How to Make Silk Scrunchies

Time: 10 minutes

Difficulty: Easy

Materials

• Fabric/scraps
  • No less than 3″ wide or it’s too small to turn inside out
• Elastic
• Thread
• Tissue paper*

*Some machines will destroy delicate silk fabric. To hem my dress I used strips of 2″ tissue paper between the feed dog and fabric so the teeth wouldn’t pull the fabric.

Equipment: Sewing machine, scissors, safety pin

Directions

1. Cut the fabric to 3.5″x24″.
   • Because I used the bottom of a dress, after it was cut I undid the rolled hem to give me an extra 0.5″. I was able to get four scrunchies out of the entire length of the hem.
2. Fold the strip of fabric long way right sides together and pin in place. Mark 1.5″ from the top and the bottom. Do not sew the top 1.5″ or bottom 1.5″ together.
3. Sew into a tube. Make the seam allowance as close to the edge as possible. About 0.25″.

4. Turn the fabric tube right side out.
   • You can use a chopstick or something similar to help you.
5. Fold the tube in half and sew the ends right sides together.
   • You should have a donut shaped tube of fabric at this point.

6. Measuring around your wrist, cut a piece of elastic to your desired length and add 4″. I cut mine about 8″. Attach a safety pin to one end and feed into the scrunchie. Once through to the other side, tie a knot and trim.

7. Sew the opening of the scrunchie closed by folding the hem in and pinning. Sew closed and make sure not to catch the elastic.

And that’s it! This would make a great gift too and certainly is a sustainable solution for hair ties. You can also read my low waste hair accessories post for more ideas! Let me know if you make this for yourself. I’d love to know how it turned out.

Happy crafting-

Pin for Later

Ralph Lauren Christmas is a brand, consuming and creating a certain type of content to be perceived by others. Little Women Winter feels more like a lifestyle, and yet, it’s a trend too. Where our lives are dictated by what the algorithm feeds us. Perhaps we’re being too hard on ourselves. It’s in our nature to want to know what others are doing. 

I like the anti-consumerist mindset floating around this year and embracing a frugal way of celebrating a time of year notorious for overspending. Making consumable gifts and decor like dried oranges helps us slow down and enjoy what can be such a busy month. Tradition over commercialism can ground us in what matters.

There’s a special nostalgia to digging out the Christmas box from the depths of the closet and putting out the same decorations. The joy in going through all the ornaments one-by-one to exclaim “I forgot about this one” or “I love this one” as we hang them on the tree. I look forward to our charcuterie board New Year’s Eve tradition.

I try to make something new each year—whether it’s a craft or recipe. Two years ago I made our embroidered stocking tags and last year I was firmly in my sourdough era. This year I made embroidered ornaments with leftover felt from the stocking tags.

I also made paper chains this year from my great grandmother’s vintage wrapping paper sets.

Little Women Winter is a New England cottagecore aesthetic that romanticizes a simpler time. I recently watched the 1994 film version of Little Women and couldn’t stop thinking about the soft parts of winter. The sisters in their homemade knits, clinging tightly to each other as they walk arm and arm down snow dusted paths. Because it really is a winter film despite it taking place throughout the year. The joy of giving, not just gifts but your time and skills and sharing it with family, friends, and neighbors is what Christmastime should be about.

I made quite a few gifts this year including a quilted toiletry bag, a jar cover and sourdough starter with a copy of my sourdough zine, quilted coasters, quilted double oven mitts, clay plant markets, magnetic pin dishes, and a lino cut print with ‘his and hers’ mocha pots. It was fun to craft and try new things and, of course, make a couple of things for myself in the process.

In a way, Little Women Christmas is helping me define my personal home style. One that is handmade, layered, and feminine with folk art and heirloom pieces. I allow myself to buy one new Christmas decoration each year and I opted for an advent wreath ring for the kitchen table which felt very on trend yet timeless. A purchase that will remind me of this year when I unearth it from the box next November.

With the traditional Christmastime season over now that it’s a week into January, I hope you created some cherished memories this holiday season. I plan to cherish this winter like the sisters in Little Women by appreciating life’s simple pleasures, adapting to early nights, and looking forward to warmer weather while not wishing it away too soon.

Happy New Year-

Foraging Violets

I’ve joked that the “next level” after caring for indoor plants and gardening is foraging. Although I grew up foraging wild raspberries and blackberries near my childhood home, foraging while living in the city seems more daunting somehow. Yet the violets this year could not be missed. They dotted lawns and grew between brick pavers. I pointed them out with a little gasp on our evening walks around the neighborhood. The crop called to me and on a sunny day, I started to pick them.

I picked the ones that popped up among my emerging hostas. It was really no more than a small handful. I was eager anyhow and thought I could make a syrup with a mere dozen. I removed the petals from the stem and soaked them, not too hopeful. But an hour later, after a jaunt to the post office, I collected more from a strip of grass between the sidewalk and the street. It wasn’t in someone’s yard, at least. With more than a small handful, I set out to soak the rest.

How to Make Wild Violet Syrup

This recipe yields a 1/4 cup of syrup, enough for a glass of lemonade or a couple martinis. This recipe can easily be doubled or tripled (or more!) if you manage to forage more violets then me!

Ingredients

• 1/4 cup of violet petals
• 1/2 cup of water
  • 1/4 cup for soaking
  • 1/4 cup for the syrup
• 1/4 cup of granulated sugar

Directions

1. Pinch the violet stem off of the petals and place the petals in a ceramic or glass bowl.
2. Bring water to a boil and pour the water over the petals, just enough to cover. Let them soak overnight or a full day.
3. Place the soaked violets in a pan with the remaining water and sugar. Heat on low to medium until the sugar is fully dissolved, swirling occasionally. Once dissolved, warm for another 5 minutes.
4. Strain into a container with a fine mess strainer. Let cool and then transfer into your vessel of choice.

