Cyber Monday and Christmas Gifts

I know some of you were probably thrown for a loop and shocked and possibly appalled last post to see that I had departed entirely from my classic tone, taken my tongue entirely out of my cheek, and sat down to something serious. My half-hearted apologies. You see, I can be sober when I've a mind to. But today is not a day for sobriety. I wish I had had time to remind you this morning, but I will tell you now:

Anon, Sir, Anon is 25% off in Kindle form today! Just follow the link, find the title on the list (and check out the other authors) and get your copy today. A big thank you to those who bought their paperback copy on Black Friday! You made the sale a success!

Five Glass Slippers has not gone off the market either, I will remind you. In fact, I received the terribly exciting news last week that Rooglewood Press has commissioned an audiobook company to record the entire book...I received the first chapter audio file of The Windy Side of Care and let me just say: it is so good. Imagine Alis' voice being read by an actress with a wonderful British accent...you are going to want this one. And I am especially pleased because a friend had just inquired as to whether any of my stories were in audiobook form and I had had to tell him "no." I'll have to update that information. My publisher tells me that the collection ought to be available in that format in early December! And if you buy your readable copy of the collection today, you can take advantage of Amazon's 30%-off Cyber Monday sale!

And just when you thought you had run out of my books to buy, might I remind you that Fly Away Home is still an option. In fact, I have sold more than a couple copies in the last two days, which is a lovely thing.

Christmas is coming. CHRISTMAS IS COMING. Outside of my family (which numbers twelve people, including my new sister-in-law), I have at least twenty other people for whom I will be creating or buying gifts. Let the games begin and may the odds ever be in my favor. Christmasing, to some extent, requires moneys and while I am not at all begging, I will remind you that when you purchase books from myself and other independent authors, you are likely directly affecting our gift-giving abilities. Just a reminder, because in this age of Big Companies, people don't think so much of local efforts. Beyond that, who doesn't like to receive a book on Christmas morning that they have probably never heard of? If you have a friend or family member who is difficult to surprise, they might think they know what book that is, but unless they've read all the back pages of Amazon or stumbled upon The Inkpen Authoress, they probably won't. And for once, you'll win. You win, I win, we all win.

"I believe Christmas has done me good and will do me good and so I say God bless it!"

And so forth. Do you remember the custom-made, tea-stained stationary I sold last year? I'm taking orders again because, let's face it, it's Christmas and letter-writers have "nice stationery" on their list and you don't feel like spending six dollars for a pack of blatantly pink hedgehog stationery at Target which just anybody could get and which doesn't have enough room for three sentences apiece anyway. Each "packet" of my hand-drawn designs contains 10 sheets of 8 1/2 x 11 stationery and will cost you $8.00, which includes shipping. You may follow that link and order any of the designs already stated, or we can chat about a new design custom made for you or a family member who loves to write letters. If you would like to purchase a packet of stationery, feel free to direct an email to theinkpenauthoress(at)gmail(dot)com and we can go from there.

FA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA!

{Just For Fun} 9 Gifts for You or Your Writing Friends!

It just struck me today, that sometimes we need a bit of spoiling. Why did I just think of this today? Well, last week I spoiled myself by buying P.G. Wodehouse: A Life in Letters in hardback. It came yesterday. Already a fascinating book and I'm so glad I splurged the fifteen dollars to buy it and ship it to myself. Now and then you ought to spend some of that coffee-money on something a bit more lasting. Today I've rummaged up a few spoilings under $10 that you might be interested in lavishing on yourself or another writer-friend. :)

This gilded filigree journal from The Victorian Trading Co. is on clearance for $6.99.

The charcoal and silver Florentine journal is also just $6.99!

Hand-stamped key-chain from Michelle Mach is  $10.00

Book Quote necklace from SilverRapture for $9.00

Writer's Pen necklace from MonsterBrand for $10.00

Word Geek upcycled bobby pins from PigseyArt at $10.00

Bwahahahaah. This pin is available from geektuary for $1.88

A vintage pink typewriter iPhone case? Apparently it exists from familycase for $9.99

Ummmm, now I want a guy writing-friend to whom I can give these type cuff links from thatsreallyclassic at only $9.90!

