Blessed-American

The fireworks last night were amazing.

53866679There is something about the fountain at Lake Eola that most of us in Orlando are drawn to. Lake Eola is a central identifiable icon that is in no way visually associated with Disney, Universal, or Sea World. While the rest of the world comes descending onto our town, (happily and thankfully!) we who live here spend very little time enamored with the visions of Mickey, Spiderman, nor Shamu.

We look at our fountain. Our little monument of local life. And last night it could not have been more beautiful, as the fireworks were bursting above it, exploding with bombastic, thunderous pulse just beyond the palm trees, just a stone skipped across the lake towards the fountain, towards the heart of this city, you could feel a pervasive and sudden calm around this city’s citizens. No one felt left out. No one felt alone. We were all American.

I was once and foremost so very proud to be an American. But, that’s easy to say, isn’t it? It’s different to actually take it, hold it, enjoy it, and remind ourselves of it without the brilliant display of pageantry….day after day. But, that is something that we MUST do. For being an American needs to become more of a state of mind, a contemplative endeavor, a daily reminder.

We’ve spent so many recent weeks in division, pushing away each other, categorizing each other into groups that require  validation, and respect. But last night, I saw my little town squarely pulled together around a fountain of light, a beacon of us, a trumpeting call of triumph, that for one moment we were reminded that we were without hyphens. We were one, devoid of past transgression, holding closely to the present, bright eyed with smiles looking hopefully towards the future. We are here, we are now…and we could be one America.

So, one day later, I saw it begin again. The definite call from one side of one argument to another. And I shook my head, knit my little heart out, thought about it, and decided, yes….weaken those divisions.

Don’t allow arguments of the past to divide us now. We are America. Each morning we wake, we are blessed with the brilliance afforded us not allowed in so many places in the world. Our demands can often make our grievances look silly.

Our lives are so better lived here than many in other nations can hope to claim, and the more we allow arguments from yesterday to hinder how we speak to each other today, the less promising our future becomes. Any one of us can bury our hands deep into the soul of this great nation, pull out the dirt from under us, hold it in our hands and say, “I am of THIS land. THIS land gives me power. I can do anything.”

It’s ok to say goodbye to the past. If we hold the past as an argument for our own injustices, then we won’t see the beauty of what we can be. If we stop separating ourselves into categories, then we could finally be a unified nation. Only as one people with monikers of race and sexual orientation dismissed, could we finally be one country.

It’s time for this country to let go of it’s desperate, daily need for titles that recognize separation, and cling closer to the concept of communion. One blessed people. One blessed America. I’m gonna get back to knitting now, not as a Gay-American, not as an Irish-American…..but, as a Blessed-American.

 

willknitcoversmallThis is the story of how I knit my way out of homelessness. To order an autographed copy of “Will Knit For Food” click here, or for a Limited Edition personalized, signed paperback copy with t-shirt, click here.

If you appreciate this blog and would like for it continue, please donate. Every dollar helps!

This Will Always Be OUR Story

IMG_5495It’s wild the feedback I get about my bears, the stories I learn about the people these little darlings are destined for. I received an email from one of my customers (I hate calling them that), about why she had bought her bear. She lost her first baby before it was born, and now she’s exuberant and hopeful now that she’s pregnant again, optimistic that this time she’ll finally have a darling daughter, and that the bear is a gift for her unborn precious, hoping to have it waiting in her nursery when she finally arrives screaming with life.
I sank in my chair, wilted a little, and thought about the other stories I’ve heard.
The teddy that was sent to the little girl whose been in the hospital for months with intestinal issues. A chronic problem since she was born. The teddy that keeps a lonely woman company. The one that watches out over an ailing mother as she drives herself around town-the little bear tucked in the back window. Or, the teddy going off to England soon to a grandmother, eyesight ailing, as a gesture of a hug when needed. And then simpler, equally adorable moments. The bear that was sent to the Japanese woman in Texas whose love for Ryuichi Sakamato mirrors my own. The bear sent to Virginia to a little boy whose adventures remind me of Calvin and Hobbes (perhaps he’ll get a tiger for Christmas, just to keep the tradition of Calvin running for generations to come). The bear, whose buyer said specifically, “I don’t care what color it is, just as long as it has a pink mohawk.”  The stories are now at 72. At first thought, it seems like 72 bears sold, but its more than that. It’s 72 stories, 72 possibilities, 72 hearts seeking a friend, a gesture, a moment of companionship, a gift, a hug, a laugh…..a moment.
My first and still most popular teddy bear is “The Teddy That Saved Me,” because its true. That little bear helped me first feed myself, then kept me from being homeless, then afforded me a possibility for my own future. That was MY story. But upon reading these 2 months worth of emails this morning, I can’t help but think of all the faces, all the smiles, and all the glimmering eyes that have their own stories to tell.
So, in light of that I’d like to say, I hear your story, as you’ve read my own, and realize with absolute clarity, this whole teddy bear connection has made it OUR story: genuine, heartfelt tale of how a little guy with a hopeful smile is bringing the world closer together one bear at a time.
Thanks everyone. Thank you all for being part of the story.

