My friend, Mary, is making me blog again. It's, mm, shall we say, been a while. June was mostly a blur of ambulances and ERs. When you're able to tell the hospital security staff thanks, but you know a better route than the one they just recommended for getting out and back in after hours, you know you're dealing with something. In this case, Rheuben's asthma. For June, we were its chew toy, but that's passed and he, and the family, are doing much better.

Part of the deal is, this is supposed to be a blog about writing historical romance, and none of the above felt very on topic. There was some writing done during that time, and some reading. Those of you who have ongoing reasons to have contact with medical professionals probably know all about the hospital bag; that lovely, handy dandy thing one keeps ready by the door in case it's hospital time again. Special bag only for hospital visits, with important stuff in it, like lists of medications, phone numbers of friends who will gladly come get you at the ER at three AM for the second time in a week and spring for mini burgers at Denny's on the way home. Clean socks (trust me, these are needed,) toothbrush, lotion, books for each family member to read.

For me, the choice is easy; historical romance. While for most of the summer, I've been reading the VC Andrews (ghostwriter only) backlist for study purposes, when I want something to read for me, historical romance is the ticket. Ever since I was eleven years old and devoured the copy of Bertrice Small's The Kadin that I'd purloined from my mother's bedside table, I knew I'd found what I wanted to read and write for the rest of my life. What's more universal than a love story? In many ways, this rough summer has been a recharge; yes, this is what I love and want to do for the rest of my life.

One might call it research in the rough side of being a romance heroine; the life or death concern for the one man in this whole world that means everything, and the joy in bringing him home. The sharing of odd moments, like both noticing that you/he's stayed in this hospital room before. The "we've been through rough stuff before and we'll get through this" squeeze of the hand when one of you isn't able to speak. How can anyone call such things unrealistic when I've lived them? This seals it; romance is real life. The grit and the angst that naturally find their way into my stories, those are real parts of romance as well. Hopefully we won't have to have a summer like that again, but neither of us would trade it; we've grown, become more us (and more him and more me) and I can honestly say it's made me a better writer as well.

This past weekend, my friend Linda (who has been to many many late night ER trips and subsequent mini burgers) and I reconnected with Mary after family responsibilities had taken time usually given to socializing, and it was like a whole retreat in an afternoon. Cold beverages, kitchen table, talking of life, loss, faith, furbabies (Mary has a new puppy, our family has Skye kitty) and of course, romance novels. Who's reading what, what wouldn't each of us touch with a ten foot pole, what's good that we've missed? What stunk up the place like week old flounder? What's coming out new? Normal and healthy talk, if you ask me. As part of which, came my promise to Mary to blog again.

I'm writing this entry at the end of another day of prepping the final manuscript of Orphans in the Storm, my English Civil War historical romance to Awe-Struck. I wrote this a couple of years ago, and now as I'm putting the final polish on Simon and Jonnet's adventure, revisiting the fabled Isle of Man and Charles II's Dutch court in exile, again, like that afternoon at Mary's, it's like a homecoming. Historical romance is my home, and I ain't moving.

Taking control of the out-of-control

With a muffled "oof" sound, picture one pair of writer's hands (we can tell they're writer's hands because the nails are au naturel, tinged with ink and have trace amounts of cat hair held on with Bath and Bodyworks lotion (today's scent: pineapple.)) grappling over a ledge. More "oofs," and a head of long red hair held by a black scrunchie becomes visible. A mighty heft and the rest of the writer appears. The experienced reader can tell immediately what's been going on.

The writer's spectacles, perched on the end of the nose, bear more finger smudges than they ought, and sit slightly askew. The writer thumbs them back up into their proper position and the reader gives a knowing nod. That's how the smudges get there. The writer dusts herself off, brushing hands on her long denim skirt and adjusts her sandals. She looks around. Almost summer. Huh. So time does pass outside the pages. She reaches down below the ledge and tugs on the rope that lifts a bulky bag. Books, of course. Lots and lots of books. She spills them out onto the ground, casting a furtive look about her.

Not, of course, that she cares much what others might think of her treasure. If they don't want it, more for her. The scent of books long-loved wafts through the air. The viewer catches a whiff. Is that...pre-1995 romances? Arguably the dividing line between styles of historical romance. The reader inches closer, but takes a step back. There be adverbs there, the viewer reminds herself. Alpha jerks, too. Lots of room for them to lurk in all those pages.