Violet Vale Gin Martini

My writing friends and I have discovered or rediscovered our love for Anne of Green Gables, the beloved character and book series by L.M. Montgomery. I’m not sure Marilla would approve of using violets to make a drink! Don’t be like Anne and Diana with currant wine, please drink responsibly.

With the scant amount of syrup I was able to make, I thought of a fun cocktail! I was recently introduced to Revivalist gin and love their botanical liquor. The packaging of their original bottle has a hose knob as the cork (the attention to detail and design!). I used their summertide version which adds a citrusy kick to the earthy, sweet, and slightly heady wild violet syrup.

Ingredients

• 1.5 oz botanical gin
• 0.5 oz – 1 oz homemade violet syrup, depending on your preferred level of sweetness
• Splash of lemon juice
• Optional: violet for garnish

Directions

1. Add the gin, wild violet syrup and a splash of lemon into a glass or cocktail shaker with ice. Mix with a spoon.
2. Strain the drink into a coup glass. Top with a fresh violet. Cheers!

I hope you enjoy this first foray into foraging and seasonal recipes. You can, of course, subscribe below to get new blog posts like these straight to your inbox. I’ve moved my seasonal newsletter to Substack! If you’re looking for writing updates, thought pieces, and explorations on the craft, subscribe to Hayley’s Notions. Sustainable and slow living are huge parts of my life that I hope to continue to share that. Whole foods, gardening and preserving are extensions of the zero waste swaps I first shared on this blog almost 8 years ago. What would you like to see more of?

Happy spring-

Last summer I sewed my best friend a quilt for her bridal shower. For the pattern, I used a Nine Patch block which is commonly featured in Irish chain quilts. I made squares that were 6.5”, and with the leftover blocks, I made these cute quilted eyeglasses cases! I first made a couple for my mom and my partner’s mom before making some for my friends. It’s a perfect little cottagecore spring project! Especially with all of the blush, beige, and green fabric I had left over.

How to Make a Soft Eyeglasses Sleeve

Time: 15 minutes

Difficulty: Easy

Materials

• Scrap fabric:
  • (1) block measuring 6.5” square
  • (9) blocks measuring 2.5” square (1 Nine Patch block measuring 6.5”)
• Scrap quilt batting; 6” square
• Matching thread

Equipment

• Sewing machine (or needle if hand sewing)
• Scissors and pins
• Iron (not essential, but would recommend)

Directions

1. Cut the backing fabric 6.5” square.
2. Create a Nine Patch block.
   • Sew (9) 2.5” blocks together 3×3 to make a 6.5” square.
   • OR if you are making multiple blocks, you can do this by strip piecing.

How to strip piece a Nine Patch block:

• Sew 2.5” strips together, alternating your A and B fabric. 
• Sew (1) fabric B strip between (2) fabric A strips. Then sew the opposite. Sew (1) fabric A strip between (2) fabric B strips. 
• From each strip set, cut 2.5” wide sections to create what is essentially (3) 2.5” blocks sewn together.
• Sew these (3) block strip pieces alternating between ABA, BAB, ABA.

3. With right sides facing each other, sew the Nine Patch block and backing fabric together on three sides with a .25” seam allowance. At the top, sew only 3”, leaving a 3” gap. Trim the corners.

4. Turn the square inside out. Iron to flatten. 
5. Through the gap you left at the top, stuff the batting between the blocks.

6. Take the open edge and fold the seam in, pinning it in place. You can use the iron to help the seam fold crisply.
7. Sew across the entire length of the top of the block. The block should now measure 6” square.

8. Quilt the block by sewing 3 rows and 3 columns through the center of every 2” block.
9. Fold the quilted block in half and sew along the side and bottom. Make sure to decrease the tension if you are using a sewing machine. Leave the top open to create the sleeve of your glasses case.

I hope you enjoyed this free sewing pattern! They fit most standard glasses and really hold up to wear and tear. I’ve been using mine for a year now and they have only grown softer with use. Because of the material, they can easily be washed in a delicates bag with your regular laundry. Can’t wait to see what you make!

Happy Crafting-

Pin for later

It’s the small moments of appreciation that make gardening magical. It’s turning yourself outward towards nature, instead of focusing on the mundane worries of modern day life. Appreciating the little things is as easy as a glance out the window to check in on something that you are cultivating. In a world that doesn’t seem to care, taking time and attention to care for a garden makes having one that much more important. 

My partner and I moved into the bottom floor of a row house in January and have been working to improve our postage stamp of a backyard and patio into a something we can be proud of. Some of the benefits of gardening are pretty obvious. Improved physical health with all the raking, weeding, and trimming. Improved mental health with the mood boost from sunlight exposure and the sense of wonder that comes from a seed sprouting. 

The other benefits are less obvious. I’m new to Bethlehem but having a garden has given me a better sense of community. Even if it’s just my partner and I walking around and pointing out the other vegetable gardens we see and commenting on how their plants are doing. In the Pink Apartment, I did some weeding and maintaining but never any real gardening or planting. This time, we plan to stay and that makes the work seem worth it. Although, I think if we weren’t staying, now I know the benefits outweigh the potential temporary-ness.

We created an environment we wanted to be in. Surrounded by the fruits (sometimes literally!) of our labors, there is immense pride in sitting outside knowing how much work you put into something to make it beautiful. It beacons us to be outside over and over. When we nurture nature, we nurture ourselves. 