Well that was fun! Now I am going to run off and focus on my work for the afternoon: beginning the rewrite for Anon, Sir, Anon in preparation for sending it out to beta-readers! Hold your breath they like it.... ;)

A star danced...

"There was a star danced, and under that was I born."

-William Shakespeare

(and quite possibly my favorite quote from him. :)

Because it is my birthday, and because I am now 20 years old, and because I can now quote one of my favorite Elizabeth Bennet quotes correctly: ("I am not yet one-and-twenty") and perhaps because I am feeling birthday-ish even if I am in Georgia, here is a birthday post for me and you and the rest of us.


First off, it's my golden-birthday. That means (in Rachelisms) that I turned 20 on the 20th of July. Some one recently tried to tell me that "golden birthday" means "50th," but that is so terribly unromantic that I ignored them and told them that they were probably incorrect, and I was probably right. ;) My family sent me the most amazing package ever. It sat in my hotel room for two days while I tried to forget about it, but I have to say that I bounced awake quite earlyish this morning and tore into it with a right good will.
They'd wrapped everything in gold-hued paper. Different patterns, different shades, all golden. :) And some peacock feathers thrown in for good measure. Nearly everything in the box was gold-themed too. I felt just like Rose in Eight Cousins--there was no end to that amazing package. Gift after little gift I opened till I was quite in danger of being late for breakfast!


"Every little girl cam easily imagine what an extra good time she had diving into a sea of treasures and fishing up one pretty thing after another, till the air was full of the mingled odours of musk and sandalwood, the room gay with bright colours, and Rose in a rapture of delight."

Mama and the girls had sprinkled gold stars in every envelope and box, and by the end of the time my dark little hotel table was quite awash in a sea of glittering splendour. :) Thanks, family-dearest! Among the many delightful things I received were:


- a silver pocket-watch necklace from Felicity--I feel just like Beatrix Potter. :)
- truffles, orange-dark-chocolate, Rollos, and Toblerone
- gold, sparkly eye-shadow from my sister, the Fashionista. :) (And yes, I can carry it off)
- fuschia lipstick, so that I might follow in the summer's fashion trends. ;)
- a little china box with a supercilious cat on it, filled with "golden" buttons
- twenty dollars
- a beautiful, golden, filigree dogwood-flower hairclip
- Bath & Bodyworks white citrus lotion
- eyeshadow especially formulated for hazel eyes (a girl on a campaign needs to feel beautiful, right? :)
- postage stamps
- and more. :)


Truly, it was the most wonderful parcel I've ever received. Most packages come to an end far too quickly, and with many of them you already knew what was coming. No such thing in this deal. And in addition, I had about 6  cards from various family and friends! Thank you everyone who contributed to making my birthday-away-from-home possibly one of the best ones I've ever had! I love you all, and I'll remember it for ever and always. :) <3

This quiet marriage of Heart and Mind

Sometimes I wonder...what is it that I love about writing? Why do words have such an alluring quality for me about them? Why do I even bother? Do I have any talent in this arena? Am I only stylizing myself a writer as Monte Cristo stylizes himself a Count?

And then I begin to answer the questions point by point.

Why do I love writing? Because I love the beauty of story. I love the shadowy impression of The Story that each subsequent tale bears. I love the adventure, the friendships, the romance, the nature of stories.

Why do words captivate me? Perhaps they run in my blood as they do in my head and my heart. In any case I cannot avoid loving words. Harnessing those horse-wild groups of letters and making them bear my fancy is invigorating, challenging, and wonderful.

Why do I even bother? Because I can't help Bothering. I was born to Bother with writing just as assuredly as I was born to dance and sing and make merry. "A star danced, and under that was I born." It is in my nature, and one cannot separate oneself very efficiently from personality.

Do I have any talent in this area? It wouldn't matter if I could barely string "The Man Went To The Store" together. My heart and hand bid me write and did I scrawl nothing but paltry nursery-rhymes, I could no more stop than I could now, up to my neck in numerous Projects.

Am I only stylizing myself a writer? Could I pretend to be anything else? I am not a musician, though I love music. I am not a painter, though I can wield a brush with a passable hand. I am not a dancer though my feet cannot stand still in the presence of rhythm and melody. Therefore I can only conclude that I stylize nothing. I am a writer, and that's all there is to it.

