (dreamily):  “It makes me think of Pemberly.”  Strokes maple leaf lovingly and gazes at far off bunny.

Sheila:  “I wonder if Edward is here.”

Claudia:  “Edward who? Damn it, I just stepped in dog shit.”

Sheila:  “Edward Cullin. Duh!” Uses both hands to shove boobs higher.

Carol:  “Edward!” Sigh. “Well if he is, he’s mine.”

Claudia:  Drags foot across grass, muttering, “Stupid people bringing their stupid mutts to a festival …”

Sheila:  “No way. I’m the Bella.”

Carol:  “You were the Bella last time! It’s my turn!”

Paula:  “Well you know, girls, there’s no such thing as vampires.  And if there were, I doubt you’d want to meet one, much less kiss one.”  Chortles.  “In fact, kissing Edward would be like kissing a corpse.”

Carol:  “No, it wouldn’t!”

Sheila: “Shut your gaping pie hole, Paula!  You’re just jealous cuz you’re not the Bella!” Surreptitiously arranges hair to cover evidence of hair extensions.

Claudia:  “Effing dog. Hey! Is that the refreshment table?”

Janet:  “Yes.”  Sighs tragically.  “And they set the table down right next to that tree, where the pretty gray squirrel was nesting.  She dropped all her nuts, poor thing!”

Sheila:  “Hey! Look over there!  It’s Edward!”  Points at guy wearing topcoat.

Carol:  “Move aside! He’s mine!”  Runs to catch topcoat.

Sheila:  snicker

Paula:  Sighs again.  "No one wants to look at the Rosa chindensis mutabilis."