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What fabulous fun I just had. Damn. My friend Christina, owner of Article Pract (my LYS), and I went out for lunch. We went to the Temescal Cafe, where we had the knitting meet-up last week, and where I think I’ll be spending more time. I’ve been looking to adopt another cafe, as my old walk-able one is just too far away now. This could be it, folks. I could see myself writing there. We had a fabulous veggie sandwich with excellent smoked gouda and avocado, and then we went over to the (closed) shop — how cool is it to be in a closed yarn shop? –where she asked me if I wouldn’t mind helping her with special orders.

I was a bit nervous. I thought special ordering yarn would be tricky and precise. Nope. She showed me how to find the color needed in the swatch books, and then she’d say, “Hey, order five more bags of whatever colors you like. Okay, three for Classic Elite Waterspun. Two more colors for Anny Blatt Super Angora.”

In through the nose, out through the mouth. I got to choose yarn! I got to ORDER yarn and not pay for it! I got to touch all the little samples I wanted to touch.

Playing it cool: Yeah. *shrug* It was all right.

I was grinning ear to ear.

From playing it cool to playing catch up: There are certain questions that keep coming up in comments that I’ve been meaning to answer and kept forgetting about. ‘Cause I’m like that, you know.

1. Cromarty.
Dude. Ms. &tarmore’s creation has been put on hold. I’ve got the sleeves and the front totally done. Then I came close to running out of my dyelot of Koigu Kersti(I had received every skein of said dyelot) because my stitch style EATS yarn. Rob has sent a remaining skein up to the wonder-dyers of Koigu who apparently LOVE him (who wouldn’t?) because they’re working with us on the problem. While I can’t wait to have a finished object, I am (obviously) enjoying my break.

2. The Doctor.
What can I say? Fizzle. We had those coupla-three dates and nothing. We emailed desultorily for a while, and then let it wither on the vine. It seemed totally like a mutual death. Come on, I’ve never had a kiss with that little chemistry. It was like kissing the top of my cat’s head. Only I WANT to do that.

3. Vacation Plans.
It’s close enough now that I can reveal what I’m gonna do this month. I’m so FLIPPING excited. I’m flying in to DC on Saturday, where Bethany will pick me up in her truck named Tach and I’ll get to give her (Beth, not the truck) the BIGGEST squeeze ever. Then we meet up with darling Em, and the next day we’re meeting Maggi and Maureen to march on Washington. I’ll be wearing, of course, my KAB shirt (have you seen Maureen’s store? Her profits actually go to worthy causes. As do mine, for that matter. If you think Buy Rachael Some More Yarn is a good cause. I do.)

Then, it’s up to Brooklyn, for some more fun with Em, and I get to meet my favorite novelist, Cari. Yarn stores in New York, baybee. Hear me roar. Then it’s truckin’ back down to meet up with our Greta for the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival.

*insert little chair dance here*

I’m joining the SpotTheBlogger plan – I’ll be wearing the Knitting is Sexy shirt with MyGlassHouse on the back. Find me! Point at me! Laugh at me! (I won’t notice, I never do.) And I get to see ALL the SHEEP!

(Bethany, honey, let me apologize in advance. We’re going to be seeing a lot more yarn than you probably ever wanted to see. At least you’re a knitter now. You’d kill me in my sleep with a blunt dpn if you weren’t.)

Then back to stay with Maggi for a night (or two?) and then we’re off for our own few days of unplanned adventure. All I know is I have to end up in Boston to fly out on the 8th of May. How we get there is going to be spontaneously decided.

Man. I get all giddy and silly just thinking about the Fun To Be Had.

And I still have eight Cadbury Creme Eggs left.

