Hi my dears! I have been away from this blog for a little while–busy at work over at Glamour.com, of course, and on my book, which I’m happy to report is finished and in my editor’s hands at Penguin (and my editor in Germany, too!) where it is now launching forward in the production process. Woohoo! I worked for about three months on the revise, and I couldn’t be more proud, and thrilled, about how it turned out. Of course, I’ll have two more opportunities to review the book prior to publication next summer, so that gives me some comfort. (A writer is never done revising, right?) The book is getting a title change, so stay tuned about that. And, I’m happy to share that I am nearly halfway through my second book, which I’ll be sending to my agent next week for review. I’ll be writing more here about my process (and inspiration!) for book numero deux, so, again, stay tuned.
For now, I want to tell you about this rose …
It used to be my mom’s favorite rose bush, growing like wild every summer in the garden of the white colonial I grew up in, the house my parents built, and, sniffle, sold a few years ago. But guess what? Before the new owners moved in, I dug up the rose and planted it in my Seattle garden. OK, maybe it was a little underhanded (and possibly illegal), but here’s how I justified it: There were already a gazillion other roses on my parents 2 and a half acre property, so why would they miss this rose?
It was sad enough to say goodbye to the house, and the memories, so I had to take a bit of it with me. It is quite possibly the most fragrant rose I’ve ever encountered. So yes, I dug up that baby and carted it home to Seattle where it is thriving in my garden. Every few days I snip a new bud for my kitchen window, and it reminds me of home.