From the book, “Will Knit For Food.”

 

willknitcoversmallThis is the story of how I knit my way out of homelessness. To order an autographed copy of “Will Knit For Food” click here, or for a Limited Edition personalized, signed paperback copy with t-shirt, click here.

If you appreciate this blog and would like for it continue, please donate. Every dollar helps!

Hellbilly Birthday Deluxe

IMG_2005 IMG_2006    IMG_2012IMG_2009IMG_2011IMG_2014 IMG_2020IMG_2015 Ok, the minute Phillip told me that he had not had a birthday present in years, I knew I had to do something. His life was hard. That’s his story to tell, not mine. But, when he looked at me and said that he had not had a birthday present in years, I was forced to do something. You know how I am. Tenacious. Defender. Righter of wrongs!

So, we don’t have any money, so I got clever. Quite beautifully clever. My adoring guy needed a day to feel overwhelmed. And thanks to all of your birthday messages, we completed stage one. The world let him know he was loved. (And I can’t thank you enough for that. His goofy face beamed with light). I keep telling him he’s more adorable when those dimples shine, but….there you go. One day he’ll believe me. ;)

I set up a simple birthday celebration, since it was just the two of us. A great and simple birthday doo dah, to let him know that we were all involved.

So, first! Gifts, right? The first ones were obvious. He’s a big kid. A big freakin’ 8 year old smack dab in the middle of a HUGE 6 foot 3, 250 pound man. I bought him toys, fun things, little things he could build and enjoy, toss on the ground and watch roll, flick and earn points. But! There’s more to that. He’s a cook, so he’s always in need of bandanas. So, instead of wrapping his gifts with paper, I opted for bandanas and did a little furoshiki wrapping. (It’s an awesome form of Japanese wrapping with fabric. We watch a lot of NHK world, the Japanese version of PBS :) ).

Then, fun time. Yeah, I got him marbles and some tiddly winks, and a robot he can build out of a can, but the best part was the bottle of Southern Comfort. Yay! We busted that bottle wide and had a great time. Oh, yeah. He’s long since gone to bed. I’m up writing. Just how we are. :) The southern gothic in me.

But long before that, we ordered a pizza. Thanks to Giovanni (go, Macchia!), our dear Italian friend in the Netherlands, we had pizza. It fits, right? Big time pizza, thanks to Gio Macchia and his awesomeness.

And there you have it. One of the best birthdays ever celebrated. Just two semi redneck guys sitting back, eating pizza, drinking Southern Comfort, listening to Rob Zombie and having a great time telling stories.

He finally grabbed my hand just before he crashed and said, “This is the best birthday I’ve ever had….Look at all this. Bitch, I’m Madonna.

I’m writing this now, watching him snore in the corner of the bed that’s supposed to be mine. Slobbering all over my pillow, taking up all my space with those tree trunk legs of his.

I can’t tell you how glad I am that he’s in my life. Best birthday ever.

 

 

 

 

 

 

willknitcoversmallThis is the story of how I knit my way out of homelessness. To order an autographed copy of “Will Knit For Food” click here, or for a Limited Edition personalized, signed paperback copy with t-shirt, click here.

If you appreciate this blog and would like for it continue, please donate. Every dollar helps!

In Defense of the Southern Man

She said, “Don’t call me, ‘sweetheart.’ It’s misogynistic.”

