Tag: art

Mindful Monday

Leap, 2006, acrylic on canvas

It was back in May of 2019 when I made the decision to start rewriting a novel I’d last written in the late 1980s/early to mid 1990s. It had a single title (it was the first of a series of three novels) and was nearly 600 pages long (that is way too many pages). My plan was to edit it down to an actual publishable length.

I randomly split the stack of manuscript pages, read a few, and immediately decided that was a bad idea. The writing was nothing like the style or voice my writing had evolved into by the time my other novels were published in the 2000s. My distaste for what I read wasn’t only because of a difference between the style compared to the style of the published books. I just didn’t like what I read.

But those characters had been resurfacing in my consciousness for a while. I can see proof in a lot of my posts in the months prior to that decision to rewrite–the way the most random topics would lead me back to remembering those people and their stories. As I finally said here in 2019, I wanted to know how the decades of changes in me would impact how I would change them. In order not to be influenced by the past version, I packed the manuscript away unread and began my novel in an entirely different way. I never looked back.

As I’ve admitted repeatedly, I didn’t edit that old book down to publishable size. I stopped imposing rules on it. Rules are for publishing houses and their marketing and publicity. I’m not seeking that. I’m writing… because I have to. Even if it’s for the two readers I have. [I’ve tried other readers. That hasn’t worked out well for me so far. I have to rise above the insecurity and doubt other people’s reactions or even indifference cause me so that I can keep writing. This isn’t easy. Writers crave readers.]

Once again, the book was getting TOO LONG. I split the new manuscript into three books. I’m now on the seventh. In each new novel, refreshers are needed relating to plot and characters, but I try to do those in a variety of ways that aren’t tedious for a reader.

Recently, I reached a point when I questioned why the plot unfolded as it did for these people in the old version. I know what motivates them now, but things are a lot different. So what motivated them back then?

A few days ago, I pulled this out again.

I read it first page to last. It was startling how different things are between that old version and the one I’m writing now. I can barely recognize these people. In the decades in which I first conceived them, I was either a teenager smitten by music and musicians, or I watched a lot of daytime TV, plus prime time TV offered dramas like “Dallas,” “Dynasty,” and “Falcon Crest.” Many bestselling novels of those decades were from Jacqueline Susann, Sidney Sheldon, Judith Krantz, Jackie Collins, Harold Robbins, and Danielle Steel, among others. That genre was referred to as glitz, and I suppose because I was writing about people with money, ambition, and fame, I thought I had to write something similar to that style.

I think that old novel fails not because I was writing outside my life experience, but because I was writing outside what I regard as my authentic storytelling voice. So what the heck ever, whether I have two readers or twenty or none, I hope I’m doing all the things listed on the above quote from Mary Lou Cook. I love these people and their flaws, mistakes, virtues, depth, humor. I break a few rules with them. I’m fine with that.

I write for my characters. I write for me. (We are not the same.)

Sunday Sundries

I introduced the sundries topic last week and asked for suggestions on content for it. Today’s theme, suggested by Mark L, required a bit of foraging and was fun. As a child, Mark began a bookmark collection; he still uses bookmarks from that collection as an adult. Having grown up in a house full of readers, bookmarks were definitely part of my environment, both for pleasure reads and textbooks.

Though I read a lot of ebooks now, and they open to the page I’m on each time I pull one up on my iPad or phone, I still have a need for bookmarks because I continue to read and reread physical books. Here are photos of some I found (they don’t include Tom’s, who always has a physical book with a bookmark in it on the bookcase closest to his reading chair).

First up, let’s hear it for the booksellers!

This shares a bit of the bookmark evolution at my favorite Houston bookstore, Murder By The Book. I have many because I shop there a lot, and have also attended many booksignings and even had a couple of my own signings there. There are six (oops, plus one) shown here, but there are more throughout the house. Brazos is another Houston bookstore that’s a favorite. A lot of my literary choices and books about music and music figures come from Brazos, and next week in two weeks, it may figure into a story about an author I plan to share. The Independent Bookstore Day bookmark may have also come from a local bookstore visit. On my links to the right, there’s one to the Independent Bookstore Finder throughout the U.S. Whenever possible, I order through my local booksellers, but I also order from independent booksellers who host booksignings and publicity for authors I admire and read.

