"Om" Part Two

I got nothin'.

I tried to think. Revenge is an interesting topic, so surely I could come up with something to say about it. Turns out, not so much.

I've never had the desire for revenge. The most I've ever thought about it is to think that if someone has done wrong, their Karma will catch up with them.

Now, I realize this is a strange stance for someone who writes mystery fiction, where characters must routinely kill each other.

It dawned on me: To date, I've never used revenge as a motive in something I've written. (Um, once one of my books comes out, you should probably forget you read that. Just to keep you guessing a little more.)

So, instead of making up some nonsense about revenge that I know nothing about (being too calm for my own good and all that), I'm going to share my exciting news of the week:

I finished a draft of my first young adult mystery!

What's it about?

A family curse. A town built on a damnable act of greed. And an evil legacy that continues deep in the heart of California Gold Rush country.

See, I've got greed and desperation in there, but no revenge.

--Gigi

How To Knit A Love Song Release Day!!!!

More pics on the weekend but right now a quick shout out "CONGRATULATIONS!" to Rachael for the release of How To Knit a Love Song.




Lynn, Juliet, Lisa, Rachael, Gigi and the BOOK! :)

A Tough Act To Follow

They met in graduate school in the 1960s.

They were immediately inseparable, and continued to be so--until the plane crash.

It was a small plane. During the flight, one of the engines caught on fire. It wasn't like in the movies, where everyone runs around screaming. Passengers were silent and contemplative. They knew they were going to die.

Only they didn't. The pilot manage to land safely. But that experience left its mark.

They had a baby in the 1970s. Whenever they had to fly somewhere without their child, they bought tickets for flights one after the other--they wouldn't get on the same flight, for fear that they would orphan their beloved child.

It didn't matter how old the child got. I graduated from high school; they flew separately. I graduated from college; still, they wouldn't get on the same plane if it was just the two of them without me.

This didn't change until I was 26 years old and met the love of my life. It wasn't long after I met him, and they must have known it, too. I got a call that they were flying somewhere together.

I now had someone in my life who loved me as much as they loved each other, and as much as they loved me. Whatever happened out there in the crazy world, it would be all right.

--Gigi

My Soul Has a Rubber Sole

I want it all.

Yes, I mean I want shoes that are both cute and comfortable.

I have 12 pairs of shoes. I love each one of them. Keeping me from having an overflowing closet is the fact that I only buy shoes when they meet both of my demands.

It's tough. It requires patience. But it's worth it. And from my various attempts over the years to find the perfect shoes for imperfect feet (mine are overly long and narrow), I've learned a few lessons.

Lesson 1: Always buy rubber soled shoes.

Really, life's too short to bother with painful shoes.

I learned this lesson by the time I got to college. It was especially easy to achieve back then, since I had hippy tendencies and pretty much lived in my Birkenstocks (while playing Indigo Girls songs on my acoustic guitar, of course).

After visiting Edinburgh back when painting pictures on Doc Martens was all the rage, I decided to paint my paint-friendly rubber soled shoes: my Docs and my Converse. I hadn't yet discovered the existence of comfortable high heels, so I could at least have some fun with my shoes through art.

Aside: It's surprisingly difficult to find photos of shoes in old photos--for some reason photographers focus on faces and neglect the shoes, even when they are fabulous cherry Docs with a gargoyle painted on the side of them. But I still have my Converse with the head of a dragon I painted on the side.

Lesson 2: John Fluevog understands.

I didn't wear heels until pretty recently. I really wanted to, because at 5 foot 9, when I put on 3 inch heels I end up 6 feet tall, which is just so cool. But with my desire for comfort and challenge of having long and narrow feet, it was always difficult to find heels comfortable enough that I'd bother to wear them.

Nine West used to have a line called Could Nine with rubber soled high heels, but they discontinued the line in favor of more stylish, yet much less comfortable, shoes. Grr. With that change, out went my foray into the land of high heels--until I moved to San Francisco and made a wonderful discovery.

The Operetta line of Fluevog shoes proves that it is possible to make stylish shoes with comfort in mind. Oh, how I love these shoes. Pictured here are my burgundy operetta boots (above left), and black operetta mary janes (top right).

Lesson 3: eBay is your friend.

Even though John Fluevog understands how to make the perfect cute and comfortable shoe, he doesn't make his shoes with those of us who have day jobs at nonprofits in mind. After finding my size at the store, I wait for their twice-yearly sale or check the listings on eBay (the burgundy boots came from the former, and the mary janes from the latter).

