The Tale of Briar Bank is finished and has flown off to New York, via dragon courier. No, just kidding. (You didn't really believe that, did you?) I sent an e-copy via email for the production gang and a print manuscript via snails to my editor. She likes to read books she can hold in her hands and mark up with a pen, the old-fashioned way. When she's read it, it goes to England to be read by an editor at Frederick Warne, Beatrix Potter's copyright holder. Then back here to the copyeditor, then back to me, then back to the copyeditor, then back to me as "first-pass" pages, then to the printer and the binder, and finally (in September 2008) to you, so you can find all the errors the copyeditor and I have cleverly hidden just for you. In the meantime, as a librarian friend of mine said once, you'll have to contain your soul in patience. While you're waiting, The Tale of Hawthorn House (Book 4) will be out this September (having gone the same route last year). And if you haven't read the third book, The Tale of Cuckoo Brow Wood, now's the time.
I took a day for a felting project, a day for reading (Robert Pyle's Sky Time in Gray's River), and now I'm back at work--this time on the memoir that I set aside late last winter. I don't like what I felted (a mustard-colored scarf), but even when felt doesn't turn out the way you imagined, it still turns out. I mean, there's the felt itself, which can be turned into something else. The process went like this.
First I carded the fiber, which is a blend of dyed merino. This is a laminated felt, so the fiber is felted on both sides of the laminating fabric, which in this case is a scarf-sized piece of dyed cheesecloth--you can see it in the second photo. In the third, I've laid out the fiber on bubblewrap and placed the cheesecloth on top of it. Another layer of fiber goes on top of that. The result is the scarf in the fourth photo, which turned out about the right size and weight (cozy on a cold winter's night in Alasak). Below that is a closeup--the felted fabric is rather more interesting than the scarf, which encourages me to think that maybe I can use it as part of the vest that's lurking in a dark corner of my mind.
The memoir looks better than I remembered--the first half of it, anyway. It's lovely to get back to it and actually enjoy reading what I wrote, which is not always the case. But like the felted fabric, writing can be recycled--recycled endlessly, actually. So even if I didn't like it, all is not lost. More later about that.
Before you go, please take a look at a couple of other pages. My son Michael wrote a nice piece for the Junea Empire about back-roads traveling, including photos of the grandkids. Encourage him so he'll keep on writing. And Linda Peterson wrote about her cat, Grace Blanket, on our Wildness blog. Her post reminds us that we don't need to make a trip to the wilderness to reach the deepest, truest heart of the wild. Thank you, Linda.
Reading note, from Linda's post: I’ve known wildness, defining it, when I came to define it at all, as something remarkable and exotic, something “out there” attainable only in rare, dramatic moments. But here in the quiet of my living room with a domestic cat, I felt my own wild nature at its deepest in the space we created around us.