Six years. Six novels. Six wins.

And this year, I took four days off completely to attend Donald Maass’s incredible workshop, Fire in Fiction, and another eight days off to attend the Writer Retreat Workshop, at which I focused on revising East of Jesus instead of drafting this new one.

Also this month, I had a colonoscopy, met with the Books Over Breakfast group, switched to a new general practitioner, met with the school psychologist about my daughter’s three-year evaluation for special ed, balanced two checking accounts, paid bills twice, and continued my regular appointments. It wasn’t No-No-November this year at all.

I think I’m ready for the big leagues.

I popped into a gift shop at the airport before I flew home from my writers retreat Sunday, and found Scorpion Suckers.

Yes, they are exactly what they sound. Lollipops with scorpions in them. Real live scorpions. Only not live.

Kinda like the worm in tequila. Only not.

I was squicked out by the very idea of scorpions in my room, so you can imagine what I thought about seeing them embedded in something one was supposed to put in one’s mouth.

I remained squicked out even after the clerk told me the stinger is removed, and the poison all flushed out before they are made into food. Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t really want to imbibe something that has to be flushed before it can be eaten.

But Mad Scientist has been begging us for a couple of years to get him some kind of insect he can eat. He has spent rapt hours glued over websites where they sell chocolate-covered ants and grasshoppers, salt-and-vinegar crickets, and all things edible insect.

I brought home one of those scorpion suckers once before, for Tenor Sensation, but he very wisely considered it the gag gift I intended it to be, and after several years of squicking out his friends, he threw it away.

Thinking of Tenor Sensation, I asked the clerk, “Does anybody ever actually eat these?”

Before she could respond, the other clerk, a guy, said, “Oh, yeah! I do.” He paused a moment and added, “They’re crunchy.”

ACK! Too much information! Still, Mad Scientist is a different person. I bought it and brought it home.

Biggest score ever on an airport gift purchase!

First, today’s winner: Carol M.! Of all the books I’ve mentioned, she chose The House on Tradd Street by Karen White. Congrats, Carol! If you’ll send your shipping information to katrina (at) stonoff (dot) com, I’ll get your book in the mail.

Now for next week, as promised: your choice, two winners! Comment below with the name of any book you want* and come back next week to see if you’ve won. These are my favorite weeks because we all hear about great new books. So start commenting! And remember, I’ll choose two winners.

Contest open to anyone on the planet who has access to reliable mail service.

Now, the hat (Fascinator #2):

Traditionally, fascinators are whimsical, frou-frou pieces made of feathers and lace, so I’m not sure this would technically be called a fascinator. It’s made of resin or acrylic and looks almost like metal.

I do like it though. I like how the thin headband mostly disappears into my hair, putting the visual emphasis on the ornament itself. And I love that the designer chose such strong colors and lines to make a rose (traditionally soft, delicate, and feminine).

Kinda like how the gold and black looks a little startling against my silver and black hair.

*Any book readily available for $25 or less; I’ll cover the shipping.

I thought I’d post a quick pic of my room, mostly so my family can picture where I am.

I love my room (though I check very carefully for scorpions every time I come in or get out of bed, and I practically strip my bed before I get it into it).

I love the murals on the wall. I love the down comfortor and suede duvet. I love the open airiness of it. I love the lighting. I love that I’m alone in it. I love that I have a table.

And I love love LOVE that it is utterly, completely silent. I’ll hear a car drive past once or twice a day, and that’s it.

Last night, several of us went out to see the Leonid meteor showers. Peak was the night before, but we saw several that burned a long green ribbon across the sky. Quite spectacular in the sky filled with stars. The stars above us, unblocked by light pollution, were so complex that I had the strong sense I was standing under a Palo Verde tree. I could almost see the lines of branches between the stars.

Today I saw a cactus wren and a little family of quail. Gambel’s quail are adorable. The male walks like a stuffy, portly man in a tuxedo whose tie is too tight. His head bobs forward and back. Quite delightful to see these old, familiar bird friends I haven’t seen in years.

I’d forgotten how much I love the desert.

I’m in Oracle, Arizona, on a weeklong writers retreat. My goal is to get within sight of a final, proofreading run at East of Jesus.

That’s the good news. The bad news is that I won’t be posting much here or anywhere. Because I am focused, baby!

Also because I can neither make phone calls nor send mail (though I can receive mail. Weird). If you must, you can reach me on Facebook.

