I’ve been in contact with Nicola’s, my local store who offers signed copies of all the books. They have thirty first edition copies of THE WITCH WITH NO NAME left. These are the ones with the blue butterfly on them. Following editions have butterflies (and I’ll even sign them) , but only the first edition have colored in the text.
If you want one of these bad boys, pop on over to their page and snag it before they’re gone. International is okay, but it’s better to email Pat for a shipping quote first at firstname.lastname@example.org
Click to order The Witch With No Name
Early heads up, I’m going to have a contest at the end of the month to celebrate the mass market of The Witch with No Name coming out. Get your camera’s ready, I need a picture for Peri’s freebie, and I’m coming to you guys for it. More info on the 28th. :-)
We’ve got layers, just like ogres.
I’ve got lots going on right now, but nothing to share. The weekend was spent in a pleasant mix of casual tidying of the yard and some tweaks to the monarch project. I have now officially been around the house once in my spring tidy, getting the leaves that blew in over the winter and exposing the dirt to the sun, and there are about six bags of winter at the curb waiting to be taken to the city compost. Three holly were cut down almost in half of what they were to promote new growth from the bottom. I never liked how the nursery had woven the branches around themselves. That’s not how you’re supposed to do it. Maybe now they’ll grow properly. Put in a new pump for my Koi pond/bird bath. I’m amazed at what’s coming up. It’s been a most pleasant spring so far. But I don’t take anything for granted.
Inside, I tweaked my monarch, adding some of the white spots into the actual knitting instead of embroidering them on after. I like it better, but it must have done four wings in one day.
It’s interesting comparing rewriting to the process of tweaking a pattern. Both are labor intensive for a small, some might say insignificant change. But I see it, and sometimes, that’s all that matters.
It’s a rushing day, a windy day, a chase the recycle bins down the street day. A roaring in the bare trees day where the dogs hasten inside, spooked by the unseen push of a vengeful summer beating winter’s ghosts out of the shadowed places.
I’m still with fatigue of a late hour turned into an early morning as I waited for sirens to warn me to earth, a call that never came, yet did its task regardless; a lifetime of knowing and reading the wind beats Jim Cantore.
Coffee will quicken the fingers and ease the pressure within my face, but the stillness inside will remain, an unrealized memory of what if.
For those of you who haven’t see one yet. . . .