Lesson 4: Color should not be feared.

It's true that it's not always easy to buy bright purple boots when there are sleek black ones next to them. But I've never regretted a single one of my colorful purchases.

If you've gotta have rain boots--which turned out to be quite necessary this winter--at least they can be fun.

But I always make sure those colorful shoes have rubber soles.

--Gigi

Gigi's Muse is Fickle

The muse is fickle.

That's correct; I'm not one of those people who can write every day. I need to be inspired.

Luckily for me, a lot of things happen to inspire me.

Castle ruins perched on a cliff. That'll do it.

Too remote? It's true that stumbling across ruins doesn't happen every day. At least not for those of us in California.

Then how about San Francisco on a foggy day. That'll do it, too.

Perhaps that's not quite inspiring enough for a bad day, though. Then how about a moss-covered statue at a cemetery.

OK, so I've been inspired...

Now what? I know it's hard work, so I really do try to sit down and write -- even when the mood doesn't strike me and I feel like the muse hasn't found me. I do get some work done when I force myself to sit down. It's just that it isn't always writing that happens.

Sometimes I bounce around plot ideas. Other times I finish research that needs to be done. But if I'm not inspired, I can't do more than that. I need to find that place where my characters talk to each other, writing their dialogue for me.

I play the odds. I surround myself with inspiring mystery-related art in my office, like this Sherlock Holmes poster. I also know the muse tends to appear in the morning, so I've arranged my schedule to fit in morning writing. (Since I'm a slave to this fickle muse, I might as well go with it.)

Last week I finished the revised outline of a new book (whew!). The reason I was able to do so was because I was sitting in my writing nook while this furious storm beat down outside. A storm, like fog, is inspiring. I hope the storm continues through this weekend. Who knows how far it'll take me.

If not, I can always take a break and watch a kick-ass TV heroine for inspiration. Here's one of my favorites.

-- Gigi

Om (Or, Is Gigi too calm for her own good?)

I've been told I can possess a maddening degree of calmness.

It sometimes--okay, frequently--seems as if my friends and family are more invested in the success of my first mystery than I am myself.

It's not that I don't care. Really, it's not. But I just can't see the point of wasting my life sitting around worrying about what's happening once it's out of my hands. I'd rather be doing something.

In the slow business of publishing, this part of my personality has served me well. (It also serves my blood pressure well.)

I'm not sitting around waiting for my agent to hear back from publishers. I'm working on a new project. Two of them, actually.

So what's my plan for the year? Well... I've never been big on making resolutions. I seem to get a lot done without them. It's not because I have especially grand aspirations (aside from taking over the world, of course). It's because I don't spend time worrying about what I'm doing.

I know whatever is meant to happen will happen; I do my part, so why waste time worrying about the parts that are beyond my control?

One of my favorite lines from a novel is: "life hinges on those few seconds you never see coming." From Special Topics in Calamity Physics (one of those books people either love or hate--and I love it), that line could potentially be read as a depressing thought--but I find it inspiring and comforting.

Chance events occur all the time. You never know who you'll meet, or what unexpected thing you'll happen upon. So I can do my best--and I do love to throw myself into things--but I don't want to plan too much. I want to seize the opportunities I stumble across.

Take my experience writing short stories. Or rather, not writing short stories. Until last year, I never thought I could write one. I was convinced my brain wouldn't conform to the structure.

Then, Mystery Writers of America advertised an anthology competition for paranormal mystery short stories. I decided to use it as a prompt to try my hand at a short story one more time. I forced myself to sit down and write something. Anything. And then it happened: a brilliant character popped into my head. Four hours--and a serious hand cramp--later, I had a short story that turned out to be one of the best things I've ever written.

My story didn't make it into that particular anthology (anyone know someone who wants a 3,500-word paranormal locked-room mystery story about a female alchemist??), but the experience taught me that I could write a short story after all. So I wrote another one, and that one was accepted for a mystery anthology.

Thus, no particular resolutions for me this year. I'll wait and see what comes up. I still need to work out how to squeeze in all the writing I want to do in my already-full life, but that's okay. I'll figure it out. Or if something else comes up, maybe I won't. That's okay, too.

--Gigi

Nothing Pointy, Please

I've tried my fair share of crafty activities. Some of them have worked out better than others.

