Sincerely – this commercial is our life. We almost feel like they wrote it for us. Amylynn’s favorite part is the woman eating the corn dog while working out on the elliptical machine.

We don’t do a lot of self-promotion here at the Quill Sisters. Today I’m going to make an exception.

Finish What We Started is out! Ready for you to purchase!

This is Lee’s story. You’ll remember Lee as the brother of the hero from Cooking Up Love. And the lady of Lee’s dreams is going to run him through the wringer before they find their happily ever after.

Five years ago, Lee Bennett’s whirlwind romance with Candace Claesson ended as abruptly as it had begun, and just when he needed her the most. Since then, Lee’s built a successful construction company and a satisfying, if solitary, life. When he’s hired to build Candace’s new veterinary clinic, Lee finds her as irresistible as ever—but he’s never forgiven her and he’s sure as hell not letting her break his heart again.

For years, Candace has wrestled with regret and guilt over leaving Lee. At the time, nothing was going to stop her from achieving her dreams of studying in Scotland and becoming a vet—not even young love. They’d been inseparable for six months, but anything that intense couldn’t last. Or so she thought.

Reunited in their hometown, neither Lee nor Candace can resist picking up where they left off. But with so much from the past standing between them, how they can rebuild what they started so long ago?

IT’S AVAILABLE EVERYWHERE YOU PURCHASE EBOOKS.

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We’re still feeling out this business of the Sisters being separated. It’s not like we haven’t ever been apart before, but for the last ten years, we’ve been together more than nine hours a day, five days a week. And then we’d talk at night and all weekend. Now, Ava’s trying to figure out if she can actually work in an office again, and Amylynn has been trying to navigate the world without a wingman. It’s been rocky. First of all, no one thinks we’re funny, and that’s a tragedy. Second, we have to eat BY OURSELVES or with strangers. The only thing that perks Amylynn up is that her Chipolte consumption is way down. Also, it’s really good that our cellphone company doesn’t charge us by the text or we’d be selling a kidney to pay for that. We’ve wiped away a tear and found some funny stuff to share. At least there’s that.

1. Snake House. Somewhere in Saskatchewan, Canada 310 garter snakes were removed from a family’s home. They were everywhere–the kitchen, basement, and even the upstairs rooms. Now get this, the family had rounded up 221 snakes on their own before they called snake experts. The Sisters live in snake country and you’d think that would make us used to it, but we want to assure you that if one snake slithers through our kitchen there is going to be trouble. If another one wanders into our bedroom, shit is going to fly. The experts had better show up with guns a blazin’. Our favorite part of this story is that the family has asked to remain anonymous so that people could visit without fear. Our recommendation is that if ANYONE in Saskatchewan invites you to visit, you stay the hell away. Better safe than sorry.

2. Flurry of furries. This is one of those stories that you’re going to think we made up.  We swear we didn’t. Seriously. Ok, here we go. A hotel in Chicago that was hosting a Furries convention–hold on, do you know what a furry is? They are adult people who enjoy dressing up in cartoonish animal costumes. You’ve seen them. Amylynn was traumatized by an episode of CSI that centered around furries.  Anyway, this Chicago hotel was hosting the Furfest annual convention when emergency workers evacuated the hotel due to a toxic chlorine gas issue. “Where did they evacuate the furries to?” you ask. To the dog show next door. Because of course they did. Can you imagine the look on the Pekinese owner’s faces when the 6-foot-tall rabbits, foxes and dragons poured into the arena?  Good times!

3. Lion on the run. We talked about this before. The forest service down here keeps trying to reintroduce big horn sheep to our area. The mountain lions keep gobbling them up. First let us state that we disapprove of eating the sheep. The sheep are probably very nice, but lets face it–they don’t seem very cuddly. The Sisters will always side for the cuddlier animal. Or maybe it’s the fuzzier animal. There’s probably a chart we could put together for reference.  We suspect this affinity is our fatal flaw. Most likely it will get us killed one day. Nevertheless, we’re rooting for the latest mountain lion to escape with his full belly.

4. Our favorite Nobel Laureate. Nothing funny here. We’d like to say we’d be brave enough to do what Malala Yousafzai did, but we fear that we’re closet cowards. She also makes us feel ungrateful, but we strive to live a life that is worthy of the Malala Yousafzai’s out there who don’t have our conveniences. We’ve had conversations with our daughters about what Malala means to all women, but we doubt they’ve really grasped her importance. We’ll keep at

The burnt dog bed

it. She’s a wonder. At the risk of sounding stupid, we’ll raise a cupcake in your honor today, Malala. We recommend you do the same, Internet.

5. Dog trouble. Coming full circle, we head back to Canada for our final thing. In the Yukon some crazy dog set his owner’s house on fire when he was playing with matches. Yes, the dog was playing with matches. There is a serious lapse in details in the article we read as we don’t know what kind of dog this was. One of those juvenile delinquent breeds, most likely. Apparently, said dog was lounging on his bed and chewing on a box of “strike anywhere” matches. No animals or people were harmed in the fire, but it did cause extensive smoke damage to the house. We’re wondering if there wasn’t more to this story. Like maybe did he see a snake? If there was a snake then burning down the house may have been the only solution, something those people in Saskatchewan should look into.

