I'm not going to pretend that this is the August issue. Even I know it is September. My mind was, as is often the case, elsewhere. One place my brain went (with me attached) was to Stillwater. What a great group, with a lovely meeting room. Audrey Eggers conducted the afternoon's meeting with charm, efficiency and grace. I'd happily go back should they ask me. Vickie McDonough took me there and she agrees that the Stillwater Writers were impressive. We picked up some good books by their members.

When preparing to speak in Arkansas I found the cartoon of me drawn by the Okie Artist in Poteau. I'm so happy! I've hung my caricature on my bedroom wall.

Barbara Rogers and her cohorts in the River Valley Writers Group invited me to their conference held at the St. Scholastica Monastary in Ft. Smith. Three days with that rowdy bunch kept Jackie King and me on our toes. Jacqueline dealt with the driving and with the money. I do admire a woman who can add and subtract and who can also keep the car on the road.

Arkansas also had lots of published writers and wannabes, a few of them, real sexy men. Oh-h-la-la. I sold a ton of books...and bought a ton myself.

I was disappointed that there were no monks scuttling about in rough brown cloaks wearing large wooden crosses on their chests. It seems that nowadays all convents are called "monastaries." The nuns were there, looking just like all the rest of us, some wearing jeans, others in Khakis, or cotton dresses from Penny's. I'm a Baptist, so what do I care? But I did. I must admit I miss the black and white habits. They added spice to the scene I always thought.

When I asked Sister Madeline if she missed the old manner of dressing she said she didn't. The heavily starched headpieces of the wimple hurt her forehead. Well. What do I know? Nothing but lots of old hymns nobody sings anymore and I've never worn a wimple.

I did receive an American Beauty rose, honorary citizenship in the town and a pardon from the mayor of Ft. Smith. As did Velda Brotherton. The pardon exempted us from hanging by the neck until dead, thank Heavens

I also received a prize for the best quote about me from one of the male participants. The quote? "She felt me." I did feel him. His arm was pretty hairy.

Sharon Koons won the July contest and she has her book. Now, about this month's contest... anyone who sends in the name and email or US mail address for any UFO group anywhere, will receive a review copy of BARBARA: The Story of a UFO Investigator (while they last). (Review copy means it still has booboos throughout. This is the edition that the writer proofs before final print.)

A book I've been reading today strongly proves a point I've tried to make with beginning writers. "Be careful of your word choices. One wrong word can ruin a whole article, story or novel for the reader."

In the book I've been reading I was jarred from my smoothly running story line each time the author used the word "reticule." The author obviously has no idea what a reticule is and she uses the word throughout the book, each time knocking me off line with the story.

The word "reticule" is the name used for the pocket purse taken up when style decreed no more pockets on dresses. The reticule was a small double thickness of cotton or silk cloth about six inches by six inches, closed by an ornamental drawstring which allowed the tiny bag to hang from the woman's wrist. It held a handkerchief (if she had one), money (if she had any), her ticket (if she needed one), and possibly a comb (if she could find one small enough.)

Our author apparently confused "reticule" with larger luggage pieces such as portmanteau, clothing cases, trunks, bandboxes or valises. Sometimes heroines carried carpetbags if they only had one or two dresses and petticoats to carry.

Never in a million years would an 1835 woman look into her reticule and find her complete wardrobe. She does in this author's book. In one scene her reticule was carried by two men. My word, the picture of two grown men carrying a silk or calico reticule between them was just too strange. One of the most important moments in the story came when our heroine found another woman's reticule filled with a complete wardrobe and a double stack of letters, which allowed our heroine to start a new life. All I could say at that point was, "That was one hell of a purse, writer friend."

I loved the premise of the book. The writer is talented and writes really well but this one word out of synch made me finally quit reading the book.

Now, if "reticule" means nothing to you think how it would be if in the book you were reading, the reins of your horses were mistakenly called "the latigos." You'd giggle every time someone clucked to the horse and tapped him across the rump with the latigos. Too silly.

I may see you again this month, just to make up for being absentminded. Or at least, I'll see you in October.

And yes, I've finished, "Giving Up Panty Hose," my contemporary novella. It has been sent to Kensington along with stories from Paula Alfred, Nan Burchfield, Sharon Ervin and Jackie King. I'll let you know what happens.

Love to you all.

Peggy Lou