But, as a southern man it’s one of the highest praises I can respond with. Of course I would never do that to a man. And do you know why? He doesn’t deserve being treated with such a prominence as that of lady. He is my equal. And you, my dear, are not to be treated as my equal. You are to be treated better than him. And you always will.

gregory-and-bearYou see, southern men do a great job of treating women of such value that we’re famous for it. We battle our fathers, crass with our contemporaries. But, we treat women differently. We acknowledge our mothers and pay them homage. Our mothers are sacred. We honor chaste ladies that are chased with a reverence afforded only the saints. We respond to a woman’s power with an acknowledged “yes, ma’am.”

Ladies, women, have a valued place in the southern man’s heart. She fills the deficit, she fills his weaknesses and makes him strong, and like wise, she shows wide eyed respect when he grabs her by the waist, pulls her close and whispers, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” And he looks deeper into her eyes and she knows, yes, this man will fight dragons for me.

So when a southern man calls you “sweetheart,” listen close. He’s not demeaning you. He’s placing you on a higher grade than that of himself. The sweet part of his heart. His sweet heart. When he calls you “ma’am,” try not to dismiss his intentions. For they are the best that you could imagine. He has recognized you as valuable and deserving of bowed reverence. So as we push ourselves into a new century where traditions are being pushed away for the sake of solid and determined requests for acceptance as equal, our choice of words, our attempt at acknowledging you as a more beautiful thing than me may come across as alien and foreign in voices that are not politically correct. We mean only the highest praise in ways that were taught to us by the women that reared us. The lady is more precious than the jewelry she wears, her lineage and breeding, and her social standing. She has a value in our hearts that we men sweeten to. She is, and always will be, a lady. A sweetheart.

“….and at first with the charm around him, he loosened it so if it slipped between my breasts, he’d rescue it….then his spark took life in my hand. “-Ulysses.

I only need to sell 20 more copies of my book to break my 100 goal mark. That’s pretty nice :)

willknitcoversmallThis is the story of how I knit my way out of homelessness. To order an autographed copy of “Will Knit For Food” click here, or for a Limited Edition personalized, signed paperback copy with t-shirt, click here. If you appreciate this blog and would like for it continue, please donate. Every dollar helps!

Shut Up and Knit

I’ve wrestled with this post all day long. When I saw Phillip I proposed my ideas, my thoughts, and even then, he said, “Calm down. Take a minute. Focus on something else.”

confederate-flag-1-1400x650In this current climate of opinion, should you have one that goes against the masses, you are doomed. You’ll be run out of business, you’ll be drug through the mud, you’ll be given a place in history (before it’s revised again) of an intolerant insolent who refused to go with the status quo. You are not allowed a difference of opinion. I promise you. And that’s why I’m terrified these days of saying what’s on my mind. But, as a knitter, you spend so much time alone, deep in thought.

And deep in those respectful notions of “it forces a dialogue” comments from others, you discover that there is no place for dialogue…..they want you to assimilate, or get out of the way.

So, I’ve wanted to say something about the confederate flag controversy over the past few days. Much of me had so much to say, alas, there comes a time when you’re heart and your soul become restless, for you burn with an opinion. And there is much of me that realizes that I’m not afforded that opportunity, to say what I want, for the social-sphere will come hounding down on me so hard and so fast that I won’t have an opportunity to even have a career before they decide to take it from me…..

And that’s precisely what I’ve seen lately. We don’t want your different opinion. We don’t want you to think differently. Bake my gay cake for my wedding, get rid of your ridiculous confederate flag, and  ACCEPT me. I DEMAND it. I don’t care about your feelings. WAIT! EVERYONE! LOOK! OVER HERE! HE doesn’t AGREE WITH ME! DESTROY HIM!!!!!

Where and how and why did this happen? That’s the question this southern man wishes to pose. As they take away a piece of my culture, I watch everyone else celebrate and brand theirs in populace territory. And if you are offended by that flag, then please give me a moment of reflection as to the moment of when where and why (in personal experience!) of how that is, and by all means, don’t begin your personal story with, “Well, everyone knows it represents…..(fill in racist reference).”

We all made a disastrous turn when we decided a picture of a flag could be more offensive than a picture of a man pissing on Christ. We turned hellish corners when we decided that the national discussion should be about a cotton piece of cloth reminiscent of the past versus the daily on slot of crime in our more urban neighborhoods.

This whole incident reminds me of a question posed to me yesterday  by the reporter, and I censured myself. I wanted to say, “When I was in my 20’s we pushed and screamed for moments that affected people in terms of life and death. Now? Now, people scream and yell because their feelings are hurt.”