The Monday Book Giveaway will not take place this week either. Sorry! I’ll make it up to you next week by giving away TWO books, your choice. And if you haven’t yet answered last week’s contest … what are you waiting for???!

When I come up for air, I’ll have lots to tell you: the ranch is amazing! And two of the people here were surprised by a javelina. And there was a scorpion in my room (don’t click if you’re faint of heart!). But it’ll have to wait. I have a book to finish!

P.S. Will someone please telephone or email Mars and tell him I arrived safely? Also tell him I miss him, especially last night when I had to crawl into a very cold bed alone. And give him a kiss for me too, will ya? A nice, juicy one? Thanks!

As you probably know, Girly Girl has Down syndrome. Part of our routine with the school district includes testing every three years to see if she is still eligible for special ed.

…

Naaaa, I’m not even going to touch that one. It’s just too easy.

…

OK, I am going to touch it. I cannot resist. I know this is utterly obvious to everyone except the federal government, but I just have to say it anyway … IF????! We have to test to see IF she’s going to be eligible??? You do know she has Down syndrome, right? You do know what that means, right? What, you think she’s going to be cured? Every single cell in her body will magically lose its extra chromosome??

OK. Flabbergasted tirade over. Thanks for indulging me. I now return you to your regularly scheduled program, the one in which I wax eloquent over my prodigy of a child.

…

So. We met today with the school psychologist to go over the results of her evaluation. Some of it was surprising. For instance, her special ed teacher reports that she is often unhappy, which is exactly opposite of what we’re seeing. From our perspective, she loves middle school! Most of it was exactly what we expected. She’s extremely delayed in math, for example, as low as First Grade in one area.

Then we got to her reading scores. Guess what grade level she’s reading at! Go ahead, guess! I’ll give you a clue: remember the spelling bee?

Oh, you’ll never guess, not in a million years. I’ll just tell you. But just for perspective, she’s in Sixth Grade, and she’s mentally disabled. Her measured I.Q. is 50-something, which makes her mildly mentally retarded (I actually don’t think the 50-something is accurate, but I’ll agree that she’s mildly mentally retarded).

But her reading level? 10.9. Yes, seriously. 10.9. Comparable to the average sophomore in high school. Granted her comprehension is much lower, but even that is 7.0.

Frankly, I didn’t believe it, and the psychologist must not have either because he said, “I doublechecked the scoring, and it’s right.”

Woot! Who cares about math! Mommy writes novels, and in my book, the girl is a prodigy.

We’re full into winter weather, which around here means blustery, windy, wet days that hover around 40 degrees Fahrenheit (hey, it counts as cold, especially when the wind drives frigid water droplets down the neck of your jacket).

The other day, I was driving home when I noticed an odd bank of clouds to the west. The entire sky was gray and overcast (what else is new?), but in one place, there was a shelf of clouds that were black and completely opaque, hanging maybe 20 feet in the air, 30 max. There was a clear line both below the cloud (hence the term “shelf”) and on the eastern leading edge. As we approached it, it felt like we driving into a garage, both because of the change in light and the sense of a roof overhead.

As we drove under it, though, I noticed something odd: an enormous flock of something flying right at the edge of the cloud. Tens of thousands of tiny black creatures making a cloud of their own. I looked closer and realized the flight was unusual — more fluttery than normal.

I think they were bats, driven from their sleeping places by the encroaching darkness and probably confused by the shocking emergence into light.

Almost forgot to do this! Between furiously adding words to my Nano and trying to get ready for a weeklong writers retreat in sunny Oracle, I’m dropping balls right and left.

But here it is: one lucky winner of a signed copy of Gabe Dixon’s CD, and the winner is … Karen K.! Congratulations, Karen! If you’ll send your shipping information to katrina (at) stonoff (dot) com, I’ll get your CD in the mail.

Oh, and Rene? I think I have to finally admit that you were right: you never win anything. I am so sorry for you, though I still look forward to Books Over Breakfast anytime your lucky sister or one of your lucky friends wins instead.

Three books to give away, three winners! Congratulations to:

• Sue R.! As the first winner, Sue gets her first choice of the three: Grundish and Askew by Lance Carbuncle.
• Kat Bryan! Kat’s first choice was The Long Sleep by Stephen Mellor, so she gets her first choice too.
• Stephen! Stephen gets his second choice, Shapeshifter, The Demo Tapes: Year Two by Susan Helen Gottfried.