That Crossroads bookmark evokes so many memories. There were two LGBTQ+ bookstores in Houston, since closed, Lobo and Crossroads (I believe both stores are mentioned in The Deal, and my late friend Steve R worked at Lobo for a while). TJB and Cochrane/Lambert had signings at both, and Crossroads was my favorite place to go people watch, work on writing, and buy books. I met many people who became friends through Crossroads (including John, who I followed from there to two different Borders locations to Murder By The Book), and when Tim first moved here, he worked there! I miss Crossroads so much.

Then–speaking of the tenacity of independent booksellers who doggedly keep going in a hard market–yet another, older Murder By The Book bookmark slipped in. The Bookshelf was a used bookstore in Huntsville, Alabama where I used to shop. It’s “temporarily closed” since sometime in 2023. I hope they make it. Then there’s Borders, a chain since closed, but it was a vital place that hosted booksignings for us. When people complain that chains drove indies out of the market, I think they provided far more good than people appreciated. I still enjoy going to Barnes & Noble, where I can get a lot more personalized information than online algorithms offer.

Finally, a few neat connections.

I’m not sure about the cherub bookmark, whether it was a gift to me or belonged to my mother. But I’m sure that’s a Greg Herren bookmark from his Bold Strokes book Lake Thirteen. Also, back in the days of Live Journal, at least as far back as 2005, I think, other writers/authors and I agreed we needed to use the reading-is-hot tag on our blogs and websites. I still use it. A lot of readers helped us by sending photos of themselves reading in beds, bathtubs, etc. It was a fun time. I don’t remember where the bookmark came from and imagine it was probably not connected to that effort, but it certainly illustrated the theme. The bookmark on the far right was from the late Linda Raven Moore, who maintained several sites, including Markeroni, to which contributors documented with words and photos their visits to historical and local locations that had markers explaining their significance. I very much miss Linda, as I’m sure many do. On LiveJournal, she was whytraven.

These are some that belonged to and were used by my mother.

They live in a metal box where I have many small mementos belonging to her. The one on the far right is imprinted with the word JOY. I have a vague memory about the one made with yarn, but I’m not sure of its accuracy.

I’ve shared these on here before. They’re bookmarks made for Tom and me by his mother with beautiful beads. I’ve used them several times in thick, heavy books.

Finally, here are some I designed (and had printed by a company I’m not sure still exists; it’s in the old ‘hood) to give away at readings and to people who sent us novels to be signed.

Notice there isn’t one for the fifth book, When You Don’t See Me. I can only speculate that for me, some of the serious themes and painful events in the characters’ lives didn’t lend the novel to a whimsical bookmark.

There are also serious themes in Three Fortunes In One Cookie; that didn’t stop me then.

Regarding the websites listed on these two bookmarks–Tim no longer has an active website (which I miss very much), and I finally shut down cochranelambert.com this year since it had been inactive for so long (and websites aren’t cheap).

ETA: Later, I went to open one of my display cabinets, and found these three bookmarks with beautiful original art that were gifts from Geri. I don’t use them because I want the art to remain intact, and that’s fine. Even utilitarian items can be appreciated for their aesthetic value.

Thanks, Mark, this was a good journey, and as always, I found other things along the way that merit a little more storytelling. In fact, there are enough of those to require a Part Two on the Bookmarks sundries topic. Hope to see everyone next week when I share them. AND PLEASE give me more topics (I do have several thanks to visitors to this site, two who left comments, and others from people who tell me via other channels). As always, thank you for visiting and engaging.

Tiny Tuesday!

Because of something I wrote recently in the Neverending Saga, I repurposed another of the illustrations from my old 1981 calendar, coloring a kitten and a tiny chick hatching. Putting the page in my “coloring book” reminded me of an exchange in comments between Mark and me in which I talked about how Tom is always helping me figure out how to make ideas reality or find solutions for problems or projects I take to him.