I expect more from people because I was taught that your actions were more impressive than your words. You wanna bad mouth me? Fine. I don’t care. You wanna call me names? Blah blah. You hit me? Now, that’s different.

Be cautious, be careful of these actions we take now as we decide to overwhelmingly ban a flag. (really? no discussion about crime in America over tennis shoes and labels and entitlements.)You’re offended by a flag? Well, I’m offended by your crime ridden neighborhoods. Mine is only thought, yours is downright action.

You are setting precedent. Tomorrow I promise you, I promise you, it will be your symbols, your look, your heritage that will be called into the court of public concerns…..your identity will be banished, because the majority has decided that symbolism and thought rule more than your actions. Drive by shootings and home invasions? Who cares? Garner a flag? DESTROY THEM!

And this is where I am told to just shut up and knit….Keep your concerns out of current issues, and press them more on how to use double pointed needles.

I’m sorry, ya’ll. But, I just can’t do that.

 

willknitcoversmall  This is the story of how I knit my way out of homelessness.

To order an autographed copy of “Will Knit For Food” click here, or for a Limited Edition personalized, signed paperback copy with t-shirt, click here.

If you appreciate this blog and would like for it continue, please donate. Every dollar helps!

 

 

This is Home

I had the most incredible surprise.

An old friend, whom I haven’t seen in probably 15 years, came knocking at my door. You see, she had bought a copy of my book a few weeks ago, it was delivered, she read the whole 590 pages in one evening, then used my return address to track me down and pay me a visit.

It will be cataloged as one of the most beautiful moments I’ve had in a long. Her smile was still just as grand, her spirit just as vibrant, her heart still just as warm as I had remembered.

We only shared about 20 minutes of time, but it reinvigorated me, as she had always done before, back when I was but a wee thing yearning to find his place in the world. Her talent is finding value behind dust and coal, wiping it off, showing the world how brilliant you are. She always treated me as a better man than I treated myself, coaxed me into my craft, reminded me on every occasion that I was worth more than I had dared to think of.

And it reminded me of so many days before. And how this city really is my home, it has my history, it has my memories, it has my friends, and my future. Orlando is where I belong.

Our conversation turned to my homeless days. I’m reticent to discuss it at length, which is why I wrote a book. And there, in the depth of our friendship being reborn, I was deciding to move forward on this path. I heard my heart talking.

I’ll wake one day and the memories of being homeless will be once and forever more nothing but memories. There will be no more fear of being asked to leave, there will be no fear of keeping a bag tucked in the closet that holds enough food and water and pocket money for Mario and I. There will be no more holding onto the paranoia lingering from yesterday, for I’ll be solidly sitting in my own kitchen, cooking food, asking each of you to come join me. I’ll wake one day and have sold enough books to have that little home of mine. I’ll wake one day and my dream will be real.

I’ll be sitting here writing and knitting into the sun breathes a touch of his smile through the windows to make it happen. For all I want is a home. A permanent one. One that I can snag this little cat, toss her into a pillow case and say, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. This is the LAST time we have to do this. We’re going HOME.”

And my friend looked at me and smiled and said, “You’ll get it. I know you will.”

There are worst things served by a man’s ambition. He can crave greatness, totalitarian leadership, demanding respect, unlimited financial resources. But, these things pale in comparison to the simple desire of a home filled with the security of loving, caring friendship…of bad memories of the past overshadowed by good memories of the present.

I will wake one day, and it will have happened….

willknitcoversmall  This is the story of how I knit my way out of homelessness.

To order an autographed copy of “Will Knit For Food” click here, or for a Limited Edition personalized, signed paperback copy with t-shirt, click here.

If you appreciate this blog and would like for it continue, please donate. Every dollar helps!

 

Books and a Big Blue Pachyderm

My big batch of books showed up today! It was like Santa (dressed as the Postman) had dropped off presents at my front door. Two huge boxes filled with fresh copies of “Will Knit For Food.” We had to film me opening them because I was insanely giddy. And it ended up pretty funny, with me screaming “Chrismas!” and not knowing that the OTHER box had the majority of the books and this box had the remaining count, plus filler for volume.

