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Keri Mathews
Writer, freelance copyeditor, bibliophile, homesteader, mom.
Writer, freelance copyeditor, bibliophile, homesteader, mom.
Keri's posts

Do you ever feel nostalgic for past NaNoWriMo projects? 

...especially when you're deep in the throes of anxiety over your current project? 

I know I'm quite late to the game, but who's read The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky? People seem to either love it and feel like they really identified with it, or find it mediocre and overrated. Which camp do you fall into, if either? 

Thanks for the invite! Animal rescue is a cause very close to my heart. 

Thanks for the invite. I look forward to having some interesting conversation with you guys. 

I'm going with my sister tonight to see Shenandoah Summer Music Theatre's production of Les Miserables. I'm not familiar with the story (which my dear sister deems a tragedy and seems determined to rectify) but I'm excited about the show. SSMT's productions were a staple of our childhood summers, and they never cease to impress.

I'm starting to think a supply of fresh watermelon has become crucial to my high productivity level. This may become a problem in the off-season. 

Dammit. Is the sun going down again? 

I'm finally getting around to reading The Time Traveler's Wife.

Don't ruin it for me.

Seriously. Don't. 

I'm being stalked by embroidery floss.


It started small - a single yellow strand draped over the arm of the couch, a few short red pieces in the corner of the bathroom, maybe a small jumble of multicolored leftovers on the coffee table.

But now... I can't go anywhere; I can't do anything. It watches me from the kitchen table, from my nightstand, from the center console of my car. It mysteriously appears in my purse and the pockets of my jeans; the other day Danica pulled a magenta piece out of my hair (and I haven't even used magenta). Lately I've been waking in the night feeling floss tangled around my fingers, or curling slowly around my ankles, only to look and see nothing there.

But I know what they want. My embroidery needle, my pattern, my Aida 12 ct, they sit on my desk; still as ever, but waiting, always waiting, sending their colored bits of thread to do their bidding. They know I will return.

And for now, I will oblige. For now, I will play their game. For now... I will stitch.

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Themed writing contest. 600 words, due Sunday (5/12). 
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