My mom and my grandmothers have instilled in me a love of gardening and are experts in canning and preserving.  Lee is amazing at pickling while I’m amazing at freezing things. And all those empty jars used over the winter months? They make perfect little greenhouses for sprouting seeds and keeping the squirrels from digging up their young growth. This is a trick I discovered late but will definitely be using next year.

Gardening our own produce means we were eating healthier. We had many, many meals with tomatoes and/or cucumbers. My body craves the fresh, juicy vegetables when the sun is hot overhead. Eating in tune with the seasons is inherently sustainable too. By having a garden, we cut down on trips to the grocery store and reduced the amount of packaging we’re bringing home. The plants and hedges provide homes for pollinators and their friends, boosting the eco system even in a suburban area. By composting, we eliminated produce from going to the landfill and will have rich soil for whatever we grow next year.

My cottagecore self is happy to be practicing homesteading roots, things that women have been practicing for centuries. It has expanded to other areas of my home too as I make pizza from scratch and go thrifting over buying something new. Gardening and creating homemade goods has eased me back into the low waste practices I started when I launched this blog. It’s another reminder to slow down.

As I bring in the hanging planter and cactus inside after a summer spent luxuriating in the summer sun, I feel more in tune with the change of seasons and have an appreciation for the rest and reflection period that winter provides. Even as this garden season comes to a close, we are already planning what we will do for our garden next year. And maybe that’s part of the magic—dreaming of what will come, imagining the sunshine as the cold wind swells around hibernating roots and chills you to your bones. 

Happy Gardening-

This post contains affiliate links which means that if you make a purchase via one of the links, I will receive a small commission, at no additional cost to you. As an Amazon affiliate, I earn from qualifying purchases. I only link to products that I know and love. Thank you for supporting my blog!

Entry

The awkward space here is thanks to a long hall closet, but a bench handmade by a family member makes it the perfect place for putting on shoes and leaving your hat, tote, and coat.

Living Room & Bedroom

The tall ceilings and large, original windows give these spaces its character. My vintage furniture only enhances its charm!

Kitchen & Dining

The kitchen is the room that I transformed the most. Two simple changes upgraded this dated kitchen to a boho and chic dream. I put peal and stick tile over the existing subway tile and added black knobs to all the cabinets and drawers. Leaning into the pink and adding a bold pattern made it the focal point of the room.

Laundry & Bathroom

The west facing windows in these two rooms means my plants got to take center stage in these utilitarian spaces.

I hope you enjoyed seeing the Pink Apartment and got some inspiration for your own space. This apartment was very sentimental to me. Besides the fact that it was the first place I ever lived alone, it was my best friend’s grandmother’s house. She lived her for over thirty years and I remember spending time with my best friend here while her nana watched us. She watches over us still as the both of us settle into our new homes.

The apartment that my partner and I moved into is funnily enough very similar to this place. With all my furniture and decorations, the new apartment feels instantly like home. Of course, sharing it with someone you love makes it all the more special and sentimental. I can’t wait to share that one with you next!

Happy Day-

The Final Four Days

As the end of the course approached, my heart was racing. Anxiety was building and the new normal that had come to comfort me was about to be disrupted again. Life at Oxford was a dream and so many moments felt unreal. My worry about finances and what would come next made my jaw tense in the final week. Unfortunately, I often let my anxiety eclipse living in the moment.

And our last three days of lectures did feel a bit anticlimactic after completing a week of workshop. Yet we still were learning and had interesting presentations on topics that we hadn’t encountered before then. It’s incredible how many aspects of the industry we learned about and what more there remains to learn about. Our most interesting final lecture was about audiobooks. It’s one of the fastest growing parts of the industry and people that aren’t normally “readers” have been devouring audiobooks, myself included. 

I started preparing for job hunting by making a spreadsheet Monday night. The promise of production helped keep the anxiety at bay. My final evening walk on Tuesday before dinner was overcast and drizzly, a reminder that autumn was truly on the way now, snapping final photos of the sites I’d gotten to be so fond of. We spent a rainy evening watching the Shrek movie in the JCR. The sound of our laughter swelled in the cozy room as we sat on couches, bean bags, and the floor.

I sent my final thank you emails to our guest speakers too. The excitement was starting to eclipse the anxiety in these moments. Soon I’d be working in publishing. Soon I’d get to work with books full time. 

After an early lecture Wednesday morning some of us went up the tower at University Church of St. Mary the Virgin. We picked a beautiful, clear day to wind our way to the top. And wind our way we did, up the narrow one way staircase. The stone steps were steep and slick, rubbed smooth by centuries of visitors.

The narrow balcony that surrounded the perimeter was not forgiving either and my fear of heights was put to the test. It was two feet wide and only on the corners could you pass others. But the view over Oxford was breathtaking. The famous city spires cut through the red and gray roof tops like serrated knives. 

That week was filled with not one, but two sherry hours. We had our workshop evaluations Wednesday afternoon and everyone from our imprint was nervous. But our nerves we unfounded because the agents that evaluated our catalogue were impressed by the sheer volume of work and creativity we had executed in just a week. It’s still something I’m extremely proud of, having all of our knowledge of publishing put to the test in such a tangible way. That sherry hour was pleasant as we thanked the guest speakers and evaluators one last time.

We graduated the next day in an exercise after lunch. We had done it. We had completed an intensive four weeks of learning about all things book publishing and it was time to take all the knowledge and networking back home to get a job. 

Brittney and I went our for drinks before our final sherry hour. We split a dome of cocktails when a scheduling snafu (our last!) let us linger over them a bit more. At golden hour, we made our way back through the construction walls to the fellow’s garden. Yellow light draped over the grass and tickled the tree leaves with its dappled warmth. 