IMG_1981Look at that picture of me grinning like a fool. So happy :) Moments after, I had a fresh cup of coffee and got to work signing them. Every last one. Then Phillip pipes up, “Ok. Gimme the camera. I wanna film you signing them.” Uhhh, too late! Within an hour I had them all signed and labeled and ready to be picked up Monday. Can’t wait to schedule my pick-up for Monday. “Estimated weight? uhhh, 50 pounds :)” SUCH a nice way to start the weekend. A REALLY nice way to start the weekend. Now, I’ve still got about 30 more copies to go to reach my goal of 100. 10 more and I can order another big batch and save on not only the printing, but the postage, as well.

IMG_1966Oh! And I promised I would give an elephant a shot! (….no, that didn’t come out right). I promised I would try my hand at knitting an elephant. And here is what the little guy came out like. I’m rather proud of him. And one may ask, “Why blue?” Well, why not? He’s made with Lionbrand’s Wool-Ease, measures 12″ tall and is ready to ship with a signed card by me. If you’d like to have him, click here. There is only one!

Ok, as I said, it’s Friday night, Phillip is here and as soon as I publish this post, I’m grabbing the knitting, plopping next to him on the couch to get some bear orders done. Friday night has become “Old School Sci-Fi Night.” This evening? Battlestar Galactica. Very nice way to start the weekend.

Have a good one!!!

UPDATE!!! As of June 21, with 9 days until the end of the month, I only need 20 more copies sold!!! So close! Order a copy!

willknitcoversmall  This is the story of how I knit my way out of homelessness.

To order an autographed copy of “Will Knit For Food” click here, or for a Limited Edition personalized, signed paperback copy with t-shirt, click here.

If you appreciate this blog and would like for it continue, please donate. Every dollar helps!

One Man’s Weed

My back yard has been desolate for so long. It’s a simple patch of earth. Nothing more than the size of my apartment, really. Grass refuses to grow. Mounds of dirt and ant beds do well. But, it has been a great haven to enjoy because of it’s privacy. The bougainvillaea and bird of paradise have been darling. And it’s nice to be outside. I need the sunlight. Desperately. I like going out early mornings. And just at the hint of dawn I’m drawn to how sadly dead my back yard was. I even bought some wildflower seeds, had them scattered about to give life to it. But, sadly….nothing ever happened. I blame the birds.

IMG_1945However, I woke recently to see a patch of green. Yes, the whole back area was noisily screaming in a shriek of green begging to admired. And dotted about were speckles of purple flowers all alight with brightness and standing to give announcement. “Good Morning!” Clovers had over run my little back patch, and sadly, all who came to witness it whispered to themselves, “You’ve got weeds.”

Well, you know what? One man’s weed is another man’s wildflower. I was happy to see the vibrancy. Happy to be met in the morning with color and brightness. Happy to enjoy the frail little flowers as the punched through the earth and swallowed up whatever dew and sun they wanted.

Random flowers blooming here and there, not sheltered by the ideas of cultivation of heredity, blossom where they will and as they wish.

So that was what I put on my list tonight of my 30 Days of Gratitude. Wildflowers. For, they are a great metaphor for the personage in which we see ourselves and each other. Be mindful, or better yet, be skeptical of the environmentalist driving a Prius with a weedless yarn. Be nervous of people who claim that weeds are menaces. That is a weird social view of, “Only some of you belong. I’ll get rid of you that don’t.”

IMG_1946So, be a weed. Bust through the earth and claim your place in the sun, let your little petals float in the crisp morning air, and let your bright, simple colors be spied upon. As you stand proudly next to a bulb of irises, be triumphant in your equal importance. Shuttle up close to roses and daisies and share the sun with them. Smile and be reminded that someone thinks you belong.

One man’s weed is another man’s wildflower, and the only crime a wildflower is charged with is being too simple in the wrong spot. But, I promise you, if many of you gather together at once in a simple patch of green, you’ll be seen as the beauties mama nature intended. Just as I saw in that great patch of clover.

willknitcoversmall     To order an autographed copy of “Will Knit For Food” or a Limited Edition, personalized, signed paperback copy with t-shirt, click here. 

 

If you appreciate this blog and would like for it continue, please donate. Every dollar helps!

 

 

The Carolyn Herr Project

I have to say one of the best parts of this journey of mine has been the amazing people I have come across. And as I hope to achieve some level of success, I’ll hope to finally be able to fully claim that I am no danger of ever being homeless again….and in full circle, return back all the kindness and support that has been shown to me. And in any capacity I can, I’ll do so.

