Cobbler: A Tale of Woe and Redemption

I offered about a month ago to bring a snack for a new women's bible study I was joining. After tossing around options (baked gouda? pumpkin scones? plum crumble?) I settled on my favorite ginger peach cobbler, from Mary Englebreit's Sweet Treats (and honestly, if you're at all into any aspect of dessert, you want this book). Thing is, the recipe served six. I needed to serve an estimated15.

So I tripled the batch, and planned to bake it in two 9x13s. I wrote out measurements ahead of time.

Eighteen cups of peaches is a lot. In case you were wondering. But I assembled the cobblers, popped them in the oven, and tried not to think about how it seems like there was more butter than usual in the topping.

We watched Castle. I checked on the cobblers. They smelled...buttery. I rechecked my measurements. Had I left out a cup of flour?

Castle ended. Still buttery. Like, really really buttery. Then I figured it out.

The original recipe called for 6 tablespoons of butter in the topping, or 3/4 of a stick. I put in three times 3/4 of a CUP of butter. That's 4 1/2 sticks of butter. That's, "would you like some peaches and flour with your butter?" kind of butter. I haven't seen that kind of butter since I was an intern at a food magazine, and tested a recipe that called for yams, brown sugar, blue goat cheese and 1/2 pound of butter. It's a LOT of butter.

It was eleven o'clock. I didn't have another 18 cups of peaches laying around. I reasoned that, in the morning, I would get up, scrape off the butter-saturated nastiness, put a new topping on (with 2 tb less butter per repeat to make up for it), bake it up, and be fine.

Perfectly fine.

I dreamed about cobbler.

This morning, I rose extra early. After Danny left for work, I turned to the cobbler. I scraped off one top, that went well enough, but the second was soupy. Buttery soupy. The peaches were drowning in a buttery mire; I scooped them out, every one, and rinsed them in my avocado green colander. Rinsed them and started from scratch.

As I rinsed, I thought, "there's a spiritual takeaway here. Jesus removes us, the peaches, from our buttery nastiness, rinses us off, makes us clean, and starts over with us. We're not the way we were (pre-baked, vs. fresh frozen), but he's still able to make something with us.

I scrubbed out the baking dishes and started over. I ran out of ground ginger, but had some fresh ginger left over from another dish - grated it over the bowl without measuring.

By the time I put the baking dishes back in the oven, I had used every mixing bowl in my kitchen, including the Pyrex one I forgot I had until last week (Grand total of six, I think). Pretty sure there is only one remaining spatula. I could verify, but that would require entering the kitchen, and I'm not going to do that for a little while. Not going to go there.

We are almost out of butter.

Shocker.

The ladies at bible study had nothing but compliments for the cobbler...still, while everyone who stayed for refreshments ate a piece, I was left with 1/3 of one pan remaining, and an as yet untouched additional pan of cobbler. Probably could have made a single batch and been fine. But I'd rather have too much than too little (and you know if I'd made less, more people would have been around to eat it).

The takeaway here:

-The best laid plans, and all that. You were warned.

- Listen to your instincts. If you think there's too much butter, there probably is.

-It's hard to ruin peach cobbler.

- I'm a work in progress. And I'm okay with that.

Back to the Storyboard

I really have to try something new, because what I'm doing now isn't working. I'm having a harder time with Simply Sara than I ever have with any book I've ever worked on. Note: I've completed two and made serious inroads with four others, so this is kind of saying something.

Not sure what it is about this book, but I'm really struggling here. Serious, meltdown-inducing kinds of struggle. The higher-than-usual chocolate cravings should have been a sign.

Danny and I sat down during lunch and talked about it (that statement sounds more grown-up than it was. Less adult conversation and more talking-off-of-ledge). The conclusion I've come to is that I'm taking next week off of writing. In lieu of writing, I'm going to spend a week storyboarding and really figuring out WHERE THE HECK THIS BOOK IS GOING. Because there's a good story in there, and some good characters, and it's already funny and poignant and all that good stuff, but my idea of where it's all going is kind of hazy.

Hazy is bad. Actually, worse than bad. Soul killing. Mind numbing.

While I storyboard, I'm also going to try a project or two that Sara would do. This gives me a.) some fun things for her to do, for me to write about with authority and b.) an actual concrete project with a beginning, middle, and end within the foreseeable future.

The hope here is that when I return to writing, I will know what I'm doing and be able to return at a faster, more reasonable pace.

Really hopeful here, because something's got to give.