This sherry hour was for friendship. Everyone was taking pictures and talking about their upcoming plans. We confessed what our dream jobs would be and what we hoped would happen after the course—dreams becoming reality. 

Sherry hour was followed by a three course farewell banquet. If the food that we had that night was served every day at Exeter, no one would be complaining about the dining hall. Lamp light carried the glow of the sun indoors and cast our faces in a cozy flush that might have had a little to do with the alcohol but everything to do with the feeling of being at home.

Goodbye for Now

The last couple days of the course were bittersweet, everyone counting down the hours until their plane flights, travel plans, and imminent reunions. As I packed my belongings for my upcoming travels, it’s a miracle I only came home with four books. Well, four books for myself. I bought two extra copies of Babel and a wellness book for one of my friends. 

The final day felt like we were leaving Hogwarts. Everyone had their piles of luggage in the quad, saying goodbye with hugs and promises of reunions. The gray stone of Exeter that had bound us together within its old walls stood witness like it had for 400 years. Students waved as they dashed to leave. 

A couple of us that we traveling to London dragged our suitcases, laden with more books than when we arrived, over cobbles stones one final time. Sitting on the train to London, I wondered what the future held. 

Little did I know how disrupted my life would become after returning home, i.e. moving. (Which is maybe why it’s taken me months to upload pictures and hit publish on these blog posts. Although, it’s been lovely to revisit my time in England many, many months after the fact.) I moved out of the Pink Apartment and into my parents for two months and then into a new apartment in a new city with my partner. While all of these changes we good, it’s still hard to be in the midst of it. So much change so suddenly affects your body and my mental health definitely took a dive as I juggled job hunting with apartment hunting and the holiday season. 

I have worked harder post course than I did during it. While the journal of my weeks in Oxford is over, my journey in publishing is only just beginning. My next post is a reflection a year later, the advice I’d give to incoming CPC students, what I learned, and whether it was worth it. Because despite the romance of living and learning at one of the worlds oldest universities, the course had its problems. You can probably guess some of them because they are a reflection of what is wrong in the publishing industry—the course is just a microcosm of the business of books. Because, at the end of the day, publishing is still a business. And businesses exist to make money. 

Another famous Oxford author, C.S. Lewis, gave this advice in the Chronicles of Narnia, courage, dear heart. That’s what I need for the days and months ahead. Courage to continue networking and putting myself out there. Courage to continue taking leaps of faith, again and again, when rejections pile up. Courage to continue to be optimistic that the course will be worth it and I get the job of my dreams. Courage, dear heart, to hold onto hope.

Happy Day-

The second week of my time at Exeter rolled into week three after the reveal of our book workshop project at the end of week two. The Columbia Publishing Course (CPC) is famous for its intensive book workshop week. Post pandemic, the assignment has evolved but the vigor and the deep-dive into all aspects of publishing has not. The days were long at times, but for me at least, it was a reassuring exercise that proved yes, I really do want to work in publishing.

After two weeks of lecture, I was ready for a change of pace. Even if there is a deliberate veil of secrecy shrouded over the assignment, I was excited. We worked for seven days straight on the assignment which means my third weekend in Oxford was spent in the tent meeting with my mentors and group members under the drafty plastic ceiling of the marquee. 

It didn’t take me long to buy a reusable mug so I could sip tea as I worked, cursing at the lack of wifi connectivity. The first few days were spent with our heads down focusing on our individual work before later in the week we started to collaborate a bit more and bounce ideas off of one another.

Unlike other CPC classes, we had a small break in our book workshop week for the Queen’s funeral. We didn’t get a full bank holiday, but Monday we had the morning off to observe the funeral. So with less pressure on our Monday morning, a couple of us went out for a pint on Sunday night. 

Some of us went to the Head of the River Pub along the Thames. We had passed it on on our bus back from Bath the weekend before and had been meaning to check it out. I finally had my first Pimm’s. Even though I’ve been to England before, I had never heard of the cocktail (shame on Tom, apparently.) It’s a sweet gin cocktail and it tasted like a fruity, less bitter Aperol Spritz. It was a delight. The bartender garnished it with a slice of cucumber and I ventured out by the water to sip it, bundled in my coat. 

We drank in the cool night air and chatted about life and anything other than book workshop. At 8 o’clock the pub (and all of England) had a minute of silence for the queen. We did a cheers to her honor and got ourselves another drink. Before long, two drinks turned into three and we ambled back to Exeter with warmth in our bellies.

As we tapped our key cards and went through the door within the gate, the quad under dusty stars greeted us. The chapel blushed from within, lights twinkling through stained glass. We snuck through the chapel door and were greeted with the smell of roses. White flowers lined the aisles and two half arcs of orchids and dahlias framed the altar, set up for a wedding.

Sasha started singing the song Jenny of Oldstones. There’s a line that goes, “and she never wanted to leave. Never wanted to leave.” I couldn’t help but join in. As our voices echoed in the two hundred year old chapel, the shivers that traveled down my spine had nothing to do with the cold. The words rang true and it became one of my favorite memories of Oxford. Pure, simple, human magic.

Life and Death

We’ve been no stranger to weddings during our stay in the college. The chapel, dining hall, and tent have been used for ceremonies, reception, and parties every weekend we’ve been here. All of us did our best to keep away during the afternoon and evenings for those weekend weddings but it was hard to not walk through the party when it’s the only way to our rooms. 

What takes the cake (pun intended) for weirdest wedding, occurred the Monday of the queen’s funeral. Yes, there was a wedding in Exeter the day of the funeral, hours before the funeral. I have no idea why there was a wedding at nine in the morning on a Monday during a bank holiday no less. But there was. It made since why the chapel was resplendent in white flowers the evening prior.