It began with this oversized sketchbook I bought once at Ross. I don’t know why, because I don’t sketch. I’m not sure how artists use sketchbooks, but I assume after sketching, they tear out pages and do something with them (for example, I have a nephew who’s an artist, and sometimes he sketches when he’s in a restaurant or coffeehouse, and then gives the sketches to his servers, which I think is very cool).

Since I like to fill empty sketchbooks with my coloring pages, and many of my coloring books are oversized, I decided to use the large sketchbook for that purpose. I wanted it to have a more personalized cover, so I collaged it. The collage is full of things that reference memories, friendships, interests, and my fiction. Since the front cover of the sketchbook was of very thin card stock, I glued a sturdier sheet of cardboard on the inside front cover so the collage wouldn’t weigh it down and damage it.

I began to fill it up in 2022 and 2023 with the coloring I did. I used only the front pages, and when I came to the end of those in May of this year, I didn’t want to stop using the book. I still felt very attached to my collaged front cover. I decided to start at the end of the sketchbook and put new coloring pages on the back sides of every page until I got back to the beginning of the book. This is the last page in the book that I did when I was coloring up a storm–I mean, literally coloring pages during daylight hours when the storm knocked out our power for six days.

Here’s an example of how using the backs now provides two completed pages to view at once.


However, that flimsy front cover began tearing at the holes on the spiral binding. When I’d reinforced the cover in 2022, I hadn’t considered how the unreinforced holes would bear the increasing weight of the sketchbook.


So while the power was out, I showed Tom the problem, and as always, he devised a solution. He removed the front cover, cut another strip of the cardboard, glued it on the edge leaving extra space to punch holes, and put the front cover back on the spiral binding. I think this will hold until I finish filling the book. Maybe by then, I’ll have enough images to collage the front of another sketchbook–and when I do, I’ll pick one with a sturdier front cover.

Holding out for a hero…

These are things that might have been posted on Tuesday, May 21, when we still had no power, and then Wednesday, May 22.

When I woke up Tuesday, I knew two things. We probably wouldn’t be getting our power restored today, and yet I still felt better than I had the day before. An appointment Debby had on Monday was canceled because the building had just gotten their power back, so they rescheduled her for this morning. Tom took her; he’d scheduled a vacation day for this appointment and because the two of them would be leaving sometime after noon to go to the airport. A couple of months ago, she booked a trip to see her kids and grandkids. Two of the grandkids are graduating from high school, and one graduated from college. What a perfect time to be leaving town (if she’d known we were going to be without power, she’d have preferred to leave last week!).

There are a couple of other good things I haven’t mentioned. First, is that unlike when we have power outages in winter and our pipes freeze, this outage doesn’t steal the joy of running water (also, our hot water heater is gas, so a lack of electricity doesn’t affect it). Taking a shower every day (maybe even two, especially when there’s no air conditioning), helps my morale a lot. Also, our stove is gas, as are Tim’s and Debby’s, so we can continue to use our stovetops. Even though we lost the food in our refrigerators and freezers (except for some of our food that Rhonda and Lindsey are keeping in their freezer), we have canned food, pasta, crackers, etc., in our cabinets (or pantry, here at the Hall). Once many of the nearby businesses had power restored, we supplemented what we have on hand with breakfasts or light evening meals. This also means we can get coffee (not Starbucks, the closest of which are closed). Tom drinks a lot more coffee than I do, though I never turn down an iced mocha from anywhere. Because we were buying ice every day, Debby could still brew tea and drink it cold over ice. One of my meds that requires refrigeration was stored by one of Tim’s clients in their home until Monday. When Tim brought it home, I took the last dose, and the refill is safe at the pharmacy until I pick it up after our power’s restored. I’m so grateful for people who help.

When I think of the deprivations being experienced in other places torn apart by war, revolution, and climate disasters, I recognize how minor this incident is by comparison. I have better details now: Two confirmed tornados struck Houston last Thursday: one with winds of around 100 mph, the other 110 mpg; the path lengths were .71 and .77 miles; path widths were both 100 yards. Damage was to homes or other structures, and trees, with no fatalities reported. That feels like a miracle. They’re also saying now that the area experienced a derecho, a term I’d never even heard until one a couple of years back in the Midwest affected the area where our friend Nurse Lisa lives. I’m not about to attempt to explain the science, but it’s basically a long path of surface wind that causes a lot of damage.