I've learned that sharp objects and I don't mix. I once nearly severed a finger while carving a linoleum block. I've learned my lesson and stayed away from knitting needles.


Silkscreen squeegees are much more my style. Rubber, wood, paper, and a bit of paint, and you can make yourself some prints that look almost as cool as if you'd maimed yourself sticking with carving linoleum blocks.

Besides, creating a stencil from a sketch or a photograph (like my guitar tree below and my dragon at right, respectively) doesn't take as many hours of work before you can see the end result. If I start a project I like to finish it, so taking on a manageable art project definitely has its appeal.

Letterpress is another great way to create art with a similar aesthetic, but those machines can be dangerous--at least to those of us known to skewer our fingers with carving knives.

Last month I wrote that I wouldn't have time to make hand-made holiday cards this year. I was sad about that, so I changed my mind.

I didn't manage to pull out my silkcreens, but I took an old letterpress poster I made at the San Francisco Center for the Book and found a font on my computer that captured the same feel.

And when I have time to step away from my computer, I'll stick to a craft where getting paint on my shirt is the worst that can happen.

--Gigi

My Love Affair (With Research)

Like many of the Pens, I'm a reformed academic. I've always been into research. REALLY into research.

I don't mean the kind of research you can do at the computer (not romantic enough). Or the kind that requires studying volumes of data (not engaging enough). Or the kind that needs rigorous analysis of original research (not tangible enough for me to wrap my head around in the humanities and social sciences).

I'm talking about hanging out under the gothic arches of the reading rooms in old libraries; venturing off the beaten path when visiting a foreign city; reading the inscriptions on weathered, ivy-covered gravestones.

Notice a pattern there? None of my favorite kinds of research were especially helpful for a real life PhD.

But my kind of research is much more fun.

Around the time I spent a semester of graduate school at the University of Bath in England (studying comparative social policy, thank you very much), I realized that although I loved research, I didn't love what I was supposed to do with it.

I gave up research for my day job, but it didn't make its way out of my life.

I wonder about all sorts of things I come across:

What if a painting scholars had always assumed represented a fictional event turned out to be a true depiction of a long-lost treasure? That's one of the threads that comes together in my first mystery.

And those famous Roman Baths in Bath? I've got a great scene set in that place--now I just need to write a book to go with it...

When I received a writers' grant to be put to use finishing my first mystery novel, I bought a plane ticket to London and got myself a readers pass to do research in the British Library reading rooms.

(Those rooms are more secure than the flight to get you to London: multiple forms of ID, no bags, no pens, no food or drink, and no cameras--thus my sketch of the reading room where the British East India Company's India Office Records are kept, at left).

Once I got in, my fictional characters had a field day with the ideas I thought up in that reading room.

After I came up with what I wanted to happen, I consulted with historians to make sure the plot was plausible. Luckily, with only a couple tweaks, it was.

--Gigi

Holiday Traditions? Bring 'Em On

I can't say I'm one for traditions. I've spent Christmas in Orange County, Berkeley, San Francisco, London, and Cornwall. And that's just in my adult life. I've done Christmas trees to chili pepper lights, Nutcrackers to Christmas crackers (including the silly paper hats inside). I've eaten eight-course meals and leftover baked potatoes.

The important thing about these places and experiences is that they all captured the spirit of the season. I've been fortunate to be surrounded by wonderful family and friends wherever I've ended up for the holidays. I love going with the flow of whatever the traditions are where I happen to be.

Can you guess that I'm the child of two cultural anthropologists?

Be it walking down the street and catching the winter light reflecting off a festive ornament hanging in the midst of autumn leaves (left), or making silkscreen holiday cards to send friends (below), there really is something magical about this time of year.

My silkscreens are somewhere in an unpacked box in the garage, so I think I'll skip making hand-made cards this year. But I'll still figure something out to share the spirit of the season and connect with the people in my life. (I'm very much in the camp that favors sending tangible holiday greetings instead of an email, and I have even been known to send dinner party invitations by snail mail--yes, in this century.)

Every year is different. This year begins a new phase that's especially exciting. It's our first holiday season in our new house, and we're hosting Thanksgiving and Christmas at our place.

Don't worry--I have a fire extinguisher in the kitchen.

I'd better get cooking... Happy Thanksgiving!