And quick as that my doubts and fears and hopes die away altogether in the great calm of knowing I am in my element with a pen and paper. I do think the Lord has given me a gift (however small) in the area of writing. All the glory must go to Him, and so though I acknowledge I am a writer, I wonder at it myself.
Me? How did this happen? Why do words bend for my pen?

It is a great mystery, is it not, this quiet marriage of heart and mind with word and deed?

"Shake me up, Judy!"

Hey everybody! :) Rather than repeat myself and sound redundant ( :P) I thought I'd just send you over to my Other Blog to check out my latest literary-themed Christmas present that I made for a friend. Tell me how you like it. :)

"Shake Me Up, Judy: The Purist's Guide to Dickensian Cookery"

:) I had such fun rummaging through Dickens that it was almost not work at all! I rather wish I had a copy to keep for myself though. :D

“Christmas a humbug, uncle!” said Scrooge’s nephew. “You don’t mean that, I am sure?”
“I do,” said Scrooge. “Merry Christmas! What right have you to be merry? What reason have you to be merry? You’re poor enough.”
“Come, then,” returned the nephew gaily. “What right have you to be dismal? What reason have you to be morose? You’re rich enough.”
Scrooge having no better answer ready on the spur of the moment, said, “Bah!” again; and followed it up with “Humbug.”
“Don’t be cross, uncle!” said the nephew.
“What else can I be,” returned the uncle, “when I live in such a world of fools as this? Merry Christmas! Out upon merry Christmas! What’s Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older, but not an hour richer; a time for balancing your books and having every item in ’em through a round dozen of months presented dead against you? If I could work my will,” said Scrooge indignantly, “every idiot who goes about with ‘Merry Christmas’ on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. He should!”
“Uncle!” pleaded the nephew.
“Nephew!” returned the uncle, sternly, “keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine.”
“Keep it!” repeated Scrooge’s nephew. “But you don’t keep it.”
“Let me leave it alone, then,” said Scrooge. “Much good may it do you! Much good it has ever done you!”
“There are many things from which I might have derived good, by which I have not profited, I dare say,” returned the nephew. “Christmas among the rest. But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round—apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that—as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!”

 ~A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens

The Master of Delgrade Heath

I wrote 4360 words today...(I believe that was the W.C.) 4360 words of a gift for someone. I don't know who it is for, but I know that it is my yearly Christmas Tale, and it will be a gift for a friend or family member. That is why I can't disclose too too much information about this work in progress. I have grown to love my Christmas Tales. I let myself go to reckless abandon in writing them. The first was Fairfax and Cloves. It was nothing amazing, but I had fun writing it, I thought as little as possible about rules and regulations, and I wrote for the fun of writing and the joy of giving that fun to someone else. I have been in great need of writing such a piece recently, and so while I wasn't even sure I'd attempt a Christmas Tale this year, I have found I am attempting it and having good success so far. I wish I could tell you all about it in my new flush of authorship, but I cannot. All I will say is that I am going with the working title: The Master of Delgrade Heath. He looks something like this, "a sculpture of what might have been" as the main character, Lisette Allenham tells us.

 

I feel a deep compassion for this wretched man, and I am pleased to say that as Authoress, I have planned a happy ending for him. But it will take many words and a Christmas miracle of sorts of change him from the self-centered, ill man he is to what he was meant to be. Will his nurse, Lisette Allenham have anything to do with his reformation?

We shall have to see. I think so. And then again, I am not sure. There is very little decided in only 4,000 words. However, I know one thing. I like Cyril Delgrade, despite his cynicism and wasted youth. He has a soft side to him that I am discovering, and a biting wit. I like Lisette Allenham. She is faced with the perplexity of trying to cure a man who does not desire to get well. She's a strong woman, but she doesn't understand Mr. Delgrade. And...I've gone and told you more than I meant. Ah well. This will end up being a good Christmas Tale. I've got a feeling in my bones, and my bones are seldom wrong. After Christmas I will be able to post it for you, as it is not to be too terribly long a story. And have I mentioned I like this tradition of writing a story each Christmas? ;) Perhaps when I am an old woman I shall have quite a volume of stories laid up. Sing ho for The Master of Delgrade Heath, eh? :) And sing ho for the kind of cozy reading that is meant to beguile a winter's afternoon! ~Rachel

I Am Levi :)

There are epochs in everyone's life. Today I am privileged to announce that there has been a new epoch in my life! I have met, for the first time, my newest brother, Levi Scott Heffington. :) He is dashingly handsome in a chunky-monkey way. All sweetness.