I saw some of that damage when I left the house for the first time on Tuesday while Tom and Debby were at the airport. The road near us where Lynne used to live, once you get out of the heavily residential section, is lined with dense, majestic trees–you almost feel like you’re in the country for part of it. As I drove that road, I finally understood why I’ve heard the constant sound of chainsaws for almost a week. The curb is thick with the remains of downed trees and branches. I’m glad I didn’t have my camera with me; I’ve taken too many photos of damaged and felled trees after past disasters. Tom said the sight is the same on one of the other roads (opposite direction) we frequently travel. That mid-century neighborhood is beautiful with gracious old trees. I’m not eager to see it now.

After taking care of my errands, I came home, hugged my dogs, and felt nothing but gratitude for our house, with or without electricity. I started coloring again to help manage my thoughts, beginning with this one.

From the Uplifting Inspirations book, with the quote that went with this page:

We can complain because the rose bushes have thorns, or rejoice because thorn bushes have roses.–Abraham Lincoln

Then I really cheered myself up by coloring this horse.

I gave her a name: Sunflower, out of Daisy, by Sheridan. Sunflower’s sire is a horse in the Neverending Saga, and her dam is connected to horses briefly mentioned a book or so previous to the one I’m writing now. My newly imagined Sunflower is a gift made to one of my major characters. Even though I’m not writing at the moment, my characters are always busy somewhere in my brain, so Sunflower is also a gift to me.

Sunflower came from this book. Though my dreams might have been a little random and crazy, and it was really hot, I managed to get a few hours of sleep Tuesday night.

Tom was back in the office for a half-day Wednesday, and Tim was home with Pollock between dogwalking and housesitting gigs. I’ve been cleaning the house as I could with no power–we have this dust mop kind of thing that really helps grab dust and dog hair, with an easy-to-clean attachment, and I’ve been relentlessly mopping our tile floors in the library (also known as Eva’s favorite place to leave wee puddles). After I cleaned, I looked for a coloring page that would make me happy. This one, with an affectionate couple, animals silhouetted in the distance, fit my requirement. I couldn’t understand what all that was at the bottom of the page. Whenever I looked at it, I heard Sebastian singing “Under The Sea” from The Little Mermaid. It made no sense, but I decided the couple is standing between a sea-themed fountain and nature’s panorama of sky and wildlife, and went with that idea.

The page came from this book.

Then, IT HAPPENED. The sounds I’d hoped to hear for six nights and five days. It began with men’s voices, calling to each other. I looked up from the desk where I was coloring, then through the office windows, and I saw this.


Visible over the roof of Fox Den, at the condos behind our house: THAT is a bucket truck, or cherry picker, used by utility companies to repair power lines.

I went to my group text with Tom and Tim, telling them what I overheard: “See them wires laying on the ground over yonder from those trees? Them wires need to come up.” You may question the grammar, but that is the language of the two regions where I’ve spent my life, and it was pure music to my ears. Especially when Tom texted, “Only wires they’d be talking about are from our poles,” because he’d actually gone over and surveyed that area in the days before. Tim said, yep, they’d just moved the truck to directly behind Fairy Cottage, so I joined him at Debby’s and we watched the worker, in the bucket poised over her fence, as he lifted those two power lines out of her garden. At one point, he yelled something about the poles they were handing him being like frog-gigging, and I asked aloud, “Did I used to be married to you?” to make Tim laugh.

They then shifted the bucket to approximately the mid-point of our back fence, where he reconnected those two wires to the two lying in our backyard, and began lifting them toward the sky and their poles.

After more time, all those wires were straight and taut, back in their right places. We didn’t have power yet, but we knew there was hope.

Best of all, Anime, Delta, and Jack, along with Pollock, could run outside to explore their yard, UNLEASHED, without fear of downed wires, using the bathroom wherever they wanted, and Eva got to lie on the patio and bake for the first time in days. (It is the way of chihuahuas; we call it her pizza oven.)

