Delicious, delicious pie. And looking back. At pie.

Not looking back at pie; looking back at what I wrote about self-publishing 15 months ago.

But you guys, I made the most epic pie yesterday.  I bought eight pounds of concord grapes for making jelly, and with the leftovers I made a pie.  I did not expect this pie to change how I looked at all other pies forever -- to change, in fact, how I looked at life.  And then I made this pork loin roast that was to die for, and I didn't follow a recipe.  It involved gorgeous halved pears, roasted right alongside the pork, atop a bed of red onion wedges, oh god, oh god.  The fat on the top of the roast formed, with the sea salt and cracked pepper and rosemary I sprinkled there, a crunchy crust, and when you took a bite of pear with a bite of pork the experience was transcendent.

I think I am actually getting really good at cooking.

Don't worry; I don't intend to turn this into a food blog or anything like that, but this particular blog does double as my personal journal (as evidenced by all the eye-rollingly sappy things I write here about my dude) so maybe once in a while I might have to share some of my culinary conquests with you.  I promise to make them all very writerly*.  It will be as if James Joyce started a food blog.

Over at Lavender's blog, I looked back at my opinions and expectations re: self-publishing The Sekhmet Bed, and I declare myself a hardcore indie from now on.  Viva la 70% royalty rate!

It's long, so don't bother to read it.

Now I am going to go have a big fat slice of that concord grape pie for breakfast.  How bitterly I regret my jelly; I should have made eight pounds of pie filling and frozen it so I could have this again.  Maybe the fruit stand still has some concords left.  WHY must they be so fleeting a fruit?


*not an actual promise.