The sisters are doing it for themselves.

Late summer steam on the pavement,
Distant musk of ripening corn,
Perfectly too Sweet Tea, and I feel,
almost
(slightly)
bless-her-heart,
Southern.

The book comes out two weeks from now. I’m overwhelmed by the support we’ve gotten, and at how big this community of “indie” writers and readers really is.

If I described this situation–where a group of creative people rose up against the authority that judged and allowed it to be seen, and found its own means to reach the masses that did, in fact, appreciate a fresh point of view–any art student would say I was talking about the Impressionist movement.

220px-Claude_Monet,_Impression,_soleil_levant,_1872

I love women who knit. They so naturally do what physicists can only dream of: they take the first dimension, a straight line, and transform it through the second, third and fourth manifolds of space  on circular number six needles.
Those socks you are wearing? That on your foot is a tesseract.
There are some ladies on Ravelry to whom I run whenever I get the introvert heebie-jeebies. They are literary women, smart and funny, and just a wee bit (very) naughty on the edges, and remind me that I can, actually, get my head out of my ass and make friends.

I’ve met a LOT of people this week.
Hi, y’all.

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