Tom finished his half day of work and came home with Starbucks. I’d known he was bringing coffee, so the next (and final!) page of the No Electricity Coloring Frenzy was this one.

From a coloring book Marika gave me long ago.

I’m not as strong as I used to be, but neither is my coffee. It all evens out somehow. Tom talked to the guys as the utility trucks in front of the house were leaving, sometime around three, and they said they hoped power would be back tonight. Then, around 4:15, Tom and I were sitting in the living room talking when lights began to flicker on, then off. This repeated a few times, then they came on and stayed on. THE ELECTRICITY WAS BACK. We started texting family and friends to let them know–now that the phones’ battery power was no longer too precious to squander. Tim went through Debby’s and turned off everything that had been on when the power went out last week, and closed her windows, because the air conditioner was back in business.

Then, I took on my first project and got this ready to refill.

I think that refrigerator’s cleaner than it’s been since it was new back in 2007. It has been in two homes and known some crazy times, and the light in the refrigerator part hasn’t functioned in years, but like the rest of us, this Frigidaire’s still humming.

For dinner, Tom got us takeout from our favorite restaurant because I’d have a way to refrigerate half of the huge salad I can never eat in one sitting and its extra Ranch dressing. The edges of normalcy had returned…

Thinking and waiting and waiting…

These are things that might have been posted on Saturday, May 18 through Monday, May 20.

Here are some of the good things that happened after the storm and tornado on Thursday night. The skies cleared as if nothing had ever happened, and it was still quite a while until sunset. The streets drained. We did what our neighbors did; we went outside to check on each other and know we were all okay. We started clearing tree debris and branches from our yards and the yards of others. We talked and laughed and wondered when we’d get our electricity back.


I realized the beautiful flowers and blossoms from our magnolia tree were strewn up and down the street and into our neighbors’ yards. On one side of Houndstooth, where lives Carl the dog, the wind had blown little branches from our driveway tree and lots and lots of magnolia flowers into their yard. I wasn’t sure if Carl and family were home (I did hear their generator the second night, so they were home at some point), but that first night I moved the mess our trees had made in their yard to the curb. Then Tom and I began picking up the mess in our yard, and he helped neighbors coming from the side streets deal with some of the larger limbs and tree debris in the yards on our street. In this way, we learned we were one of at least three houses with power lines down in our back yards. We figured eventually, we’d be keeping a utility crew very busy.


As we all talked and cleaned up what we could, neighbors often brought tools to help saw off hanging limbs. We know our neighbor on our other side (not Carl’s), though she doesn’t live in the house now, one of her family members does. We got to meet her and apologize for our little dogs trying to fence fight her big dog and her big dog’s friend who sometimes visits. She apologized for the frenzy her dogs cause by barking at ours. We realized that we both felt to blame for dogs just being dogs, as dogs will. Now we can feel better in the future that we all get it and aren’t upset with each other about it.

Neighbors across the street, who had a lot of tree damage, including a big limb on their roof, were out in force cleaning up their yard and helping others. A couple of doors down, they found two fledgling blue jays in a nest in a huge fallen limb. By keeping close watch, they finally spotted the mama, who seemed to be injured but really wanted us all to stay away from her babies. Over the following days, we could see that she was able to fly again and was taking care of her family. A couple of days later, I would spot a bird (to me, it looked like a corvid, but Tom said it wasn’t) that hadn’t made it through the storm. Tom wrapped him up and made his goodbye gentler than his death.

Because of no AC, we kept our windows open at night. The storm left behind one gift: cooler weather. It was pleasant to sleep with those breezes flowing through the house. Once it got dark, there really was no reason not to go to bed early. We split up, Tom in the master bedroom, and me in the office, to give the dogs choices so no bed would have six of us in it at a time. Staying cool and comfortable enough to sleep was the goal. (In a future post, I’ll explain changes we made in the office/craft room in the two or three days before the storm surprised us.)

We had to figure out creative ways to get our devices recharged. We didn’t waste battery power or try to get enough signal to find out what else was going on in the city or the country or the world. As we’ve learned from past weather events, our families and friends who don’t live here know more from their news than we do about what’s going on in Houston. We find out from them when we start getting worried texts, calls, and emails. We’re fine. The dogs are fine. The house is all good. We just want these power lines removed from our back yard so the dogs have freedom to burn off energy.