11401144_10155600804145307_1644059178064926179_nI recently met Carolyn Herr, who offered to send me some yarn. You see, Carolyn sells her crocheted things at a crafts table and uses the proceeds to help the homeless. She helps pay for more than food, but also toiletries, underwear, socks, and coats.

She asked if I could use one of the skeins to make a bear for her table and use the profits to keep her project going, and in return I could keep the rest of the yarn for myself.

I’ll one up her :) When given the chance, I’ll use all of that yarn to whip up a bear and send it to her, using that massive stash to repay in some way the blessings bestowed upon me, knowing that the craft I used to survive on will help others do the same.

And now, The Carolyn Herr Project is in the running for a grant from Mission Street Grants and Chase Bank. The more votes she gets for her project, the more she has a chance of winning a very much needed grant to help pay for a van to help distribute to those in need. And I love that. I truly do.

So! If you have a moment, and want to help, all you have to do is vote. Go here, and simply click “vote.” But, you have to act fast. She only has 2 days, until June 19th, to finish collecting her votes.

If you’d like to know more about her work, check out her facebook page.

….and thank you all. Any time something like this comes up, I’m more than happy to offer whatever I can.

I was lucky. I got out in 3 years. Some aren’t so fortunate.

Now, go vote! And thank you!

 

199 Years Ago Tonight

phantompic2There are many literary buffs out there that celebrate June 16, 1816. It was the evening that changed Gothic fiction forever. In the later hours of the evening, Lord Byron (living in exile in Switzerland) challenged his house guests to write their own ghost stories. Through an evening of heavy intoxication and drug use, they each dealt with their own demons in demoralizing ways….and when they woke on the morning of the 17th, each had crafted the drafts of what would change literature. Mary Shelly wrote “Frankenstein” and John Polidori wrote “The Vampyre,” which Bram Stoker used as his influence for “Dracula.” So, the late evening of June 16th as it rears into the early mornings of the 17th is a big event for fans of gothic literature. For, we consider it the birthday of some of the most memorable monsters ever penned.

Many years back, I took their cue, and wrote my own monster, dealing with the social issues around me at the time. That was 15 years ago tonight. My book, “The Phantom Ghores” was finally penned and finished in the early hours of June 17th in homage to the greats. And I didn’t rehash an old monster, I didn’t rewrite the vampire….No, I created a new monster that reflected the horrors in the current world, a monster that embodied the shrilling pain of what can kill a human in the 21st century:  the need to have everyone look and sound alike, the need to let go of the identity in order to belong to the greater construct, the clique.

So, tonight, 15 years after my monster was born, I’m releasing the dead again. :) My delightful deadlies are out tonight, pulled from their graves and ready to be read again. It’s their anniversary as they make way for a sequel. Yup! They are back to pave way for a sequel I’ve been working on. Often bored with television, I write in a serialized style, creating my own cliff hanging suspense to keep me entertained. I sit back, read what I’ve written before, and let the characters guide me. “I can’t wait to see what happens next,” I say to myself as I begin to scribe. Those characters were so rich and vivid that I had to do little, but watch them move in my imagination, then write about their sinister behavior. Even more so, I often listen to music when I write….but, this time I had to go beyond that. I had to compose my own music, because the Phantom Ghores deserved it. So, I scored a soundtrack for my monsters, which you can listen to here.

I love spending time with the Phantom Ghores. They’re a beautiful distraction from knitting, and from the cruel world at large. They’re beautiful, horrible, tragic and sexy. So, I invite you to enjoy my little demons as they coyly flirt with you from the page, as they bat their lashes at you and softly say into your ear, “You belong….”

PhantomEXPfrontFor the next few days I am going to share more of my Phantom Ghores with you as I finish tidying up the sequel, “The Phantom Rogues.” I’m anxious to see what happens to Clayton, and to Taylor, and how the Ghores are going to survive now that their leader is dead, and will the Lady Pearl be able to hide for very long as the Ghores have started looking for her…? I can’t wait to see what happens next :)

The book is currently available in paperback (autographed!) or PDF. So! For a short bit, let’s distract from knitting and submerge ourselves into the thrilling, heavy lidded sexiness of the Phantom Ghore world.

It’s June 16, 2015, 20 minutes shy of midnight….199 years after the birth of gothic fiction. Perfect timing. :)

Enjoy!