All of us continuously crossed paths with the bride. They set up the projector in the tent the students to watch the coverage. (Why we couldn’t watch the coverage on the TV in the JCR is a story for another time.) As I sat in the marquee watching the coverage before the funeral, the bride exited the chapel with her new husband on her arm. 

I was glued to the coverage of Queen Elizabeth II’s funeral service. I find it so fascinating to witness a sliver of history unfolding, watching all the crowds gathered on The Mall. But before I knew it, the procession was over and students starting filling into the tent to work on the book workshop.

The next day, I went out to get stationary so I could write thank you cards for my mentors and peaked into an antique shop down the way on Turl Street. I had been telling myself that I would buy myself a ring when I finished writing my current novel and I had been browsing pearl rings for months now. I even saw a beautiful pearl ring at the Jane Austen Centre in Bath. 

And then I saw it. A beautiful silver ring within my price range. Two black stones framed a gorgeous fresh water pearl. Three parts for three parts of my novel. Black and white. The night and day. It’s slightly art-deco in design and I knew I couldn’t pass on getting it. I’ve loved being able to collect rings in countries I’ve lived. I have one from Spain and now one from England. Places that became home to me, if briefly. Walking their footpaths and watching their sunsets. 

In the middle of such a grueling time, Lee sent me flowers. They made my little convent room smell pleasantly of roses. He called me late at night to tell me to get something that should have been delivered. Already in my pajamas, I slipped on my new Oxford sweatshirt and went down the winding stairs and across the quad to the porter’s lodge. 

I was still on the phone with Lee and I tried—unsuccessfully—to sneak the flowers back to my room without anyone noticing. My neighbor Peyton squealed when she saw me carrying them up the stairs, her bubbles of delight resounding and making me blush.

Wednesday was a busy day as our group prepared our presentation for the mock sales conference happening the next day. We wrote and practiced our 30 second pitches and put together our slides. This is the point where our projects were almost complete and the most nerve wracking part of the book workshop week. In celebration of our mentors and their hard work, they joined us at the King’s Arms for drinks with the rest of my group. It was lovely to get to know our mentors in a more intimate setting without talking nonstop about workshop week.

On Thursday morning, we presented our books and finally got to learn what the other groups had created and hear a pitch of their ideas. This was the perfect climax to a week of tedious editing and constant reworking of titles. I absolutely loved hearing what everyone created. The sheer range of ideas and brilliance among my classmates was exciting to witness. 

A resolution in the story arc of this week was handing in our projects on Friday before noon. In a week’s time, we had created a 143 page PDF with all of our books. After four days of lecture and then seven and a half days of workshop with only one morning off (for the funeral), after lunch on Friday I crashed. Weeks two and three of the course blended together and I needed a nap. Even more so because of what was planned for the night—a secret sherry hour in the fellow’s garden.

Before the party, Brittney and I went to Christ Church meadow to read but ended up just talking about the books we created and the presentations. My copy of Babel sat on our picnic blanket enjoying the scenery along with us. Then we went to the store to grab wine and snacks before getting ready.

We celebrated our twelve days of class with a party, the Radcliffe Camera as our only spectator. I walked down the concrete path with a bottle of red wine in hand and emerged to a seance of celebration. A hundred tea lights doted the picnic tables while a bluetooth speaker played music.

Brittney had a fabulous idea (credit where credit is due) to have everyone sign a copy of a book as a sort of CPC class year book. I brought my copy of Babel, of course. People signed my copy as the night went on and bottles were finished. There is still wax dripped onto the pages of the end paper and it is my favorite souvenir. I’m sure you can predict how the rest of the night unfolded. Let’s just say that I paid for my sins in my convent room the following day.

On Sunday, I spent the day on my own doing all of the Oxford things that I hadn’t managed to do yet. Mainly the Ashmolean Museum. How I hadn’t managed to go there already was quite the miracle. I rather enjoy going to museums alone (which would become the theme for my last week in England). Their collection of artifacts and artwork was astounding and I enjoyed taking a break by going to the museum cafe for a cuppa.

Then I went to Oxford’s largest college, Magdalen. The day was overcast and chilly but the rain never came. I spent hours walking around the college and taking pictures of the breathtaking medieval buildings. There is a whole ass deer park in the middle of the college too of which I had no idea. I walked the grounds next to the River Cherwell where people can rent boats to go punting.

Brittney and I meet for high tea afterwards. I was the curmudgeon who didn’t want to go punting, who would rather eat scones and have an early night in. Which is what I did, picking up some soup to take back to my room for dinner. It was a peaceful day, a peaceful final weekend in Oxford.

It was hard to believe there were only a couple of more days in the course. The workshop challenged me but assured me that I am on the right path. And maybe we are all a bit mad—singing in empty chapels late at night, creating an entire book project in a week, and drinking into the late hours in one of Oxford’s oldest colleges. Mad with creativity and hope for the future. Thank you for reading my very belated diary, and until next week.

Happy Day-

This third anthology, our post-Covid project, took longer to finalize with each of us able to be out in the world again—we got new jobs, traveled, and celebrated life. Despite the extended timeline, I am so proud of this book. The variety of stories are splendid and our talented authors truly outdid themselves. Like the title invokes, the theme of Every Breath Alight is about finding your voice, speaking up, and rebelling. 

Inspiration

When I started thinking about story ideas for this collection, I knew immediately what I wanted to write—a little mermaid retelling from the perspective of Ursula. It all started from a lyric to the song “fairytales” by Gabby Sophia that has a line that goes, “The voice was taken from the mermaid but what if it was taken in the first place and they believed her because of her pretty face.” That line. Every. Single. Time. 

I asked myself what if Ariel was the villain of the story? And they believe her because of her beauty? What if they didn’t believe Ursula because of her otherness?