I would wake up in the mornings before dawn, a dog or two sleeping next to me, appreciating the cool air and listening with happiness to the mourning doves. As the sky lightened, the other birds joined the choir.

In the day, with our windows open, mostly what we heard were tree crews and their chainsaws dealing with all the fallen trees and tree limbs, and the noise of people’s generators. And always, always, we listened for the sounds of utility trucks and the voices of workers who would make life normal by restoring our electricity.

When there was only silence were the hardest times. We marked the twenty-four hours without power with an acknowledgment that everything in the refrigerator was garbage. Maybe tomorrow the crew would arrive and prevent the same fate for the freezer’s contents. Businesses were closed. Some stations had ice but no gasoline. We ended up buying two bags of ice a day, but the time came when we accepted that the freezer contents were garbage, too.

We bagged it and Tom made a trip to RubinSmo Manor, home of The Brides, who heard the storm that night (terrifying to poor Pepper), but didn’t get its full impact and kept power. They offered us whatever we needed: beds, bathrooms, power for phones, washer/dryer, anything. We have a history of opening our homes to one another during these kinds of events, but this time, other than just knowing they were there, we only wanted to put the trash from three kitchens (we weren’t sure if our garbage day would be on time) in the dumpster used by their condo.

I missed my characters and writing. I missed keeping up with family and friends on social media. I colored because that is my calming, good thinking time, always. I think I did two pages on Friday. This one:

From this book.

And this one:

From this book.

On Saturday:

From this book:

Sunday became a hard day. We’d received a message that our power should be restored by end of day. It didn’t happen.

Because Anime always lifts my spirits, I colored this dog who looks a little like her.

From this book.

I started another coloring page on Monday that I’ll share in a different post. My mood was the flattest it had been since the tornado/storm. There was still no power. I used the daylight to read the two Michael Thomas Ford novels (one a re-read; the other its sequel) that I had mentioned in this post. It was a very good sequel, and because of the number of years between Ford’s writing of the books, he was able to make his characters more current and therefore more relevant, even though only a few days had passed in the novels’ timeline. I have never once been disappointed in anything written by him, and having had the chance to get to know him through the years, he’s one of my favorite humans. Can definitely give all the stars to Every Star That Falls.

Tiny Tuesday!

nickel provided to show scale of small canvas

Mountain Man, acrylic on canvas, 2023/24

Another of my tiny bottle cap paintings. This cap is from the Wasatch Brewing Company and features the state shape of Utah. It’s the only one I have, likely given to me by David and/or Geri.

Today’s my brother David’s birthday. He has spent many decades of his life hiking, climbing, camping, and living among the mountain ranges of Colorado, Utah, and Nevada.

Happy birthday, David! Much love from all the humans and canines at Houndstooth Hall. Come see us–there’s always a brew in the fridge for you. (And birthday cake. Banana pudding. Or all of the above. Maybe not at the same time.)

Mindful Monday

“Be free.
Do stupid things.
Make ridiculous mistakes.
Mortifying yourself gives others the encouragement to do the same.
Remember, poor choices often make the best stories.”

Coloring page and quote from Jenny Lawson,
You Are Here: An Owner’s Manual for Dangerous Minds

Oh, the things I thought about as I colored this page. I remember how I used to declare, “No regrets. My bad decisions and wrong directions got me to where I am.” Now I can acknowledge that I have some regrets. It’s okay. They show I lived. Would I change things? I might change how I reacted to some things. Mostly, though, I’d change the ways I punish myself, castigate myself, for simply being human.

Button Sunday


Whatever role you took as a nurturer, or whoever nurtured you…
Whatever path got you to the ones who needed you, or who were there when you needed them…
I celebrate you and your shared bond.

Last Thanksgiving, my mother-in-law sent us all a coloring page she created and titled “Fruit Salad.” She knows I enjoy coloring the drawings she shares, so I colored this one to celebrate her on Mother’s Day.