Congratulations, winners! If you’ll send your shipping information to katrina (at) stonoff (dot) com, I’ll get your books in the mail.

For next week, you can choose any book I’ve mentioned. It can be a book I’ve referred to casually on the blog (like that really big book you’ve all heard of that you cannot mention by name), a book I have given away (like Something Missing or Big Numbers), a book I’ve reviewed (like Mark of the Demon or the books listed here and here), or any book that appeared on one of my giveaway shelves.

Comment below with the name of the book you want, and come back next week to see if you’ve won. Contest open to anyone on the planet who has access to reliable mail service.

Now, the hat:

As promised, I went to Portland to get pictures of the fascinators. A fascinator is sort of like a hat except much smaller, more like an ornament than a head covering. They are usually very showy, with feathers or beads that stick up and out of the hair, and are worn at dressy occasions. They can be on a headband, a comb, a barrette, or bobby-pinned into place. My favorite fascinator designer is Taissa Lada (who I discovered through her Live Journal).

Sadly, the fascinators I loved at Nordstrom were gone. However, there were fun head ornaments, similar to fascinators, and I took pictures of some of them.

This one is a rose made from a strip of black and pinkish-gray knitting, set on a thin black headband. I like the width of this headband, but chose not to buy it for two really good reasons.

1. It brings out the salt-and-pepper in my hair (EEK!).
2. Kim, my favorite sales clerk ever, said, “That looks like a bird’s nest in your hair!” I’d hate to give a passing bird any ideas.

Note to self: when you fall in love with something at Nordstrom, buy it. I should also have bought the miniature top-hat set at a jaunty angle on a headband that I saw in a quirky little store in Portland a couple of months ago.

I actually wrote this entry on Monday, but I wanted to sit on it for a day or two before posting. Warning: treacly emotion, earnest religious views, and liberal politics follow. Please skip this entry if you find any of these offensive!

Anybody left?

Oh, well. It’s not the first time I talked to myself.

Yesterday was All Saints Day. I’ve never attended a church before that followed a liturgical calendar. I was raised in a fundamentalist Protestant church and have attended many others, but other than a Sunday here and there, I’ve never attended a “High Church.”

At least, not before now. We’ve been going to a branch of the Lutheran Church: ECLA Lutherans, to be specific. And yes, if you’re wondering, that IS the branch that recently voted to approve gay and lesbian clergy-people, and that’s one of the primary reasons we attend there.

Major disclaimer here: I have only a rudimentary understanding of the specific doctrines of the ECLA church. I know two things: 1) they generally believe what I believe, at least regarding the doctrines I consider most important, and 2) they don’t seem to mind if individuals vary widely in the specifics. Enough for me. But don’t take what I say next as anybody’s doctrine. This is just what *I* received from the service, through the filter of my own personal beliefs and experiences.

In the service yesterday, “saints” appeared to refer to everyone who has died. And indeed, the sermon seemed to imply that Christ died for all people and that all people will be saved (whether they like it or not — with liberal paraphrasing, the pastor compared the Holy Spirit to a donkey that will drag you back to the barn if you’re tied to him, no matter how big or stubborn you might be). Mars often accuses me of being a closet universalist because I just don’t buy the idea that a loving Father would condemn any one of his children to eternal torment, no matter how much they deserved it. So I appreciated the thought that my departed loved ones are with God (whatever he/she looks like), and intercede for me (whatever that means).

As part of the All Saints service, a bell was tolled for members of the congregation who died during the year, and everyone was invited to light a candle in memory of loved ones who have died.

Mad Scientist, of course was all for it (“You want me to play with fire? OK!!”), but Girly Girl is hesitant to do new things. We emphasized that we were lighting the candle to remember Grandpa Lou (the only person she remembers loving who has died), to tell him we love him and to help us remember that he still loves us too. And we made her participate. She had a very special smile as she added her flame to the others, so I felt good about us participating.

Back in our pew, I watched the little tray collect candles, and it was astonishing how bright the glow became. Each flame so small, but collectively they cast a light bright enough to read by (yeah, you know what’s important to me).

I found myself thinking especially of Mars’s sister, Mary. Mary committed suicide in 2001, leaving behind two young daughters (ages 2 and 4). As you can imagine, it tore the family apart, shredded our hearts. Mary was fascinating and beautiful and loving beyond measure, but she also had a mental illness, and in the end, it was fatal.