Research and Weekend Plans

I'm behind. I'm a week behind on the book, and probably two weeks behind on blog posting. Won't even talk about my laundry, but the kitchen is hanging on by the skin of its teeth.

Such an odd phrase - skin of its teeth. Especially since teeth don't have skin.

I'm a little loopy. Frankly, I'd love nothing better than a nap but I'm fighting those instincts and trying to get things done. Like blog.

I called the Art Institute of Portland today to see if I could schedule a tour of the campus. I came clean about being a writer - having a phone conversation as your character is exhausting enough, trying to be them in person seems daunting. While I half expected the admissions office to blow me off so they'd have time for real students, the office was very helpful, even directed me to their PR person.

We get to do that Saturday. Also on tap Saturday, earlier that day, is a meeting with my web designer. We've kind of tried to put things together over the phone - not something I'd recommend. It's like giving advice about a painting over the phone. So we're getting together, hopefully over cupcakes. We'll also take some additional author shots for the website; the kind of shots we get and what I wear will decide the color palate for the site. There are decisions to be made. I kind of suck at decisions. For a while I was thinking, two days, I'll only pack for two days. That's not much! But now I'm realizing I'll need to bring clothing options and books for props...this is all practical, mind you. None of my over-packing tendencies are coming into play here.

Cupcakes, on the other hand - I'm great with cupcakes.

After the tour and after the web meeting, we'll most likely be heading down to Powell's to look at their rare books. More and more of Simply Sara seems to revolve around rare manuscripts, and I've really enjoyed the research. Finally found this site for terminology, so I finally know what it means when pages are "foxed."

I had intended to head to the U of O's Knight Library to look at their collection, but I couldn't come up with the energy. The books aren't going anywhere, and when I'm spending this much time stressing over the book, it's nice to have another afternoon at home to work.

Tonight we're helping my brother and his wife move into their new apartment, which brings back memories of moving into ours. I remember waking up in the morning, stumbling into the living room, and sorting through the boxes of belongings and wedding gifts.

An update on the basil: it is still alive. However, it's been fairly unhappy with me since I left it for a short period of time in a hot car on a 100+ degree day (I don't usually take it for drives; the reason it was in the car was that I had to take it to my grandmother's before the Canada trip, and thought it would be prudent to run errands before hand. Little did I know).

These days, it gets a little wiggy if it gets too much sun. I'm hoping to keep it alive through the winter, though, so here's hoping.

Baby Steps

I just realized recently that I have difficulty breaking things down and planning. I get overwhelmed with the number of things to do, to the point that I get completely overwhelmed.

This is not an advantageous character trait for someone who writes 85,000 word novels for a living.

Pretty much, if I try to do much else than the book - you know, laundry, forage for food, that sort of thing - I tend to get wigged out.

So my new thing is to break things down into steps for myself. My new stationery item o'choice is magnetic notepads for the refridgerator. (It used to be post-it notes, lots and lots of post-it notes. While I still have an affection for them, I don't work at a proper desk very often. The fridge, however, isn't going anywhere.) The method at hand is to write the things I want to do, specific to the day, on the pad. Then I'll write the other things I want to accomplish over the week.

We'll see how goes. In other news...

My editor sent me this link in my email this morning. While Angela Hunt is at the top of her writing game, I'm still convinced that when it comes to procrastinating, I could take her.

Also, with the Toronto International Film Festival going on until Saturday, all the likely Oscar contenders are being rolled out. Can't tell you how much I'd love to be there. Because I'd love to see this -



And this -



And, honestly, I thought The Young Victoria was the one I was most excited to see. It had princesses, right? Well, then I saw this trailer -



It had me at "Jedi Master."

I'm giggling just writing about it. And sure, while we could have a conversation about how psychics are at best fooling people, or at worst demon-possessed, I figure we're in a fictive world. If George Clooney wants to knock over goats with his gaze, I say go ahead.

In fact, my mom has a look (the death mommy look) that would probably knock a goat over. George Clooney doing it - maybe not out of the realm of possibility.

An Amish Epiphany

Okay. Spot the bad hair day. What? You can't??

Got my hair cut today. I have the cut that most of our mothers had when they got married. (This was not intentional). The spirit of Farrah is alive and well. (No offense to our mothers, who should remember they don't have that haircut anymore either).

So I'm going back tomorrow morning (willingly, at 8:45, and for anyone who knows me, the 8:45 part is impressive). And I'm working on my book. My book about the Amish. And I got to thinking, Amish women have a leg up on us.