Ah, the writer reminds her, but there is room for alpha heroines as well, and all the world to roam. All the time they need to acheive their goals in there as well. Years and years if that's what's needed.

Years? But what about the rest of the series? If the first hero is taking all that time to win his heroine, what about his friends/brothers/cousins? Surely they're not sitting idle.

The writer settles back on her haunches and takes two Diet Cokes out of the bag. She opens one and sets one at a safe distance between herself and the reader. She peers over the rims of her spectacles. There isn't always a series. Sometimes the book ends with only one hero and heroine's story.

But what, the reader asks, scratching her head with one hand and taking the offered beverage with the other, happens to everyone?

They live happily ever after, the writer says, as though that's the most natural thing in the world.

But, the reader asks, we never see them again?

The writer pauses to allow herself an amused chuckle. Anytime, she tells the reader, you want. Their future turns out exactly as you wish it to. That's the happily ever after part. That's what heroes -- and heroines-- do. It used to happen more often.

The reader takes a cautious sip. Do tell.

Oh yes. Sometimes, the writer says, pushing one book toward the reader, the same couple comes back for another adventure.

To help the new hero and heroine, right?

The writer presses her lips together and tilts her head back for a moment before answering. Sometimes, she says, and usually it's their children, but no, not always. Sometimes, she continues, her voice dropping, something bad happens and they have to regain their footing and rekindle their love. But, she's quick to assure the reader, it's always okay.

Happily ever after, the reader repeats on a whisper. She settles on the ground, close to the outside of the spread of books and peruses the covers. That doesn't look like England, she says, pointing to one illustration. Neither does that one, or that one. Oh, that one does, but what's the frilly thing around the hero's neck?

A ruff, the writer says, nudging the book closer to the reader. See how the shape is echoed in the heroine's farthingale? Quite lovely, isn't it?

The reader's eyes narrow for only a moment. That was a passive tense the writer used.

When needed, she answers, it isn't the end of the world. It's like the white crayon in the big box; one doesn't use it all the time, but when needed for the proper effect.

You can do that? The reader's voice has a prickle of doubt and a glimmer of hope.

Yes, the writer answers, I can. There's a whole bag of tricks in here, and it's fun to play with all of them. That, she says, is where the stories come from. Come and stay a while.

Phrases you do not want to hear your handyman say:

1. That's a very aggressive snake.
2. He's rattling.
3. He's only moving this slow because it's not warm enough for him. (from me: that was slow?)

All of those come from yesterday's session with the handyman at my dad's house while getting big icky things out of the garage. Realizing that the snake on the ground, he (she?) of the rattle and fangs *was* the "metal hook" on the hinge of the paint can I had just carried in thirty seconds ago does things for ye olde blood pressure, let me tell you.

In the end, handyman and assistant handyman were able to trap snake and rehome him on a different part of the property, but "our" snake may have relatives in the basement. In either event, going in with nice bright lightbulbs next time.

What does this have to do with romance writing? Not much on the surface but every session of clearing out the house does uncover things. My father was an artist all of his adult life, so when I find some of his neatokeen art supplies (thank you, Dad, for buying the good stuff) it gives me a little creative boost. Similarly, every trip over there means new discoveries, sometimes about the man himself, sometimes about previous generations, parts of my own life I'd only seen from a child or teen's perspective, or the creative process in general. One could call it a form of archeaology. There's always something to mull over or dust off and use in a new and different way.

Which is what writers do anyway, so it sort of counts as a creative endeavor. So does speculating over what I might be "missing" by using this time to work on the house when I had three, count them, three novels in my bag, in the car, all strongly calling my name. What were the characters doing while I was away? Sure, they'll be considerate and sit on idle until I can get back but in a *good* book, characters are people to me, and when I'm not with them, I miss them. We'll be having some special time after dinner tonight. The snake is not invited.

Reading (and writing) It Old School, part one

I came of age as a romance reader in the time of the big epic historicals that spanned years and continents and hero and heroine might even have to go through (at least) a spouse each before they were free to have their well earned HEA. I remember once thinking that I especially liked when the heroine had the couple's first child, because that meant we were in for the meat of the story with lots more still to come. It wasn't that uncommon to see the little sproglets grow through the book and have actual bearings on plot and character development. Neither were they automatically being set up for their own books.