-- Gigi

Gigi's NaNoWriMo Tips and Timeline

by Gigi

Here's my secret for finally managing to finish that novel I wanted to write "someday": NaNoWriMo.

I was introduced to National Novel Writing Month 5 years ago, in 2004. I had been bouncing around ideas for mystery novels for years, having fun with it along with the rest of my creative pursuits. But while I got better at art, photography, and the guitar, I never seemed to get further on a novel than than jotting down ideas and over-editing a few scenes to death.

I'd come close to finishing a novel during college, but with all my rewriting, I could never quite get to THE END.

That's the beauty of NaNoWriMo. It asks you to throw editing out the window. In accepting that charge, it forces you to let go of your inner editor. And what a freeing force that can be.

Don't get me wrong--editing has its place. And if you're going to do it right, editing will probably take longer than writing that first draft. But you cannot get to that place until you finish that first draft.

By signing up to write 50,000 words in a month, you make a deal with yourself to avoid the temptation to go back and read what you've just written. You move forward, rushing to get 50,000 words down on paper. Much of it will be nonsense you'll never use, but you'll also have brilliant ideas you never would have thought of if you hadn't gone through the exercise.

I loved reading Sophie's NaNo timeline, so I thought I'd share mine:

November 2004: I discovered NaNoWriMo and wrote a whole book. THE ROSE didn't fit into any genre (was it a mystery? a ghost story? a YA book? a paranormal romance???) but it taught me that I could write a whole book. Not a good book, but a complete book. What fun! Now back to regular life.

November 2005: I wrote over 50,000 words of a mystery novel, ARTIFACT. When I stepped back and read it a few months later, I thought for the first time that I might actually have something with what I'd written. I decided it might be worth editing this book.

November 2006: I didn't win NaNoWriMo this year. I used this November to furiously edit that 2005 book.

In December, I submitted it to the Malice Domestic grants competition for unpublished mystery writers. A few months later, in early 2007, I found out I'd won one of their two 2007 grants. Excited about this validation of my writing, I queried a few agents. I subsequently learned that 1 month of editing isn't enough. I needed to learn how to edit a book.

November 2007: I wrote what I thought would be Book 2 in the mystery series. (Yeah, it's much more fun to write a new book than to edit an old one.)

I had such fun with this caper that I decided to hunker down and put in the work to edit Book 1. I knew that was what I needed to do if I ever wanted either book to see the light of day. I joined local writers groups, bought some writing craft books, and got to be a better writer this year.

November 2008: I got my creative juices flowing by writing something completely different: a YA ghost story.

Simultaneously, I submitted ARTIFACT to a bigger mystery competition--one that gave the winner a publishing deal. I found out a few months later that I was a finalist. I didn't end up winning, but I knew then that my book was ready to send out. I queried agents, and this time there was a lot more interest. I signed with a wonderful agent.

November 2009: My agent thought my idea for Book 3 in my mystery series was much stronger than Book 2 (she's right), so I'm currently writing Book 3--which is now Book 2--tentatively titled PIRATE. I passed the 20,000 word mark yesterday.

Whew! It's been a fun few years.

p.s. If you want to read even more about what I have to say about NaNoWriMo, you can check out the guest blog post I did on the NaNoWriMo blog last year.

A Bloody Contradiction

by Gigi

Seattle, circa 2000. Gargoyle Statuary, an amazing shop in the University District, advertised custom-fitted vampire teeth. As someone who saw Dracula far too young and dressed up as a vampire for the first time in the first grade, how could I resist?

I still have the teeth, and also a copy of the form we were required to sign -- we had to agree that we wouldn't bite anyone with our new fangs.

I love the macabre. But only up to a point. I'm a mystery writer with fake fangs, yet I can't stand blood.

Suspenseful, spooky stories are my favorite type of book -- but when it comes to graphic blood and guts, I run the other way. Yup, I'm the anti-Sophie.

Being scared by the atmosphere an author creates is much more appealing to me than being shocked by explicit gore.

So coming up on Halloween weekend, here are a few wonderfully spooky books for those of us who want our ghostly mysteries without horror or graphic bloody deaths -- and yes, for those of us who want to be able to turn off the lights after we finish a good book:

- The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova: Chasing Dracula through ancient libraries and crypts across Europe. How much cooler can you get than that? (Yes, I know I'm biased. In addition to the Dracula-at-an-early-age thing, the protagonist of my first book is a historian.)