Mars comes from a devout Catholic family, and you probably know that for hundreds of years, the Catholic church taught that people who killed themselves were condemned to hell with no hope for release. They were not even allowed to be buried in consecrated cemeteries. So as you can imagine, Mary’s parents were not only dealing with shock and grief, but also with fear over how their daughter’s death would be handled.

No worries there though. The priest who visited us in the hospital — before we pulled the plug, before she was even technically dead — told us, “It is true that no one in their right mind who commits suicide can be saved, but by definition, no one who commits suicide is in their right mind.” It was, and remains, one of the most deeply comforting statements I have ever heard.

Still, I was raised in a church that pretty much condemned Mary to hell forever because she didn’t give her heart to Jesus before she died. And those early teachings are really hard to throw off even when you long ago left them behind.

In the years since Mary died (followed fairly shortly by both parents), I’ve felt comfortable that her mother is finally safe, pain-free, and happy. I have had no doubt about her father, whom I adored. Heck, I’ve dreamed about him twice, and I feel certain the second dream was a visit specifically from him. But I never quite came to terms with Mary’s death, and I’ve carried a deep ache for her all this time.

As I sat in the pew thinking these things, the organist began to play “It Is Well With My Soul.” I have always loved this hymn, at least partly because I know the sentiment is expressed from an honest place of unimaginable grief. Horatio Spafford, the lyricist, had lost a son to scarlet fever and most of his wealth to the 1871 Chicago Fire when he sent his wife and four daughters to Europe, planning to join them later. The ship sank, and his wife sent a telegram home that said, “Saved alone.” He took the next ship over to be with her, and the captain woke him as they were passing over the approximate spot in the ocean where all his remaining children had drowned. He stood at the rails and composed this exquisite statement of choosing to have faith when there appears to be no good reason.

Gabe Dixon’s song, “All Will Be Well” expresses the same thing if you prefer a secular message (And hey! I’ve giving away a Gabe Dixon CD).

As organ music and warm candlelight washed over me, I became overwhelmed by a profound sense of peace. For the first time ever, I felt certain that Mary was OK, that she is in a good place, finally free of the demons that made her life so difficult and brought on her early, tragic death. I began to cry. Tears washed down my face for the rest of the service. I was unable to sing the closing hymn through the lump in my throat.

In fact, when the service ended, I sat in the pew through the postlude, trying to wipe away tears and clean up smudged mascara. Girly Girl kept nagging me, “Come on, Mom! It’s over! Let’s go get snacks” (the church has a lovely tradition of serving home-baked goodies after the service).

There’s little I know about religious topics. I do believe we have souls that exist after our bodies die, but I’m not sure how or in what form. I believe in a force larger than Homo Sapiens, a force that put the universe into motion, but I don’t know what it looks like or how it was done. I’m most comfortable with the Native American Idea of The Great Spirit or the Hindu Brahmin (which I consider pretty much the same, and which I translate into “The Force That Moves Within Us All”, with “us all” defined as everything in nature right down to rocks and atoms). I think even if The Great Spirit is a specific being, he/she may well have “created the earth” by understanding natural forces such as the Big Bang and evolution and allowing them to work. Eternal damnation goes against my beliefs, as I said, but I am comfortable with the idea that some of us might need more time to learn whatever we’re here to learn (hence I can accept purgatory or reincarnation, or something similar). And I believe in Jesus Christ as my personal Savior, one who made an enormous sacrifice to rescue me from my own stupid choices (kinda like my mother replaced Girly Girl’s stolen iPod), but I suspect he has counterparts in other cultures who did the same thing. As you see, I am certain of almost nothing, and much of what I do believe is anathema (or even blasphemy) to organized religions.

In the end, I choose to have faith, even though I’m uncertain exactly what I have faith in, and I have good company in this place of faithful uncertainty. In fact, I suspect I’m simply a creature of my times, as our literature will show in the long run (read my discussion of literary movements of the 20th and 21st centuries).

What I believe — what I choose to have faith in — boils down to this maxim penned by Julian of Norwich (head-nod to Trudy J. Morgan-Cole for introducing me to Sister Julian):

“All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”

P.S. Note to self: on All Saints’ Day, don’t forget to bring Kleenex.