These were the days of Small, Woodiwiss, Brandewyne, Busbee, McBain and Sherwood, to name only a few. Single titles rather than series were the norm, though there were exceptions. Jennifer Wilde's character, Marietta Danvers, was the heroine of three books, and not all with the same hero. Valerie Sherwood's Kells and Carolina swashed their buckle from colonial Virginia to the island of Tortuga through three big, thick books, and the same author's Imogene and VanRyker (not related to Kells and Carolina) had two and a half books, the other book and a half devoted to Imogene's presumed-dead-in-infancy daughter and her hero. Rosemary Rogers' Steve and Ginny had them all beat, with a whopping four books to their relationship before their daughter had a turn in the spotlight. Depending on how much one wants to quibble through a saga, Aola Vandergriff's Dan and Tamsen may well be the king and queen of the continuing stooooory, having lead or at least central roles in no less than six books of her Daughters series, following the tempestuous Tamsen and her sisters from late teens to old age and final days. Dan and Tamsen didn't have children, either.

Books of this era could often be termed heroine-centric, which suits me fine. A heroine might be beautiful, corageous and strong (none of those bad things) but by no means perfect in the Mary Sue sense. Shanna, from Kathleen Woodiwiss' novel of the same name, started out as a selfish spoiled brat, but there was room for change, and boy, did she. Plus she got Ruark. No bluebirds doing the hair of these gals, and I think it's high time they had a shot at the center stage once more. At least that's what I'm trying to do, and it's what comes most natural to me.

Resurfacing

My all purpose question these days is, "can I put gesso on it?" Usually, the answer is "yes." Seeing as how I only have white gesso right now, this may mean that as soon as I get black gesso I may not be seen again for another long time. Hopefully, though, I'm back. Writing, digital art, regular art, reading about ballroom dancing (the joys of research) and what I promised myself I wouldn't do -- start brewing the idea soup for a new historical before I've finished one of the current projects. Sometimes these things happen, and I really truly am not going to start actual writing on the new project until I finish the first full draft of Endless Summer. Seeing as how the half draft is done, saved and I'm rapidly approaching the midpoint of the first full draft ::ducking floundersmack from Vicki, who will tell me I am working on my second draft and the half draft is the first draft:: that shouldn't be too long. So I am okay with starting the idea soup.

Currently stuck on Blake Lewis' "Meet Me At the End of the World," which may have some influence on the new project. Still on a pretty good run of reading historicals; not every one is a gem, but keeping a steady stream of reading helps keep a steady stream of writing.

Did not see American Idol last night, as our cable was wonky and unless is was "Only make sound every other syllable" night, I don't have that kind of patience. Watched the real life hero tinker with tv and cable box for two hours while attempting to talk to a human being at the cable place and was thankful I had a book with me.

Doing good, feeling good, would say looking good but not yet ready to attempt self portraiture with digicam. Ask me again after shampoo and makeup, but the joy of new fitted tshirts means I can get rid of the schlubby old sizes too big ones that procreate in my tshirt drawer.

Conference coming in a month, huzzah. Time to mingle with other romance writers and beg agents/editors to recognize my genius. Making mini cds with promo stuff on them, so if you hear a voice that sounds like mine saying Very Bad Words, you know I'm trying to print something new.

The point of it all is, I am here, really I am. (edited to add appropriate icon I'd forgotten I made)

I'm in an arty phase at the moment, hence the icon base over yonder. Alexandra Vandernoot as Tessa from Highlander, and part of the inspiration for Trista, my heroine in my historical MS, The Wild Rover. Which I have neglected for the past six weeks while working feverishly on the time travel, Endless Summer. Which paid off, as I now have a nifty certificate boasting my being in the four top page counts of all who participated. Sense of accomplisment, I has one. Definetly gives me the impetus to keep on plugging and I'm close to having a workable first draft on that one. I may have to keep up some of the disciplines as a regular matter of course.

As for other matters, I need a really good historical romance read. This said by the woman who could build a small bungalow out of her TBR pile, and a small garage out of her keepers. You readers know what I mean, though. It has to be the right read at the right time. I think my Karen Ranney glom spoiled me. I did break down and rebuy the first of her Highland Lords series, so may delve into that, only it will mean rebuying the rest of the series, four more books, and I'm not in a series mood at the moment. Le sigh. May have to brave the attic and rummage for the other Ranneys I know are in there somewhere. Or I can reread her Tapestry. Yep, that desperate. Or devoted. Or something.