- The Houdini Specter by Daniel Stashower: Master magician Harry Houdini attends a seance. (I have no bias in favor of magicians. Sure, they're cool. But this is just a damn good book.)

- Hag's Nook by John Dickson Carr: An abandoned prison in the barren English countryside where people who enter the warden's room never emerge alive. (In the "impossible crime" genre.)

- The Unseen by Alexandra Sokoloff: University profs recreate a haunted house experiment from the '60s. (Creepy, yes, but not as much of a horror novel as her others.)

- Borrower of the Night by Elizabeth Peters: A haunted German castle with ghosts that walk the castle ramparts. (The first and most Gothic of the Vicky Bliss series.)

Some of these books have rational/mortal explanations at the end. And some don't... Happy Halloween!

Pens in Action

Three little pens went off to Bouchercon, the largest mystery convention, in Indianapolis last weekend. Did they get into some hijinx? Hmm, perhaps.

It all started when they roomed together.

Juliet, Gigi, and Sophie

Later Sophie stole Brett Battles' brand new Barry award for Best Thriller Ever. (Juliet tried to stop her.)

Steve Hockensmith tried to get them in line by using his stern, no-nonsense look but Mary Saums encouraged the gals not to be intimidated.

Oh dear, there's Juliet again, this time hanging out in a bar with Jen Forbus and Brett again. Watch out for the deer heads and Christmas lights, Juliet!

Meanwhile Sophie tried out a new look. (Too bad she stole the glasses...new friend Libby nabbed them back.)

In the end, our heroines had a lovely time and missed the rest of the Pens muchly.

Capturing Grace

by Gigi

I didn't mean to do another photo-centric post so soon, but when I think of the topic of grace, I keep coming back to the fact that so much of what I love about photography is that it helps capture many of life's moments of grace.

Stopping on a bridge just after sunset:Walking through a plaza before it becomes crowded with people:

Pausing to look at the statue of an angel that was beautifully crafted centuries ago:

Interestingly, this isn't what I value most in writing. When I read a book, I'm not drawn to beautiful literary prose. I don't want a book to strive to give me moments of grace; I want it to suck me in and transport me somewhere. I don't want it to show me beauty; I want it to capture my imagination.

Come to think of it, I'd better get going so I can pick out a good book before I head to the airport, on my way to the Bouchercon mystery convention.

Time is a Plastic Camera (Or Maybe Not. But Plastic Cameras Are At Least a Good Compromise)

by Gigi

I used to love to go to the darkroom to print black and white photographs. In addition to getting some great prints, the time spent in the quiet darkness was relaxing.

But somewhere along the way, the tools of Photoshop and the quality of digital cameras caught up to the detail I could get from making my own prints. I could no longer justify the inefficient time spent in the darkroom. (At right: darkroom or digital?)

Giving it up had to be done. I was done with design school, I was working full time, and I had gotten serious about writing. Something had to give. (Unlike Martha, I need sleep.)

I got myself a digital SLR camera and some cool lenses, and thought I was good to go.

But something was missing.

Did I really want to see exactly what a photo would look like the second I took it? Where was the mystery and anticipation in that?

I couldn't go back to regular 35mm, so what could I do? Medium format 120. And not the fancy kind. The sloppy fun kind.

I now have two plastic cameras: A Holga that takes square photos and allows light to sneak in through its duck-taped sides and gives each photo its own unique look; and a 35mm Lomo Fisheye camera that captures skewed images I never would have imagined.

So although I won't make it into the darkroom any time soon (too many edits to make and stories to write!), I've got my plastic cameras to keep the mystery of photography alive.

Taking Things Into My Own Hands

By Gigi

I have a long history of throwing myself into things I love. Today I'll share a story that epitomizes this devotion: the making of the movie The Rescue of Mac and Sam.

It's common knowledge that the greatest television show of all time is MacGyver. A show about an ingenious special agent who uses a Swiss Army knife, duct tape, and science to beat the bad guys? You gotta love it.

I was in highschool when the show concluded in the early 1990s. I didn't want to live without it, so my best friend and I (both theater geeks) wrote a script to pick up where the show ended. After writing the script, we filmed it.

The two of us starred in the movie (do you recognize me here without my glasses?). One of our friends played our screen nemesis (she was also location scout). Others worked the camera (a now-obsolete pre-digital Sony handycam). My dad made a cameo appearance. I directed.

