I learned to cook early, like Cindy, out of necessity. I went to live with my parents in the States when I was 9, my father was a type one critical insulin-dependent diabetic, and my mother was, literally, the worst cook on planet earth. He'd have died without someone feeding him decent healthy properly-cooked food that wasn't (ick ick ick) fried.

I learned to operate a treadle sewing machine in Home Ec, and to make stupid recipes I never, ever, made again. And I sewed a dress I never wore, but my mom wouldn't let me cut it up or burn it. It hung in my closet until I moved out, like a rebuke.

Under the wire with Cooking:

Her insides twist with wanting, and she can feel the enamel on her teeth ringing in tune with the note her blood wants to sing, and her mouth is open, a little, so the sound inside her head isn't so loud. She waits for him to pick up the matches and light the candle. He tosses her the tubing and she shoves up her sleeve and ties off, and she watches as he tips the powder into the spoon. Her eyes are dark and fevered as he holds the spoon over the flame and her heaven starts to cook.

Bev, that's nasty and dark, in the best way. Excellent little fever dream.

Or, as Bree said, book one: God, I hate heroin.

I live in San Francisco. They teach sushi making in our local High School.

Deb, my mother was the worst cook. Trust me. We ate a fried lamb chop and half a bakery cherry pie for dinner every night for a year. Meat, Starch and veg.

I can not cook. Frozen dinners are a wonderful invention.

Mart, Rosalie could have had a "Please Don't Cook"-off with my mother. Horrifically bad.

Woot! Remember my Johnny Cash-inspired ghost story, "The Gravekeeper"? BenBella press bought the first Words to Music anthology, the Johnny Cash, with an option for the second, to be (gah) Bob Dylan.

I've already called dibs on "When I Paint My Masterpiece."

Ooh, Deb, that sounds like fun!

The publisher's working out the royalty structure; my agent has worked with them in the past, and says they're really good solid people to work with.

So, yay! on more stuff out there in readerland.

Whoot, deb! That's great.

Home ec was elective for us, too. I took fluid power and mechanical drawing instead. Because, you know, feminist. But clearly not so much that I didn't suck at those classes because there turned out to be a hot boy in them, and that was very distracting.

Woohoo, Deb!