With 2020’s vicissitudes, I haven’t been doing any book signings this year. I suspect 2021 will be much the same, which is one reason I’m getting book plates made for some of those upcoming books: one for the Tabat books, one for Carpe Glitter, and a very cool “Cat Rambo” one that combines some of the motifs and symbols important to me. In the meantime, I’ve picked up some simple bookplates to use.
Want to give one of my books to someone and include a special touch? Drop me an e-mail telling me who you want the bookplate made to, and which book you’re planning on putting it in, and I’ll put a signed bookplate in the mail to you. Or want it signed to you for one of the books you already have or are planning to acquire? I’m happy to do that too.
Want your own bookplates? I got mine through Bookplate Inc. I got some extra to stick in books I occasionally loan out; that way they may come back to me. I’m still trying to remember who I gave my collection of Zenna Henderson stories to.
Want access to a lively community of writers and readers, free writing classes, co-working sessions, special speakers, weekly writing games, random pictures and MORE for as little as $2? Check out Cat’s Patreon campaign.
Want to get some new fiction? Support my Patreon campaign.
"(On the writing F&SF workshop) Wanted to crow and say thanks: the first story I wrote after taking your class was my very first sale. Coincidence? nah….thanks so much."
~K. Richardson
You may also like...
Fighting Back the Jungle
I figured that spending a Sunday morning pruning wasn’t the worst way to use one’s time, so I went out to do battle with the various plants along the entryway to our building. The rhododendron had grown out so aggressively that there was (literally) less than a foot clearance when trying to get through there.
I like pruning. When I took Master Gardening training, it was my favorite part. I like the idea of coaxing shape out of the wood, of encouraging it in a particular direction, coaxing it up and out. The rhododendron was pleasant to do, particularly since it hadn’t been done in a LONG time and I could use my little hand saw to clear some undergrowth out. The opposite facing hedge was much less so, and held a number of g’normous (but pretty) snails and a baby bird’s skeleton (luckily I realized what it was -after- I’d dropped it and it was so fleshless that it was actually kinda neat.)
I trimmed back a lot of stuff that was encroaching on the sidewalk and it all looks much more tidy and like people instead of ghosts live here.
Now I feel I have been productive as well as gotten me some exercise so I am going to go in search of a burger.
Nattering Social Justice Cook: Self-Defense Class, Week One
Sloths are kinda irresistible in the morning.Well, it’s been interesting.
Monday, I got up at 4:45 AM and drove over, first making sure I’ve eaten half a protein bar despite my stomach protesting the early hour. Because I’m always anxious about getting places late, I was there fifteen minutes early and got a chance to chat with the instructor, Carrie, a peppy woman maybe 10-15 years older than I. The gym’s fairly minimal: mats and bags. Four other women arrived, and we got started.
Shock number one. We’re learning self-defense, but this is also a fitness bootcamp with a hearty dose of circuit training included. I find the fact that I walk a lot and do a plank once every few days has totally deluded me to my state of fitness. This is brought painfully home during the jumping rope section. I haven’t done it in decades and simply cannot do more than a couple without hitting my feet. Still, I persevere.
We spend some time hitting and kicking the bags. It’s satisfying. I like it because it’s getting me used to the idea of using my body like that. This part of the drill is kinda killer, though, as we alternate hitting/kicking with things like push-ups, side bridges, and jumping squats.
It’s a long time before an hour is over.
Wednesday I get up at the same time, eat some yogurt, and decide I’ll walk over. Things are dark at 5 am, but not too bad, and I get there in plenty of time. We’ve lost one person and are down to four now. It’s much like the last session, particularly the humiliation of the jumprope session, but this time, somewhere in the middle of sit-ups, I find myself on the point of tears at how unfit I am and how painful all of this is. It’s unpleasant to the point where the thought of just apologizing and walking out flits across my mind. But again I persevere. Towards the end, we learn how to break free if someone grabs your arm, by always moving towards the spot where the resistance is least.
Afterward I walk home. It feels uphill all the way, and actually is, due to West Seattle’s geography. It’s highly unpleasant and I stride along grumpily wishing I’d driven.
Keeping that in mind, I decide to drive over on Friday. I’m surprised by the internal objections to going I’m feeling when I get up that Friday morning. What if it’s as bad as it was on Wednesday? What if it’s worse? I finally talk myself into it with a promise: if it’s that bad, then I will let myself quit after this session. Having managed my yogurt and drunk some water, I head over.
And it’s not as bad as I thought. I actually manage five jumps in rapid succession with the jumprope. (I do follow this triumph up by somehow managing to tangle myself in the rope to the point where I feel absurd and pray that no one is watching.) I’ve ordered my own online and it’ll arrive Saturday, so I can practice a little before Monday’s class. Overall I feel peppier than I have before, to the point where there are moments where I might actually be enjoying myself, such as the warm-up where we’re circling to the sound of “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” and the dodgeball session. Make no mistake, though, there’s still plenty of pain.
I leave feeling pretty good about the week. The class is one quarter over, and I think I’d be a bit better equipped if someone came at me. Next week includes the Ladies Basic Gun Training on the 4th so that should come with its own set of revelations, given that I grew up in a household where we were forbidden toy guns.