His dear little cry is not in the least querulous, rather it takes after the purr of a disconsolate kitten. Such a baby! Fat as butter and sweet as pie. :)

*happiest of happy sighs*.

I knew that I must write something to commemorate the day, and I was not in a poetic mood. One cannot force a poem, they grow. Or at least, is my limited experience. So I quickly laid aside the idea. And then I began to think of writing Levi his own introduction. When he grows he will not, of course, remember his very first birthday, so I thought, why not write his memoirs for him? And that is what I did. So without further ado:

I am Levi

A memoir executed by Rachel Heffington, but dedicated and imagined for her dear babiest brother, Levi.

"I am Levi. Or so They call me. I began my life under the most auspicious of dates on the calender. August 6th, to be exact, and a grand day, if the judgement of my family may be counted upon. I heard them discussing the trivial sensationalism of three children in one family born on the same day. It seems two of my sisters have already peopled this date with birthday celebrations, and I am by no means ill-pleased to join them.

My passage to this world was, perhaps, a deal less pleasant than I might have hoped, had I known to hope for anything. But it is no matter. My Dark Place had grown rather too small for me, or I too large for it, and I had not been truly comfortable for many days.

It seemed as soon as I positioned myself in an easy way, my mother would poke me into a less pleasant situation, and I took to kicking back, to let her know I was not so flexible as she seemed to think.

But I digress. My experiences have yet been only a few hours long, but those hours are a long span of time for one who has spent nine months in blissful, warm darkness. My introduction to my mother's world began with my first lesson, that of pain. My Dark Place squeezed me terribly hard, but I thought nothing of it at first. The squeezing would not stop long enough to let me catch my breath, and if crying would not have given me a galloping case of the hiccups, I would have done so immediately.

However, hiccups aside, there was no room to cry, and scarcely any space to breathe. The squeezing became nearly unbearable and I felt myself pushed downward, away from the quiet sweetness of my Dark Place. I wriggled then, but the force would not be resisted and with a sudden burst of pain, I left my Dark Place forever and entered into a new world.

How I wailed then! It was a rude awakening to one so long confined. Brilliant lights dazzled my eyes, strange hands grabbed me, and a quantity of noise beat upon my ears.

I wanted nothing more than to crawl back to my old life, my dark solitude at first. But strange to say, the next moment my lungs filled with good air--real air--and I heard a familiar voice calling my name. My mother!

The strange hands lifted me into my Mama's arms and I lay whimpering on her chest. The beating of her heart soon conducted my own into a steady rhythm. This was far kinder a feeling even then that of my comforting Dark Place. Before I even thought about it, Mama introduced me to the concept of nursing. I found it as natural and easy a thing as I could have wished to encounter in such a strange world as this. To lay on my mother's warm skin and smell her scent--for mothers do have scents no matter what everyone else thinks--and to nurse for as long as I liked, was purely blissful.

I had not long lain thus when I heard a door opening and a noisy crowd of people entered my world. Only the noise of this group was tender and loving, reminding me more of Dark Place than I had hoped. Why? Why was that?

But as soon as my father picked me up a single thought coursed through my milk-sated mind: This must be my family! Yes!

Though I deemed it more pleasant not to open my eyes so I would not invite the harsh light in, I recognized each voice from my old life. They were clearer and bolder in this world. Their voices had been rather muffled when I listened through the walls of my watery cradle, but they were the same.

During the next half-hour I was passed from one pair of arms to the next, all eight of my brothers and sisters among others, till I began to feel less like a proper baby and more like a ball. But I found these new acquaintances to be sweeter than I could have hoped. Indeed, the two oldest of my sisters felt so like Mama that I wanted to nurse again. They laughed over my vain attempts at satisfying myself with my fingers, and kissed me.

Fingers and toes had been the most amusing of playthings but a day ago. Why did they no longer give me satisfaction as they once did? And so I learned second lesson of my life. That of unfulfilled desire, though I could never have termed it thus.

I was already growing older though, for I now possessed a full hour's memory. The Dark Place seemed to grow dimmer and this new life pleasanter with each passing moment.