I just counted the days in my book. I’ve been writing this novel for about a year (oh, be honest, more like sixteen months), and I just realized I’ve only moved three weeks into my character’s life. That’s a whole lot o’days spent on each day. I’ve got the Pioneer Melissa thing going on – I feel there’s a lifespan for every piece of writing, and my book’s days are numbered. I need to finish it, edit it (!), and get moving on the next one. I’m not scared, really, just mindful. I don’t need any more two month breaks. I don’t even need a week’s break (well, vacation is vacation. I don’t write fiction when I’m on the road. Too much of the travel’s flavor winds up in scenes that don’t need the seasoning.)

Slow and steady wins the race.

Man, cliches are annoying. But they feel good to say, don’t they?

I finally finished the Interminable Yoke on the man’s raglan I’m working on. I’d show it to you, but there’s no way to make gray 3×1 ribbing interesting in a photo. I tried.

Oh, hey, I found a new place for yarn money in my house. Thought I’d share in case you’d like to look in your house for extra cash, too. Christy asked me if was growing out my hair. The answer is technically no. I do like the length, but it had been getting pretty damn shaggy. It was driving me crazy. I love the woman who cuts my hair (so please don’t tell her this story), but this is what I thought before the knitting meet-up last week: I pay $50-60 for my cuts. I was about two months overdue for said haircut and REALLY needed it.

I took a shower, combed my hair while wet and snipped away. I’ve had MORE compliments on this cut than I have in a long time. I decided that my knitting philosophy (it’ll never be noticed from a trotting horse) applies well to crooked hair. And that $60 went right to yarn last week at Article Pract.

Heh. It’s like I’m getting over on myself. But it still feels good.

Oh, here’s hair and raglan crop-top:

It’s an addiction, people. Admit it. Now I have to call my pusher, Rob. Did you know he has Rowan Calmer? Lord. I think that cabled hoodie in Debbie Bliss’s book Cotton for All Seasons would be great in Calmer….. Yep.

And before I forget (I just keep going, don’t I?), reader Anna who came to our knitting meet-up is doing the Aids Ride, something I am in awe of. If you’d like to donate and make a difference, go here. Go Anna!

You know what’s interesting? To me, anyway, and since you’re reading, come along. I’ll tell you.

I hadn’t been reading fiction when I wasn’t writing. For the last few months, I’ve been reading mostly non-fiction, things like writing manuals and biographies and the New Yorker. This is totally unlike me, the fiction queen. I’ve always sneered a little at non-fiction, thinking it dry and dull. Shows me. The non-fiction I’ve been reading has been fascinating and wonderful and witty and smart and so fine.

But it wasn’t fiction. Down south, over the weekend, I picked up a novel that Mom had just finished, A Certain Slant of Light. Not only was it gorgeous, lyrical writing (with some great references to spinning and wool and fiber – the author obviously knows her sheep), but it started filling something that I didn’t know was empty. That first night, lying in bed, reading her words, I felt as if I were drinking water after being in the hot sun all day. Every word tasted good.

While I was reading, my brain turned on. It started to think again as a writer. In between paragraphs I thought of my own characters. It was like they were standing up and waving to me. “Hey! Over here! Remember us?”

Seriously, it was weird. But really, really good.

I have eggs on the boil (is there anything as good as a hard-boiled egg, still warm?) and I’m ready to make my coffee. It’s windy as hell outside, and I feel sorry for the little plant-lets I put out last week. Some of the flowers have just broken right off and over. And I just decided right here and now that I don’t like my garden plan. I hadn’t been sure, but now I know. I also I know it isn’t going to be changed until after my vacation, so I won’t worry about it now.

Do you know that with work and prior obligations and being out of town, my next free no-plans night is MAY SEVENTEETH? That, friends, is ridiculous. But short of canceling my trip (HELL, no), there’s nothing else I can change. Yipes. I’ve scheduled a couple of do-nothing afternoons, though.

Can’t figure out how to end this entry. So: Good bye. Mwah.

I did my writing.

The penal code in California for an altercation/fight/disturbance is 415 (said four-fifteen). I’ve always got code running through my mind, and I struggle not to use it in polite conversation. But there’s no other good way to say it: I’ve been four-fifteening with my writing for the last, what? Month? Ever since I got sick, I think. I think about it constantly. I want to write constantly. But I don’t. I just put it off, until it’s ludicrous to put it off one more time – yet I do.

