In the Heat of the--

night... moment... noonday sun.

I wait all year for it to be this hot. I mean, literally—all winter I fantasize about hot summers. I’m like the little mouse, Frederick, in the classic children’s story, who let the other mouses work gathering seeds and nuts for winter, while he soaked up sun and color and scents and sounds, for storytelling late in winter.

One of my favorite stories: Frederick, by Leo Leonni

“Frederick,” they cried. “You are a poet.

This morning, on a day determined to be 91+ degrees, I did my summer thing, which is to arise at 6, do some early-morning laundry and cooking, turn on the drip system outside for a bit, do my morning yoga (or walk), and get ready for my day. By 8 a.m. I had a roasted chicken, a batch of banana bread mini loaves for an event tomorrow, a load of laundry waving on the line and my morning workout complete.

Yep, those are my feets.

It was already time to close up the windows and curtains. We use the old-fashioned method of sealing the house during the day, keeping it dark with some ceiling fans moving the air, then throwing open the windows at night to release hot air and suck in some coolness. I need to slap up some more screens so I can get even more windows open; I’m very sensitive to mosquitos (I’m extra sweet and I swell up when bitten) so I try to avoid the little buggers. We don’t have air-conditioning, because I hate that cold-air feeling. Bad for the planet, bad for me, and too ugly for our 1880 renovated Victorian.

So here, in my dark office now, I am one with my computer keyboard. I set the timer and work a couple of hours on editing manuscripts for the publisher (my work at Sibylline Press), then an hour or so on email and social media, a break for lunch and some chores, then back to the desk for a couple of hours of revisions on my own manuscript¹².

It’s a cliche to say that I have a new lease on life, but I will tell you, friends, that if you have ever spent six months in bed feeling like crap (actually, I was also on bedrest for 6 months with my third child), unable to leave the house because of immunity issues (but of course, in 2020, the year of COVID—we all did this!) Anyhoo, it’s so nice to be out of the house, walking downtown, going to a cafe with a friend for a cup of coffee, my brain ticking along with new ideas, and so on. #cancersucks

Remember when we couldn’t get near our elders?

I’m feeling good, strong, healthy. I’m eating all the (good) things, my garden is blooming, my hair is growing back, I’m getting some physical therapy to help with the scar tissue/tightness from the cancer surgeries, and my brain is sharpening up. I get outside every day to touch grass and pull a few weeds. I feed and listen to the birds. I wear sunscreen and a hat to protect my delicate baby hair and shiny pate. I’m not quite at 100 percent yet, but I can see it from here; I’m in good fettle, as they said in the old days.

My greedy friend, Scrub Jay, enjoying all the peanuts.

And when I clear my desk of the revisions, I’ll be back working on my next historical fiction, tentatively titled Hannah and the Fox, based on two branches of my ancestors who may or may not have met. Brief logline: Scarlett O’Hara meets the Quakers. The slaveholders in my history clashing with the Quakers/abolitionists. It’s how I’m making sense of the fact that one very long line (my mother’s paternal line, back to the 1600s) were slavers. I hate it, but I can’t erase it. So I am giving voice to them to argue them down. Fortunately, my mother’s maternal line were Quakers, salt of the earth, Union, not Confederates. They literally met *in her.* They are in my DNA.

I’m at about 25,000 words so far and need to triple that, at least. (Forthcoming in Fall 2026, which is sooner than you think, ack!)

None of this was possible for me while in the throes of #chemobrain, which is a real thing. It’s a symptom of the extreme fatigue that chemotherapy causes, in essence, but it makes you stupid and unable to think of words, remember basic facts, or retain what you read. I certainly wasn’t creative while in bed for six months. There’s no other word for this feeling of being out in the world, using my brain, working hard, free at last from the tyranny of cancer — than ALIVE.

Like Frankenstein’s monster—she’s alive! And happy to be so.

Fifi says you should read this book. Happy Pets Month!

I hope you’re enjoying the heatwave.

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1. I had two new adult suspense novels published with publisher Booktrope before they closed their doors in 2015. The two books sold well but are out of print. Sibylline Press has recently opened a new imprint called Sibylline Digital First, and both of the Veronika Layne novels are coming back into the world as ebooks, but even more intriguing… Veronika will not be a 25 year old. She’ll be 49, looking at 50, and single, working her fingers to the bone, and living with her cat. Still has the sexy parts but everyone is older and wiser now. TBR in November 2014! #Revising

2. Not only Veronika Layne Gets the Scoop and Veronika Layne Has a Nose for News… also coming back to ebooks is the out-of-print literary novel, Tongues of Angels. And, as soon as I can finish it, Veronika Layne Stops the Presses, which was never published because Booktrope went out of business. YEAH. Busy days.