2016: Black stone, white stone

I'm not the only one who's had the worst year on record. It's nice not to be alone, but of course I'd rather have a more pleasant quality in common with so many people.

My beloved husband—my biggest fan, who never let me down, who is my definition of what it takes to be a good human being—died in late July 2016. Having to say or write that still stops me in my tracks. But it's been five months, and the best way to honor my husband is with a life that's about more than sadness. Slowly, painfully, I'm making plans and dreaming dreams again.

This year had some highs, as well, which deserve celebration.

December 2015: My husband and I moved back to Arizona with purpose and joyfulness.

March 2016: Awash in Talent was picked up by Kindle Press.

May: My husband and I had the best two weeks in Spain anyone has ever had. (We met Manolo García!) I'll have to blog about that trip in order to spread the joy even more.

June: Awash in Talent was published by Kindle Press.

July: I learned a lot about my friends and family and the power of these bonds.

December: Seven Noble Knights was published.
I earned a modest placement as Publicity Assistant at Hawthorne Books, to start in January.

My husband (can you believe my luck!) illustrates the useful skill of
finding beauty among the thorns. April 2016 

I started this second part of the post in the middle of July, when I still believed my husband would recover and spend another 20 years with me. It's a partial translation of a 1990 song by Manolo García, "Canta por mí" (meaning "sing for my sake," "sing in my place").

S/he met the past along the way,
and looked at it and could not cry.
Between dusk and dawn,
s/he did nothing but let him/herself go.

On a peach-colored day,
when we're all free,

when we can eat rocks,

and no one is better than anyone else,

sing for me

if I'm not here.

The day is coming when we will be as pure
as a summer sky on the sea.

I'll sing for you

if you're not here.

This is the most idealistic song I've ever heard. It's about spiritual awakening and hope for humanity. Note that the ideal day is far enough off that either the singer or the listener will no longer be with us, but not so far off that they'll both be dead.

Now that my true love is gone, we must be close to that peach-colored day. I know who I'll be singing for. In the meantime, I plan to do things that make him proud: show kindness, promote humanity, and express what inspiration comes to me through writing.

Happy 2017 to us all.

A Writer's Space

This is the view from my new study window. I love it because I can see a healthy green tree, stucco, and Spanish roof tiles against a bright blue sky, so it's as if I'm both in Andalusia and in the limitless wonder of the natural world. I look at the blue sky and hope my creativity responds expansively.

The first piece of furniture we got in the new place was this desk, which we scoured the antique stores to find. We had money set aside from selling some furniture in Massachusetts, and as soon as we arrived, two urges—to wait for the best possible desk and to get a stinkin' desk right now!—battled it out. I fell in passionate love with some pieces, antique and new, that were just too big to get into the apartment. I considered for a few days getting one of those inexpensive desks you have to assemble yourself. It was quite the emotional journey. Then my husband and I were walking around a... fragrant... antique mall I had little hope for, going in circles, it seemed. I was busy dismissing another trumped-up table as a possibility when my husband said, "Here's a desk."

It's in better condition than the one I sold in Massachusetts to my unexpectedly sore regret. It has all the storage I was looking for and plenty of space without being so large we couldn't expect the delivery men to bring it up the stairs. It's eclectic. I think it's unique. I've never seen another desk with world maps and steamer trunk stamps on the drawer faces! There are also inspiring words on the top left and right drawers. A Francophile must have designed it, with the Eiffel Towers and the fleurs-de-lis, but I can forgive that, as an enlightened Hispanophile. I walked away from that antique mall with a deep knowing that I'd (my husband had) found what I was looking for.

When I shared the photo of the desk on Facebook, the responses confirmed that it will be impossible to do poor work at this desk.

As you can see in the second photo, I've got the magic desk right at the magic window, so they combine into a creative vortex I hope will also be useful for my editorial work (which is less about creativity than about rules, let's face it).

I've never had such a nice place to work. I've had larger and smaller, intimidating and nonexistent. I wrote the first chapters of Seven Noble Knights on a laptop that teetered atop a borrowed piece of furniture in a room intended for television-viewing. The last chapters were written in an enormous bedroom on a card table. For unknown reasons, in this space and at this time, I'm being honored with a place to work that I could never have dreamed would be so wonderful. I feel immense gratitude.

I've currently got editorial deadlines and need to finish revising Seven Noble Knights as well as strategize its launch, which includes making a real website. For all this, I may need more hours in a day, but at least I don't have excuses about where I'll be doing all this.