Then I started brainstorming the arc of the story. I knew I wanted it to be a metaphor for colonialism where an island is invaded by humans. What was once a sanctuary for merfolk on land, becomes colonized and destroyed by industrialization. 

Inspired by the movie version of The Little Mermaid, the mermaids wear shells as a necklace and it translates their ocean voice to one that can be understood on land. The idea of language and voice and colonialism was something else I wanted to weave into the narrative. So many native language have been overtaken, forgotten, because of colonialism. In this story, I used French as a secondary language. So many people consider it a beautiful language. Yet in this case, it is inherently wrong because it has been forced upon the merfolk and forced them to forget their native language.

Around this time, I read the book Empire of the Vampire which is written as a frame story. The main character is telling his life story to his jailer. The entire book is written, even the narrative parts, in quotes as the main character immerses us in the tale. Sometimes the narratives breaks away and we are inside of the jail cell and his present day perspective. 

I have never encountered a story before that used quotation marks to indicate the inside frame. The entire book was written in this way which is quite a feat (and quite the headache for the copyeditor). It can be confusing to read at times, but I knew I wanted to employ this technique. And maybe I wouldn’t write an entire book this way, but why not write a short story this way?

Short stories are made for experimenting. It’s beautiful how much you can get across in a brief span of words. They are an incredible way to test your limits, try new things, and find your voice. 

The Shell of the Story

I knew that I wanted to write my short story about voice as a frame story—a grandmother telling her granddaughter about losing her voice. The inner frame of the story is about fighting for voice and what’s right. While the outer frame is about telling stories of the ones that came before us, raising their voices, and sharing their stories.

I love frame stories. They add such nuance and another layer of story. Many famous literary works are written as frame stories—The Canterbury Tales, Don Quixote, One Thousand and One Nights, and Frankenstein. All of these stories have a reason for the frame itself. To entertain on a journey or distract a king and survive another night. And what better way to convey the theme of speaking up in my story than using a frame?

With all of these questions and ideas swirling around in my head, I started to draft. As I wrote, I tried to draw on some of the darker elements of the original Grimm fairytale like the main character feeling like she’s walking on knives. I had a concept, but I had to create a plot, build a world, and craft characters.

The trap I ran into using the quotes (instead of using italics or section breaks) was that the story had a lot of telling rather than showing. As an author, I really had to defend my decision to use quotes in this way and work to fix all the telling I had written. For me, the quotes are a signal, every single line break, that this is being told by a character. That she is using her voice to speak about her past and breathe life into her own story.

Another concern I received in my feedback was that the granddaughter wasn’t enough of a character (I didn’t even give her a name!). Despite the power of the grandmother’s story, what was the granddaughter’s story? What was she grappling with? In essence, who was she? With feedback and more questions to answer, I wrote another draft.

Using my Voice

I’m very excited to see what this year has in store. I am very, very close to finishing my first draft of my new adult historical fantasy novel. Even though I haven’t worked on it consistently since the summer, I know I will find my voice for it and write the ending better then I conceived of it.

All three of my stories featured in DRP anthologies have strong motifs of water. Water is cleansing and powerful. It is life and death. My novel has strong motifs of water too. My writing always seems to return to these themes and maybe that is a part of my authorial voice. I am drawn to the natural world and all the meaning it brings.

As I’ve tried to define my writing process this year, writing the story behind the story for “Chant de la Mer” was a nice way to remind myself that I need to spend a lot of timing thinking before I even put words on paper. Things take their own time, and as I approach three years of writing my third novel, I have to remind myself of that.

More than ever, I think it is important for us to speak up against hate and uplift marginalized voices. It is our responsibly to use our right to free speech responsibly and make sure our actions match our words. I hope my story has a little bit of that message. And the entire anthology itself is a diverse tapestry of stories that help us realize who were are.

It feels odd that I haven’t talked about the latest anthology until now even though it has been out in the world for a couple of months. To be honest, I have felt far from my author voice. There have been a lot of changes, but I think I am finally settling into my new life and it felt nice to write a blog post again. When I have doubt, I read over my own work and remind myself that I am a talented storyteller with things to say.

For years, it was hard for me to call myself what I am. I think it’s hard for artists to call themselves what they are when they feel like they need to prove something first. But you don’t need to prove anything to call yourself what you are. Use your voice to speak up for yourself and who you really are. Just like a mermaid named Ursule whose voice was stolen by a petty human named Auriel.

Happy Day-

Another week has passed and I am already halfway through my time at Exeter College in Oxford. While the days can be full and long, time has gone by quickly. 

It’s hard not to think of the countless books and authors that have been products of this small island. Call me basic, but Jane Austen is my favorite author from England. She wrote about love, friendship, family, and home so tenderly, and I just adore her books. And yes, I have read all of them plus the collection of her letters.

Last time I was in England, I went to South Hampton where she went to school and lived for a time, Chawton Cottage where she lived for the last part of her life and published four of her novels, and Winchester Cathedral where she was buried. This was 2018 and I was lucky enough to visit almost all the significant places of Jane Austen. Almost all of them except for Bath. 

My only travel priority this trip was to go to Bath. For five years Jane Austen lived in Bath and two of her novels, Persuasion and Northanger Abbey, were partially set there. With such historic ties to the city, Bath hosts a yearly Jane Austen festival. In September. When I would be in England. Learning about publishing. It was meant to be.

The Long Trek to Bath

So during the second weekend, I got to get a taste of Jane Austen’s Bath. Of course, I didn’t have to go alone. Plenty of other people in my program wanted to go too. There was a group of five of us that went on the nine o’clock train so it would give us enough time to get there before the start of the festival which opened with a parade at eleven.