They don't have bad haircuts. None of them. Granted, this is because they don't cut their hair, but it's possible they're on to something.

Can you tell the book is slow going? I feel perpetually stuck, although my husband's suggestion of a snowstorm lifted my spirits.

And when my hair is cut again tomorrow, my spirits will be further lifted. Possibly because they're not weighed down by the perfect feathered flip.

Writing and Scones

Simply Sara is going well, but I have to admit that a part of me sees clever writing as an un-renewable resource.

Whenever I start a new project, I fear that this is the one where I realize I’ve used all the good words, the best jokes, the vivid characters, and there’s nothing left…

…until I come up with a really good idea, followed by another idea, and oh, wasn’t that a funny line? And I’m back to normal. The best part is, writers like Anne Lamott feel the same way (I found her Bird By Bird to be very reassuring). We’re all a little odd, a little fearful. I suppose that’s what happens when your job is to write down the voices in your head.

In other, less philosophical news, I made really yummy scones yesterday.

We went blackberry picking weekend before last. Danny’s the best person to pick with because he’s even taller than I am, has very long arms, and doesn’t like blackberries, so he’s not eating and picking at the same time. We gathered about 10 cups of berries.

After two batches of cobbler, I decided to get a little creative. I used this recipe and altered it for my purposes. I omitted about 1/4 c. sugar and the raisins (blech!) and added the zest of 2 1/2 lemons (basically, the amount of lemons I had on hand), 1 c. blackberries. When they cooled, I gave them a thin coat of lemony icing, using fresh lemon juice and powdered sugar (no particular amounts here, just start with the sugar and add lemon juice until it’s where you want it).

I worried about the dough because you’re not supposed to over-handle it, but it was so loosey-goosey I kind of had to manhandle it into submission, and getting the blackberries in took some work. I worried I’d made them too tough, but they came out perfectly. One note - I froze my blackberries so they’d keep their shape when I worked with them. Realize you’ll have to bake scones longer if you insert frozen berries into them (I didn’t, and had to keep putting them back in the oven).

If you live in a part of the country that’s lousy with raspberries, they would certainly work well too. Blueberries would be fine, but blackberries and raspberries are a bit juicier for this sort of thing.

If you try the recipe, let me know what you think!

When you just don't remember

I started reading Gabrielle Zevin's Memoirs of a Teenage Amnesiac. I thought I was doing so off of a recommendation from Meg Cabot's blog, but after searching her blog for the post I guess maybe I didn't.

So I have no idea how I heard about it.

Just kidding. It was Michelle's blog. I remembered.

Anyway, it's an enjoyable read so far, but it also got me thinking. There's a lot of amnesia fiction and film out there, which is kinda funny considering how rare amnesia really is.

You've got the Bourne movies/books, showing how awkward it is to be with the CIA/contracted by the CIA (I don't remember how it actually went down. Ironically.) and lose your memory.

There's Garry Marshall's happily dippy Overboard, which shows that you do not want to tick off your contractor before losing your memory.

I would be remiss in not mentioning While You Were Sleeping, which has allegations of amnesia, if not the real thing.

In books, Sophie Kinsella's second-to-latest release involved amnesia, as well as Caprice Crane's Forget About it, in which the character fakes amnesia before hitting her head (again) and really complicating matters.

When I was in high school and reading a LOT of Christian fiction, there was Gilbert Morris's Through a Glass Darkly and Lorena McCourtney's Forgotten. Dee Henderson put a twist on standard amnesia using PTSD-related memory loss in Danger in the Shadows.

Releasing September 1st is my friend Christina Berry's first novel, The Familiar Stranger, which (I'm gathering from the synopsis, haven't actually read it yet) shows how memory issues can help you work through marital issues.

And on TV there was Samantha Who?, at least until ABC sadly pulled it.

So no matter where you looked, someone forgot something.

I think the appeal of amnesia is the idea of a fresh start. No memories clogging your perception of who you've become, but a clear path to be the person you should be. That person is usually more likeable than the person we heard about before the blow to the head/car accident/gunshot wound/explosion.

(Ironically, as Robert H. Schmerling, M.D, points out, if you have amnesia, you probably have a brain injury such as bleeding or swelling, so really the memory loss is the least of your worries.)

While on one hand the idea of blanking out on parts of middle school and high school hold a certain appeal, aren't they a part of what makes us who we are? There's a self-loathing streak to amnesia stories - in Bourne especially.

Either way, I do enjoy amnesia-fiction. I suppose the lesson is to try to make good choices the first time - before the blow to the head.