There's a certain sort of extra zing when the right art and the right reading come together to feul the writing. I like the zing. Need the zing. Getting the zing. Also some gummi bears.

How can I ignore this face?

Or the stripety stripes, the creamy underbelly or the single cream toe on a front paw? I'm trying, though, as my current office assistant, Miss Skye, still needs some time to get used to her new environment. She's had a rough life for a young kitty and needs to figure out she's in a good place at last. She's been a survivor, but now she's learning to be a pet.

Survival, I've found, is a very interesting theme for a romance as well. (Nice segue, eh?) As my Christmas reading binge included Jenna Kernan's Winter Woman, a western from Harlequin Historicals, (okay, not a Christmas book , Christmas is not even in it, but there's snow on the cover, so I'm counting it) I found myself thinking of exactly why this book worked as well for me as it did when westerns aren't my usual choice.

First off, snow. They had me right there. I loves me the white stuff. Lived for two years in Vermont, would happily go back, but I don't think I could convince the DH to come, so any returns would have to be of the weekend vacation nature. My first fan novel back when I was fanficcing ST:TNG was set on a planet where it was all winter, all the time. I had a blast.

Then there was the fact that for most of the book, it was all h/h, all the time. Isolated on the frontier, battling dangerous environs, carnivorous critters and tempermental weather with a distinct minimum of secondary characters kept me riveted. I love a good adventure and a tight focus on the main h/h relationship, and this had it in bucketsful.

I really liked the structure of the wilderness adventure leading to civilization, and that the heroine did want to go back to a more structured world. Also liked the compromise that came with the HEA.

Also liked the inclusion of a faith element, done with exactly the right touch; worked very well for me. It was part of the characters, and struggles made sense.

At the (pardon the pun) heart of the matter was that the h/h, once they decided they really did love each other, went all in; they'll give up what' s most important to them because their beloved is even more important than that, and in the end, they get it all. Happy sigh.

Which got me thinking, what other settings can some of these elements be used for? I've enjoyed stories set in the wilds of Australia, Africa, Asia, various islands, even the colonial frontier (physically restraining myself from making notes on one of these until I have finished a current project.) Recommendations, anyone?

Christmas Romances

Those who know me well know I am a fool for Christmas. I insist on putting up the first decorations immediately after Thanksgiving dinner is over, and one less holiday minded friend insists I put up her tree because it's fun to watch me get that into it. All this, I admit freely. I also admit that I can be a very cranky kitty when a reading slump hits. When the two collide, and they do, I can stomp about and fume about needing a good book now, but other times, happily, there are other cures.

One night last week, I found myself awake at an unacceptable hour and chanced upon a copy of the A Stockingful of Joy anthology. Faster than a stray spark can ignite a carpet, my Christmas romance monster awoke. Must. Have. More. Next, the all-Mary Balogh Under the Mistletoe anthology, and Harlequin Historicals' Christmas Wedding Belles (Christmas stories themed around the high seas? Be still my heart.) by Nicola Cornick, Margaret McPhee and Miranda Jarrett (oh how I would love, love, love more colonials by her. Please? One more Sparhawk? Surely there has to be at least one more? Or a Fairbourne? Pleasepleaseplease?) Signet's Regency Christmas Wishes (all right, I admit it, Christmas is the one time of year that I won't complain about an abundance of Regency settings, and I do grumble about Signet ceasing with the anthologies. They can't get us hooked and then cut us off. Perhaps expanding the time frame? I know there was at least one Victorian anthology, and how about Tudor, Medieval or boldly going into the early 20th century?) and Michelle Styles' novel, A Christmas Wedding Wager waiting their turn. Jo Beverley's Forbidden Magic is also calling me.

After that? I do have a sizeable TBR pile, and a bunch of new/current titles, but for me, the Christmas bug lasts clear to January sixth at the very least, so I may need to go digging in the attic for books from years past. I know I have the Christmas Revels anthology that contains Mary Jo Putney's classic "Black Beast of Belleterre," which I am positively hungry to reread in the very near future. I'm also in earnest search of Time Travel Christmas, which is around here somewhere, and it's probably cozying up to Flora Speer's Christmas Carol. I'll hunt them down, never fear.