We walked to the train station with extra energy, excitement building. I bought my ticket and a cup of tea and we went to catch the replacement bus. Because it was the weekend, not all of the trains were running so we had to catch an express bus to the connecting train station. Although we didn’t catch the express bus. I’m still convinced there wasn’t a direct bus, but it took us an hour to get to the train station instead of a half an hour. Tania did give us a glorious summary of Northanger Abbey on our way which was hilarious and passed the time. But that was just the start to the our transportation woes. 

Once we got to Dicot Parkway, we didn’t have to wait long for the train to Bath, but every single carriage was full so we had to stand. At least, I was near the door where I could watch the countryside whoosh by, dotted with fields of sheep. Two hours later, we came screeching to a halt at the train station. 

The city of Bath was a lot bigger than I expected and puts Oxford to shame with its cascading hills dotted with homes and picturesque river flowing through the center. We only explored about a ten block radius of the city but there was so much in that little amount of space that I truly felt like I got to experience Bath even if I didn’t take a turn around the entire city.

Tania, Sienna, Thea, Brittney and I rushed to see the parade. Okay, maybe I rushed us all to see the parade but I was excited to see what the festival was all about. We reached them just as they came over the Pulteney Bridge, a quaint old bridge lined with shops. 

The regiment marched down the promenade, their arms wrapped with a black cloth to signify they were in mourning for the late queen. Fine gentlefolk in full costume of the regency time period walked behind them. Ladies were resplendent in empire waistline dresses and lace bonnets. The gentlemen in pattered waistcoats with starched cravats. I wished I could sew my own dress and join them. Next time perhaps, and I now have plenty of ideas for how I would design my regency era costume.

After the parade we wandered back to the main down town area where we set off to judge for ourselves which cafe has the best buns. Walking along the River Avon, everyone (except me) got some freshly squeezed lemonade. This is the start of me being a little sour. I probably should have gotten some to help my sugar. 

We divided and conquered getting buns from two “rivalry” bakery cafes with sweet buns. But it turned out not to be any real animosity as we all ended up in Sally Lunn’s basement shop/museum with the buns from the cleverly named The Bath Bun. It was the cashier that told us the buns from Bath Bun were baked with a sugar cube.  Sally Lunn Buns (say that five times fast) are huge and came in a charming box. 

We took our abundance of buns and had a picnic at Parade Gardens which was open to the public free for charge because of the queen’s passing. They had a dedicated place for people to leave flowers and notes to the queen. The Bath Abbey was a strong presence over the garden.

We lounged into the grass and I dug into both, testing which was best. Besides the bun with a sugar cube making me feel like I was a bribed horse, the Sally Lunn buns had a great flavor. But in my mind they are quite tied. The bath bun was great to eat on its own (read: sugar) but the Sally Lunn would have been divine toasted and smothered in garlic butter. When judging savory or sweet, it’s too hard to compare. 

After walking—excuse me, parading—around Parade Gardens and the shenanigans that ensued, we went to a bookshop. Yes, how predictable that book people went to a bookshop. Topping & Company had large tables stacked with gorgeous first editors, most of them signed. It was hard to resist not buying everything with pretty end papers, sprayed edges, intricate foil and embossed covers. I couldn’t help running my hand over all the books with a longing sigh. But in the end, I couldn’t resist and bought a book that was clearly made for me. The cover is a photo of embroidery and the inside of the dust jacket is the underside of the embroidery. What sealed the deal was the novel is about Jane Austen’s family. When in Bath, buy the book. 

Afterwards, we made our way to the Jane Austen centre where we could enter the exhibition every twenty minutes. I was fading fast, so we wandered to a pub where ladies in regency dress had pies and beers in front of them. We were about to order but food was going to take over an hour so we changed gears and went into a small deli where we got toasties and sandwiches. We had another picnic in Queen Square. To be fair, I had devoured half of it before we made it to the park.  

We got our tickets for Jane and went to see the circus up the hill, a grand circle with stone townhouses and wrought iron fences. Past that was the Royal Crescent, an equally grand half circle of townhouses that really is from Jane Austen’s past.

Then it was the moment. The Jane Austen centre was the perfect amount of corny. It started with an animated talk about the Austen family before we went to the basement for the exhibition. There was a cheesy “places of Jane Austen’s Bath” video featuring two characters from Jane’s novels. I had the group sneak out of the video early so we could try on regency dress and pose with Darcy himself. 

Even if I missed my own Darcy back home, it was fun to be at the festival with people who were fans of Jane Austen too. To quote Northanger Abbey, “Friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love.” 

The exhibition also had other little displays like a millinery and a place to try writing with quill and ink. At the end they have a wax figure of Jane Austen, creating a lifelike portrayal of what she actually looked like. I loved to be able to stand next to her, author and author. There’s no doubt I’ll be known for my romance stories some day. Whether or not I’ll have a wax figure… Well, I’d rather not. 

It was off the Roman baths after that. Something I had little expectations for. But I knew from Jane Austen that many people would go to Bath to “drink the waters” for their health. Little did I know I would actually taste those very life affirming waters for myself. But I can’t spoil things too much even if it smelt spoiled with the sulfur hot spring. 

Having experience ruins of old baths in Cordoba, I expected similar underground ruins. But it a veritable museum with preserved baths and bath rooms. It was amazing to walk the upper terrace lined with Victorian statues that overlooked the green pool of the Roman bath. Continuing on, old coins and other ancient relics were on display. Stones from old temples made it feel like you could really picture just what this monumental site was like. An ancient hot spring, changing rooms, and saunas all of it was protected under the city of Bath for centuries until it was uncovered. 