I was talking to Bethany and my friend Marama yesterday about it. There’s something so similar in the way I put off writing to the way other people put off working out. It’s always “tomorrow.” (I say “some people” because while I put off working out, I NEVER feel badly about it. I figure I’ll be fat and happy, right? No guilt on that count. For once.) And it’s always tomorrow. How the hell do we tell ourselves that with a straight face?

“Yeah, Inner Rachael, I’ll write tomorrow. Because tomorrow I’ll suddenly have all the time I need to get into a good writerly space, I’ll have the energy, and my brain will be more alert. In fact, if I don’t write today, I’ll be BETTER at writing tomorrow. It’s gonna be great! I can’t WAIT to write tomorrow!”

How does my Inner Self prevent herself from falling about the place, holding her sides from laughing? Instead she nods and agrees (lazy cat). “Tomorrow sounds like a perfect time to write. Now you just put your feet up and read some blogs or something. Relax. You’re working hard, you deserve a break.”

FROM WHAT?

What it comes right down to is that I’m a writer. Not because I write, and not because I get paid to write (please, every blue moon or so), but because there’s nothing else in my heart or mind that makes me happy like writing does. I have no idea why I kick and scream my way to the page, but once I’m there, I’m happy. Even struggling with the characters, as I am right now, I’m happy. Utterly content. And having written…. Well. Is there a better feeling? If I still smoked, I’d light up after writing. It’s like that.

Today I kicked my procrastinator’s agenda by attacking it like this: Instead of doing my eternal puttering upon waking, instead of blogging and checking the blogs I can’t live without checking, instead of making phone calls and paying bills, instead of making breakfast (or whatever meal it is you make when you wake at 2pm), I got out of bed, made a cup of green tea, and wrote.

Seems so simple, doesn’t it? Make it the first priority, because it should be that, anyway. Do it first. I’ve always been a big proponent of Doing the Hard Stuff First because then the ice cream tastes better, so I don’t know why I’ve never done this. Some little voice in my head (I swear I’m no more schizophrenic than most) always told me I had to wake up first and turn on my thought processes. Screw that. All that means is that I get quicker at thinking up excuses why tomorrow will be better. And waking up in front of the page was lovely.

Write first. Eat/blog/chat/TiVo/clean later. Yeah.

Dang. I’m soooo tired. Got up yesterday at 9am, had donuts at the beach with Mama. (Speaking of the beach, here are Mariko, Hedi and the little mama the day prior.)

Now I’m at work, 0442 in the ay-em. Yawn. I feel like a Bad Blogger, but I’m too tired to post more. Only this: I had lunch at In’n’Out this afternoon (yesterday, whatever), and I’m convinced they are some kind of weird cult. (Overlook the grammar, please. Cain’t think right.)

1) Every employee is young and white. No matter WHERE you go, they’re young and white. Check.
2) There are the tiniest little bible verses printed on the cups and bottoms of the food labels. They’re not quoted, only referenced. I remember looking up one of the Revelations ones once, and it freaked me out a bit.

But DAMN, it’s a good burger.
Off in 14 minutes. To sleep…..
More later,
xoxxxzzzzzzzzz

https://rachaelherron.com/dang_im_soooo_t/

On the central coast. Still at the little mama’s house, still having a good time, so I haven’t had time to blog or respond to email…. And I haven’t had time to blog-surf, either, which is even worse. But I’ve been reading and knitting, so all’s well.

Had a lovely lunch with Mariko and Hedi today – we ate clam chowder at my favorite clam chowder place in the WHOLE world, and we sat on the Pismo pier in the sun. I took pictures on my camera/phone, but Mom’s house has no cell reception so I can’t email them to myself until I leave.

Sometimes, does it suddenly strike you how ridiculous technology is?

All right, off to be non-technical again. You do the same, okay?