Guest Post by Deborah Crombie
I have craft envy. A bad case of it. It probably started when my grandmother tried to teach me to knit. Total failure. Sewing, ditto. Even sewing on Girl Scout badges was a challenge—lots of pricked thumbs. I could never figure out how to use a thimble.
Fast forward to sensible adult. I took a weaving class because I was fascinated by the beautiful yarns. I even dreamed of having a loom in my living room, because they are so cool. Then I learned how hard it was to set up a pattern. I made one throw (which I still have) and that was it. Quits.
Then a friend who is a beautiful quilter offered to teach me to quilt. I bought fabric. Lots of fabric. That part was so much fun. (Fat quarters—what a great name!) We made a design. We cut out some little squares. I sewed two of them together. That was, um, three years ago… The fabric still waits, along with my cute little sewing kit.
Last year I made up my mind that I was going to really work at making a beautiful journal. You know, the kind with ART and WORDS. Very creative, very unique. I bought $100 worth of art supplies. I bought a nice box to put them in. And there they sit, along with my beautiful, blank, journal.
So I live vicariously through my arty, crafty, talented characters. I’ve had a watercolor painter (LEAVE THE GRAVE GREEN.) A tile maker (A FINER END.) A weaver (DREAMING OF THE BONES.) A chef and a maker of fine Scotch (NOW MAY YOU WEEP.) A designer of art deco jewelry (WHERE MEMORIES LIE.) A fabric artist (NECESSARY AS BLOOD.)
And now, in THE SOUND OF BROKEN GLASS, a brilliant guitarist. I’m not sure playing guitar counts as crafty, but it’s certainly artistic. I had a huge amount of fun learning about guitars and guitarists and what makes them tick.
And I just barely resisted the temptation to buy an electric guitar to sit in my living room. Unplayed.
Published Feb 25, 2014
In the past…
A blisteringly hot August in Crystal Palace, a solitary thirteen-year-old boy meets his next door neighbor, a recently widowed young teacher hoping to make a new start in the tight-knit South London community. Drawn together by loneliness, the unlikely pair forms a deep connection that ends in a shattering act of betrayal.
In the present…
On a cold January morning in London, Detective Inspector Gemma James is assigned to lead a Murder Investigation Team in South London, along with her colleague, Detective Sergeant Melody Talbot. Their first case: a crime scene at a seedy hotel in Crystal Palace. The victim: a well-respected barrister, found naked, trussed, and strangled. Is it an unsavory accident or murder? In either case, he was not alone, and Gemma’s team must find his companion--a search that leads them into unexpected new discoveries. Ultimately, they will begin to question everything they think they know about their world and those they trust most.
DEBORAH CROMBIE is a native Texan who has lived in both England and Scotland. She lives in McKinney, Texas, sharing a house that is more than one hundred years old with her husband, three cats, and two German shepherds.
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