But my happiness did not last. Yet another pair of strange hands held me, and the voice spoke, not in comforting purrs and coos, but in vexed tones. I heard my fate debated: what was a shot anyway, and would Mama make me have once as the stranger thought I ought?

I mewed like a disconsolate kitten, to cast my vote, but they payed me no heed. The stranger took me to a bed with a hot light over it and pushed, prodded, pulled, and poked me with businesslike fingers. She did not stop there, but stuck something in a most incommodious place, announcing proudly, "98.4" after a moment.

I fussed then to let her know I had had enough, but she again ignored me and the next thing I knew, something sharp stuck me in the thigh. I wailed, hoping Mama would come help me leave this painful bed.

Kind arms cradled me once more and the pain faded away. I was reunited with Mama and fed my rumpled soul with the comfort of being near her.

When I awoke the friendly, noisy folk were gone. I opened one eyes and stared at the ceiling. A sunbeam danced along the plaster. I was too sleepy to indulge in a smile, but I was perfectly content. The sunbeam smiled for me and I found I had learned my third lesson:

August 6th was a fine day to be born."

Everybody say hello to my wee man! :) ~Rachel

Happiness! :)

I am so happy right now...Happiness is a rather elusive state, and has nothing to do with joy, but right now, I am entirely happy. Indeed, I am.

"If I could find a man who would consent to marry me for a mere fifty pounds a year, I should be well-pleased. But such a man could hardly be sensible, and you know I could never marry someone who was out of his wits."

~Elizabeth Bennett of Pride and Prejudice

Just kidding. You all probably think I'm going to announce something terribly exciting. :D No, I am happy for a rather ordinary, and yet extraordinary reason.

Maybe it's because I just had a bowlful of Rocky Road Icecream... ;)

Maybe it's because I'm watching Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy propose to Elizabeth

Bennett...*swoon!*

Or maybe it's because I just ordered a set of 8 Charles Dickens novels with my graduation gift card and they are due to come in 2-6 business days!!!! :) YAY!

Here is a list of the titles! I've read...half of them, I believe. Can you imagine? 8 entire chunks of amazing Dickensian literature...I can't wait to bury my nose into them. :)

David Copperfield

Bleak House

Oliver Twist

A Christmas Carol

Hard Times

Nicholas Nickleby

A Tale of Two Cities

Great Expectations

Ooh! It looks really nice this big! ;) I've read five off this list! So far (of these 8 novels) my favorites have been Bleak House and Nicholas Nickleby. :)

Ohhh....*happy sigh*....this is going to be a good night! :) ~Rachel

Inkpen Poetry Day, and yet another gift! :)

There is something so satisfying in being so identified as a writer that people see things that make them think of you, buy them, and send them to you with a note that says, "I don't want to spoil the surprise but one of these things reminded me so much of you when I saw it! You'll know which one it is when you open it!" :)

So I opened this package to find a brass stamp and some sealing wax. But not just any brass stamp. A brass stamp that had a feather-pen and an inkwell engraved on the bottom of it. :) *Happiness*

(Here's a link to the self-same seal I was given...the image is copyrighted so I couldn't put it on here. :[ )

Between that lovely "Author's Study" sign and my new brass stamp, I feel like a universally acknowledged Authoress. ;) Now if I could only bend my mind seriously to writing.

I long to jump with both feet back into Puddleby Lane, but my mind is filled with gardening...thus the only thing I have been in the right frame of mind to write are nonsensical, funny ditties about veggies. Seriously. Witness the latest fruits of my labor (no pun intended) below:

"An Okra Insult"

By Rachel Heffington

My wrath is on thee, Okra,

I would dearly love to choke ya'

If you hadn't quite so many little hairs.

For they always make me itch

In a manner fiery which

Isn't pleasant when the heat of summer flares.

Oh, you have a pretty blossom

But your smell is like a possum

And when cooked you make a gorgeous, slimy brew.

And you prick and itch my arms

With your ticklish, burning charms

Till I'd gladly run your vital system through.

You bring lots of money, though

From the the people who don't know

All the evil secrets hidden in your heart.

And I sell you at our stand

Though you bite and sting your hand--

We're a partnership....I guess that is a start?

See? A little clever, I guess....in a vegetable-y way. :P