Then while not exactly Christmas themed books themselves, there are wonderful Christmas scenes in many books by favorite authors. Bertrice Small's Skye O'Malley series has some memorable holiday scenes and how could I possibly not mention the vast array of inspirational romances that shine light on the spiritual side of the season? I even remember a few Hannukah, New Year and Kwanzaa stories over the years, so it really is the season. If I pace myself, I can make the Christmas books last until Valentine's Day, my next holiday fix.

What about the rest of you? Christmas or other holiday romances, good, bad, or meh? What titles have I missed or not mentioned here that are must reads? What do you like to see in such books? Come sit by the fire, grab a hot chocolate and dish.

Sometimes I think I should change the name of this blog to "I'm still here, really." I am trying to be better about blogging here, seriously.

Currently far under the weather with an icky cold. As in have grossed out the husband at least once when I only managed to grab a small piece of tissue before a monster sneeze that slimed things. I count the minutes until the next Sudafed (hey, it's about time, yippee!) and my blood type would show as Ricola if a sample were taken at this exact moment.

Thankfully, I have a very understanding husband who knows that yes, buying a new historical romance novel is part of absolutely neccessary cold supplies. Because though I could build a small house (or at least a comfortably roomy tool shed, which I would use to store more books) from my tbr pile, it is not that book and the reading is always about the "that book."

Right now, that book is Claiming the Courtesan by newcomer Anna Campbell. No, not me, but yes, it is somewhat of a vicarious thrill to see the same first name as mine on a cover. I can put my thumb over the "ampbell" and pretend they managed to squeeze the rest of my name in there. If that sounds weird, I blame the Sudafed.

That's not the only reason, though. At the conference a couple of weeks ago, editors and agents all raved about this book, citing the return of the big historical (oh be still my heart, please please please) and one of my target editors even regretted passing on it. This of course has me intrigued.

My other toy getting me through this is Pearl, my new mp3 player. She's an RCA Pearl (hence the name) and after a couple of hiccups, I think I have her figured out. At the moment, she has a rather eclectic playlist, including James Blunt, Alanis Morissette, Elton John (and selections from his Aida) Mary Chapin Carpenter, and the Bee Gees, among others. I have not yet begun to fill her, though I am still trying to figure out how to get the two songs I downloaded from Yahoo Jukebox into her. I am going bananas without having Evanescence's "My Immortal" and Charlie Robison's "El Cerrito Place" availiable to me at all times.

A conference recap should go here, but my brain is too befuddled, so I will save that for a new post and crawl back under a blankey with a good book.

Genre-lly Speaking

I've been madly in love with historical romance since I read my first one, The Kadin, by Bertrice Small, when I was eleven years old. The story of the Scottish noblewoman betrayed and sold into slavery in the Ottoman Empire, and managed to triumph over all -- and find the love of a lifetime to boot, yeah, that was it. I was hooked. Okay, I was a bit young, but it was the drama and the history that kept me filching books from my mother's stash, and I knew that was what I wanted to write for the rest of my life.

Looking back now, I remember the big bags of books my Aunt Lucy (mom's sister) brought my mom on every visit. Lots of seminal (no pun intended) books of the genre passed through my innocent hands, and while I admired the beautiful covers by artists such as Elaine Gignilliat, Robert McGinnis and my all time favorite, Elaine Duillo and even made up my own story ideas to go with them, it wasn't until I read The Kadin that I actually cracked a cover. Early Rogers, Deveraux, Woodiwiss and more would have to wait a while for me to discover them, but they would come in time.

Fast forward to college. Karen, another gal in my dorm, once tracked me down with Valerie Sherwood's Lovesong and in the most serious tone I'd ever heard her use, told me I had to read this. As with The Kadin, I think that was an appointment. Fast forward a few more years and I am standing in the chill wind of a not yet spring day, pay phone glued to my ear because I will wait however long it takes for the owner of the local independent bookstore to search her shelves and see if there is a copy of Francine Rivers' Redeeming Love because I had to have it right then. Okay, I couldn't actually pick it up for a few more days but if I knew it was waiting behind the counter for me, I could sleep easy.

