Note: I have a copy of the Lisle Letters.

This will help with every aspect of the Henry VIII - Anne of Cleves wedding except the one I need to get a handle on.

Still, good research material.

edit: hoobah!

Scots letters! 16th century! Online!

Just got nice bit of news from my agent: "Matty Groves" is scheduled for a starred review in the 29 August edition of Publishers Weekly. This is, in fact, a very big deal.

Just got nice bit of news from my agent: "Matty Groves" is scheduled for a starred review in the 29 August edition of Publishers Weekly. This is, in fact, a very big deal.

WOO HOO!!!!! That's wonderful news. I'm making a note right now to get that issue.

The critics seem to really like this one. Not sure what's pinging them, but this is 2-for-2: my edtor's jaw dropped when she saw the Kirkus review.

Woo and hoo! Great news, Deb! Share when you see it, please?

Oh, hell yeah.

Woot! Fabulous news, Deb.

Hey Bo Diddley

"...this here next one's rock&roll..."

A voice from my past: Fillmore East, 1968. My sister took me. I remember the show.

Thirty-seven years later, here I am, slipping the CD out of the box: "Happy Trails", Quicksilver, into the computer. The first notes - John and Gary duelling guitars, Elmore's drums, Freiberg's grinding bass - jerk my head up.

The tremolo shimmers. So does my memory. So do my hips and shoulders.

"....Hey, Mona..."

Bo Diddley wrote it. Quicksilver nailed it. And here I am, dancing in my office, the walls shaking, thankful to be alive, thankful to be rockin' on.

One thing I think about when I think about him is that we couldn’t slow-dance. If I clasped his hands, we became a statue, slightly mangled by the heat(or by the sculptor’s deranged plan, who knows? By the time we were old enough to kiss like we did, it barely mattered anyway.) But I had to give up my television-nurtured head on my shoulder fantasies, stop wishing for a John Hughes moment.

I dance better when I am alone, I think. No slow songs, though; slow songs are for couples. I turn up the radio and hope for “Money” or “Respect” to come on and when they do, it’s like I never heard the phrase “mobility problem” I am in a world outside bodily function where nobody has to move more than this. It’s just fucking good enough to raise my heart rate and have a benign sweat.If somebody were to stare at me as I roll it out to “I’m Too Sexy”, I might sound like the New York I never knew: Hey, asshole, what the fuck are you looking at? I both fear that I’ll do this and dare some neighbor to linger too long at my window so I can mouth it at them, but so far it hasn’t happened yet.

Whatever they are looking at, it shouldn’t be me, today. This isn’t training, or therapy, some thing they send some consultant with no makeup on who can’t wait to tell me she went to Northwestern, to make sure I do properly. Women like that can’t believe that this ever exists for me, a fleeting moment of self-love. Crip funk.

Erika, as usual, incredible and unique voice.

I say "as usual" but never get the idea I take it for granted. You are an amazing writer.