Brittney and I got to the end together and each took a paper cup and held it under the stream of warm Bath water. We did a gentle cheers and drank to our health. And the water, full of minerals, tasted like blood. In Charles Dickens’ Pickwick Papers Mr. Sam Weller describes his experience: “I thought they were particularly unpleasant. I thought they’d a very strong flavour o’ warm flat irons.” Quite accurate if I do say so myself.

The evening was approaching and we decided it was time to head back and get dinner in Oxford. Bath was packed with people not only for the festival but for stag and hen parties plus tourists before the end of summer holiday. I was ready for the familiarity and quaint nature that was Oxford at night.

And then the train. The platform was full when we arrived and the train that was supposed to come a little after six never arrived. They announced a new train on the opposite platform so we rushed over to it and grabbed a seat only to be told it was a direct to London. We piled off and went back to the other platform, down the stairs, under the tracks and up the other side.

Eventually we got on a train but we had to stand the entire time again. I was hot and the only thing I wanted to do was sit and drink some water. I was able to talk to my partner Lee for a little while he was on the way to a bachelor weekend. It was nice to hear his voice even if I just wanted to rest my head on his chest.

We got the replacement bus to Oxford and surprise, it wasn’t direct and stopped constantly. From the time we initially walked from the Roman baths to getting off the train in Oxford was three hours. Three hours on tired feet and empty bellies. We all went to a Thai place and recounted our day over curry. Still managing to laugh despite the long day we had.

I Rather Have Nothing But Tea

After the adventures of the Jane Austen festival, I spent the Sunday after recovering. I didn’t leave my room until late in the day but the rest was much needed. I joined some other students for high tea at the Ivy on High Street. It’s an exquisitely decorated high end restaurant with tall ceilings and smart servers in formal black attire. Potted plants of all shapes and sizes sit on a ledge that wraps around the interior below the windows. 

Four of us split two autumnal high tea dishes which came delivered on a silver tiered tray. I personally loved the savory tea sandwiches the best—smoked salmon, chicken salad, and cucumber with cream cheese. Sipping on their signature breakfast blend tea, I also enjoyed a scone, cupcake, and madeleine with lemon curd.

Oxford had their annual open doors that day which I didn’t take full advantage of since I left my room so late, but I did get to see Lincoln College, Exeter’s neighbor with its two quads and actually green grass. Not to throw too much shade, I think Exeter boasts a better chapel and dining hall. But it’s hard to compare stunning building to stunning building when you consider the fact that Oxford is three times old than America as a nation. 

An American writer wrote a historical fantasy book called Babel when she was studying at Oxford. The book was published the week we arrived and it has been the thing to read while here. It takes place in Oxford and (in the seventeenth century but anyway) reading it while here is so magical. I recognize the iconic landmarks and street names. The historic buildings and anachronisms that I might have assumed were pieces of fiction if I didn’t know that they really are just quirks of life here.

Tori organized a bunch of us to bring our copy of Babel and after lecture one morning, we took a group picture in front of the Radcliffe camera with all of us holding it. We brandished our copies like shields in the bright sunlight. As I write this post, I’m sipping tea at her favorite cafe The Vaults and Gardens where she wrote a lot of Babel. I even brought my copy along for moral support as I attempt to get some words in. 

A Hint of Autumn Air

The weather turned quite suddenly this week and I realized I don’t have nearly enough sweaters for the weeks ahead. The same sort of routine has continued with insightful lectures and professionals with amazing bestselling books in their repertoire. 

I had a moment when I was taking my nightly walk after dinner where I realized my time here was already slipping away. Four weeks is really not that long a time and yet I already feel a sense of belonging here in Oxford. I know exactly where I am having wandered down almost every street. I’ve given directions to visitors when they assume I’m a student. I have my favorite loop to stroll and have tried many of the cafes.

Of course, there have been moments when I want nothing more than to be in my partner’s arms and chatting. I miss my cozy apartment with my own bathroom and a shower I actually fit in. But it’s the friendships I’ve made here that make those “pangs of disappointed love” more like aches than riffs of loneliness. 

The end of my second week was the start of the CPC infamous book workshop week. After the anti-climatic reveal thanks to slow technology, we made our way to the fellow’s garden for sherry hour. And this time it was actually in the fellow’s garden. The construction taking place carved a path through the restoration of the library towards the back corner of Exeter. It is a breathtaking space with towering trees and a wall covered in a lush carpet of vines. 

I climbed the steep stone steps up to the wall with wine glass in hand and gasped at the breathtaking view over Radcliffe Square with the iconic Radcliffe Camera, All Souls College spires, and tower of St. Mary’s Church all standing dignified on the cobbles. We cheered to the week ahead. I took my evening walk after dinner not knowing I wouldn’t be able to take many because of evening lectures and panels. 

Workshop started Friday morning with our mentors encouraging us to go to the bookstores (remember there are two within 200 yards of Exeter) to help us with our assignment. I went to my assigned section and browsed their titles to inspire me for my own idea. Maybe this workshop week wouldn’t be so bad. 

After our first official day, my evening ended with a bunch of us watching the movie Pattington in the JCR (Junior Common Room) and screaming with joy throughout. I won’t be able to see stuffed Pattington bears without thinking of my publishing friends. 

We’ve learned from many of the speakers that publishing is a relationship business. It’s subjective and creative and about the people in it. This experience wouldn’t be the same without the friendly predisposition of every person that works with books. Everyone loves books and ideas and talking about books and ideas. 

Publishing, like any other business, is not without its challenges but I feel confident that as the next generation of publishers, we will fight to make it better. To improve on a business that is about stories. Until next week, to being halfway through the course and to the people that have made it all worthwhile.

Happy Day-