I used to comb the weekly flea market at a local mall for new treasures, big, thick historicals by old favorites or new discoveries, set in any number of places and times. I'm a big advocate of buying new, whenever I can, but at that point in my life, flea market was what I could do. As long as there was a dashing hero with chinks in his alpha-armor, and a strong, intelligent, beautiful heroine who was his ultimate match, I was --and am-- a happy camper. US Civil War? Okay. Sixteenth century Spain? By all means. Medieval France? You got it. Australia back when it was New South Wales? Got that covered. Tudor court intrigue? Vikings? Pirates? Crusaders? Yes, yes, yes, yes.

Most books weren't in a series then. Sure, there were the occasional second go-rounds for an exceptional couple or a particularly outstanding couple's daughter or son would have a story, but it wasn't the norm as it is now. I find I enjoyed connected books more then than I do now, maybe because they were the exception rather than the rule.

Even with all these variations, there was one thing above all that kept me coming back for more, kept me thinking that someday I would have my name on one of those covers -- the central love story. The one hero and one heroine who were each other's match, a love worthy of legend.

Fittingly enough, I have Melissa Etheridge's "I'm The Only One" playing as I write this entry, and I think that fits why I love the historical romance genre as much as I do.

Not really reading anything at the moment, which always irks me. Unless reading the closed captioning on DVDs counts. That's one of my weirdnesses; I have to have the closed captioning for the hearing imparired on when I watch a DVD, if it has it. I'm not hearing imparied myself, but if I can't see the words on the screen, I get irked. Even more irked if they don't explain the incidental noises, like ::dog growling:: or ::car backfires:: or ::salsa music:: -- things like that. Yes, I can hear them, but I want it written out. Anyone who can explain why gets, ah, my undying gratitude.

I've been kind of carrying around a few different books in Hannah Howell's Highland vampire series -- bought the first one (that I read, not the first in the series) because I needed something quick to read, I'd liked all the straight Howell historicals I'd read, and surely wouldn't that outweigh the vampire stuff? I'm not much of a vampire sort of gal. (Sorry, Hannah, it's not you, it's me.) Also, I wanted to see how she handled sharing her "universe" with Lyndsay Sands -- plus I don't think the other stories by other authors are in that universe, but are still in the same anthology.

Wuh-oh, lost my train of thought for a minute there. Let's see if I can get back on. Read the first Howell story in the first HV book I bought that wasn't the first book in the series (now thumping myself for assumming that anthology pieces were not connected to each other) and feeling lost not knowing the rules of the world and such. Enjoyed the writing and characters, but who's this and what's that and why is this other thing important? Ohhhhhhhhhh, need the other books first.

'Kay, I can do that. Get another one. Nope, still too far down the line. Get what I thought was the first one in the series, but it turns out to be the second. Normally when I read a series out of order, mountains fall, puppies die, and (insert favorite actor or male model here) wakes up ugly. I'll give the puppies a dispensation on this one because now it's gotten personal. I will find out how this whole thing started if I have to scour every UBS in the area, special order online and interview the author(s) myself. Besides, I think I'll be okay with the background information here, and it seems to be the first mention of what was confusing me the most.

Then there's the bright idea I had of getting all my Howells in one place and numbering them so I can read all the Highland books (the straight historicals rather than the vamps) in order. Reread, in several cases. Found out I have a few gaps, and two copies of Highland Bride. I know the author's website says the books do not have to be read in order, that the characters are merely of the same lineage. Hannah, I do believe you, and thank you, but for me, it's like the closed captioning in the DVDs. I have to read in order, same way the only acceptable way to eat a pack of Chuckles (candy) is: orange, yellow, green, red, black. (That's from worst to best flavor, in case you take note of these things.) I need to read a series from earliest to latest, chronologically. I treat it as one long-running story, especially if multigenerational.

Hmm, although by my list here, it looks like a couple of the titles I have might possibly be one-offs (another weirdnes -- the term "standalone" gives me the willies. No idea why, so I say one-off, which is perfectly fine for me. Again, no idea why.) Maybe it's time to dive into one of those, because it's defintely comfort read time.

Kara wanted a photo of Olivia kitty, so here it is. I think Olivia's choice of reading material is appropriate, since I've discovered a fabulous new blog today:

http://unusualhistoricals.blogspot.com/

Exactly my kind of place. I'll admit my heart did a little skip when I saw Morag McKendrick Pippin as one of the bloggers.