When I first started really cooking, I threw things together. Lentils, salt, crock pot, thyme. Then I started following recipes. And eating, lots of eating of things that I wouldn’t have otherwise eaten. Nothing truly daring, but new foods. Indian buffets were my daring indulgence. I lived in a vegetarian co-op and cooked green pea […]
Another exercise thingy: Two stories tall, narrow, Victorian-style, hardwood floors now sprinkled with antique rugs, two and a half baths with good plumbing under them; a cellar whose shelves groaned out for jars of jam and carbuoys of beer; robin’s-egg blue walls in good condition and an air conditioning unit fit to freeze Hell
Part of a writing exercise thingy: You hate food balloons. Anything with a tough skin over a mushy middle. Peaches are okay. The skin isn’t thick enough to conceal rot. You know where you are with a peach. But grapes, most grapes are horrible. You can’t just pop a grape into your mouth. That’s
I’ve been talking to someone about writing, about learning to write, about integrating parts of your life so you have something to write about… …and she’s kind of soaking it up like a sponge. It’s eerie. (I’m perfectly fine running at the mouth, but having people take me seriously gives me the creeps. I’m not
The Scaredy Wizard of Theornin with the updated cover available at Amazon, B&N, Kobo, Apple, and Smashwords so far. I decided that I missed my cover updates, so I did one. I’m not sure whether I’ll leave this one forever, but…Ray liked it better than the old one, so it stays for now. This one
This is a red pepper and tomato sauce with Spanish influences, she said, trying to throw in the keywords that Lee’s most likely to use when looking up this recipe… Romesco Sauce 1 14.5-oz can of chopped tomatoes (may be some left over, reserve for another use) or the equivalent of 6 Roma tomatoes 1 roasted
(Note: Experimenting with blog design again; the last one was pretty but killed commenting on the site! Bah!) This is not a question I’ve asked myself in a long time, I have to admit: Which story should I write? The one that wants to be written! The one that’s an assignment! The one that
I have an essay (a brief one) in WDSF, an essay about finding the kind of science fiction that I want to find, and how science fiction has to outcompete the various media that my daughter’s exposed to: science fiction needs to be able to appeal to a kid who’s watched Powerpuff Girls, you know? She isn’t
I’m still brainstorming this dang cookbook. I’m torn between thinking it’s genius or it’s idiocy. Story of my life, right? Who needs to be told to use up leftovers? I did. — Leftovers. In theory, you’ll eat them later and they will taste just as good as they did the first time. I hate that theory.
Lately I’ve been working on endings and realized that I’ve been using my talents against myself: I get to the climactic battle scenes, and I end up so excited to find out how everything wraps up that I rush through them and leave out the details that make resolving a battle so satisfying. Ack. I