In case you don't remember how the series ended, MacGyver rides off into the sunset on his motorcycle with the son he never knew he had. Our movie takes place right afterward, with Mac and his son Sam kidnapped. The Phoenix Foundation's top agents (my best friend and I) are sent in to find them, using a series of MacGyverisms.

Thus we were able to make a 30 minute movie without Richard Dean Anderson appearing on screen -- except for the brilliant last scene of the movie with some expert editing by a 16-year-old me.

This was long before the days of YouTube. However, a couple years after we made the movie, I had the opportunity to attend an event at the Directors Guild in Los Angeles that was honoring the MacGyver TV series. The whole cast was there. I brought a VHS copy of our movie.

Richard Dean Anderson has got to be the sweetest man on earth. He graciously listened to me ramble on about the movie we made to pay homage to MacGyver. He even took the tape.

Here's a photo of me looking dumbstruck in the presence of the man who played one of the greatest characters of all time.

I'm still waiting for the right opportunity to pass along my sequel to The Goonies. But that's another story...

What's the Matter With This Scene? (No, Seriously)

by Gigi

I'm a big fan of writing very messy first drafts. The kind that digress and excite and bore -- and eventually gets at the heart of the story you never knew you had until it appears in all its sloppy glory.

Yes, this approach also means lots of deleted scenes.

Most of the time I'm 100% okay with this. But sometimes... Sometimes I don't get it. There's a scene that I just LOVE, but nobody else gets it. Below is the original opening scene from my first mystery novel. Every single person who read it told me to ditch it, because the book got better right afterwards.

Huh? Really? But I loved that opening! I finally took their advice, and that next version is what got me a writers grant and then an agent. Apparently those wonderful critique readers were onto something...

***

The last thing Rupert Chadwick had said to me was: "Our paths will cross again someday."

Clichéd. Sentimental drivel. Whatever you’d like to call it, you'd be right.

Normally I'd be the one leading the charge to declare succumbing to such romantic drivel beneath a woman. But at the time, those words he uttered had exactly the effect on me he'd intended. They struck me as the most romantic parting words conceivable at the end of an affair.

The problem was that he lied.

I sat down on my couch, inadvertently dropping the rest of my mail and knocking over a potted plant, unable to notice anything besides the newspaper clipping still clasped in my hand – an obituary telling of the premature death by automobile accident of Rupert Chadwick, age 28.

***

Is it too heavy on the romance for a mystery novel? But the dead body of the story is right there, people!

I've learned to deal with deleting that opening (okay, I mean I've mostly learned to deal with it -- I saved one line from that scene for Chapter 2).

Besides my beloved deleted intro, there are a few other things I've deemed worthy of saving in my SAVE FOR LATER file.

I have a habit of informally addressing the reader. It's a style I love in novels -- when it's successfully pulled off. It's a tough thing to do, I realize. In those first drafts of mine, I can be a bit heavy-handed in speaking directly to the reader.

I love some of those lines, though, so they go in that SAVE FOR LATER file. I'm hopeful that they'll miraculously fit in perfectly in some later book where I haven't sprinkled in too many asides to the reader.

It could happen, right?

Well, I can dream.

Food for Writing

By Gigi

I love the atmosphere of libraries for writing. The problem? No food allowed.

I'm no good at being productive without sustenance. I'm not the type of person who can throw myself into something so deeply that I forget to eat. I need food. Or, at the very least, coffee.

(Coffee counts as food, right? And if not exactly as food, then at least as "fuel," like my NaNoWriMo mug says.)

So instead of the library, I usually end up at a cafe. I love to shake things up, so I'm always trying out new places, but I do have my favorites.

Coffee to the People in San Francisco (at right, where the quiche and bagels with chunky peanut butter have gotten me through many a writing session)

Espresso Roma in Berkeley (where a "single" latte is as strong as rocket fuel)

Solstice Cafe in Seattle (below, which I frequented during grad school and got me through my thesis, but honestly I can't remember the food or coffee, just the mellow atmosphere and the amazing tree-ring tables)

Sadly, the Canvas Cafe and Gallery in San Francisco went out of business last year. When I moved to San Francisco, that was one of my favorite places to eat and write.

I'm currently in the process of moving to a house where I'm going to have my very own room for writing, etc. It's next to the kitchen, so perhaps I'll start to make my own food and coffee. But when I hear the laundry calling...? I think I'll go in search of a new cafe.