The book that I’m writing is making me crazy. It’s by far the hardest one to research yet–and I thought the one where the cast went to Greece had been difficult. Believe me, it’s nothing compared to this one.

And the craziest part is, the bulk of this “Regency” takes place in America. Early America. 1815 America to be exact. You’d think that would be a lot easier to research what with me being an American and all, but this has been a nightmare. Everyone thinks they know the answer and I’ve been given lots of advice, all of which I know is unequivocally wrong based on what I’ve learned so far. Everyone is an expert who doesn’t know shit.

I don’t want to divulge the actual issue I’m dealing with–I’ll have it all worked out eventually (bah!!!!) and you can read it when it comes out–but it has to do with traveling. I’ve been all over the internet. I’ve read old books, read personal accounts, looked at maps on line till my eyes crossed. I’ve contacted the Missouri State Historical Society, who sent me to, of all places, The Arizona State Historical Society–more on that later. I’ve

can you even remember the last time you used one of these?

requested historical articles from the 1816 Missouri Gazette. Yet, I’m still floundering over a specific issue. I wish I could just change my plot and get rid of this nightmare, but that’s not going to work out either.

I started out today with a great deal of hope. I headed down to the AZ Historical Society library. I’ve never been in a historical reading room before. Not that I don’t have hopes of making it to the Vatican and poking around in their library some day. At least now I’ll be prepared. Did you know you can’t take anything in the room with you? ANYTHING. The librarian made me sign a huge form that promised a long and protracted death should I maim the books in any way such as marking in them, folding or tearing a page, or exhaling garlic breath on the bindings.  Then she gave me a quarter and told me to put EVERYTHING in a locker outside. No, I may not keep a notebook. No, not a pen either. I shoved my purse into the locker, but squirreled my cell phone in my jeans pocket, because really. After a stern look from the librarian, she gave me the book I needed.

It was in fabulous shape considering it was written in 1818. I suspect that’s because no one is

I don’t know what library they’re at but this would not have been allowed where I was

allowed to look at the books too sternly.

Don’t you know the minute I settled in with my official AZ Historical Society pencil and piece of blue paper parceled out for notes, my nose started running. I didn’t have any Kleenix since I didn’t have my purse. There was none in the library either. What the hell would they do to me if I got snot on their book? Holy shit. I was terrified. I sniffed and sniffed and sniffed until I started sounding like a cocaine addict.

At one point, I noticed someone–someone who was NOT me–had made “x’s” in the margin on pages 164 and 165. Do I narc them out? Do I erase them? What if the librarian noticed me erasing and assumed I wrote the “x’s” in the first place. She’d never believe the girl with the obvious cocaine addiction if I told them it wasn’t me. I quickly turned the page just in case. I have no idea what was on those pages. I’ll bet the exact information I needed was right there.  I’ll never know.

I left the library still frustrated, but not remanded to the library prison so I consider that a win. Still, I’m not accepting any calls that come from that number.

Dear Life of Leisure,

I miss you. I really do. I don’t know what I was thinking to get a job and let you go but I’m sorry. Please, please come back to me. Baby, come back. Here’s what I did today without you and Amy: I went to work where they made me WORK. I swear it’s true. I had to work like a . . . I don’t know what you call it . . . like a WORKER.

It’s odd. I have not had to be to any job on time in decades. By on time, I mean at a certain time, in this case 8:30AM. They expect you to be in the office by 8:30AM. Not around 8:30AM but AT 8:29AM or earlier. It’s just crazy. In fact, I really need to talk to them about such an unreasonable demand.

I Miss You

I’ve also been able to come and go as I pleased. And let me tell you, it pleased me and Amy no end to come and go as we pleased. I’m not saying (with the exception of recently) that I’m not used to doing my job at work I’m just saying I’m not used to being treated like a worker.

I feel like a captive. After you get there, you can’t leave until lunch. And lunch is a disaster! Lunch is only for an hour. ONE HOUR. Who the hell can get lunch, eat it, run errands, etc. in 60 measly minutes. Honest to Zeus, it’s barbaric. And no one is grateful that you show back up after your tiny lunch hour. Nooooooooooooo. Now get this, they EXPECT you to return after lunch and stay until closing time. It’s expected. Apparently, everyone does it.

I’m not even going to tell you what happened when I asked where the nail polish and TV were located . . . let’s just say – I don’t see this working out.

Half of my family is from Missouri and My Honey’s is from Arkansas and Oklahoma. Plus, we live in AZ so there’s always access to guns running in the background. As you can guess, there is a serious redneck gene running through my kids’ blood–something my husband is quite proud of, actually. I do my best to make my children speak proper English and urge them to have an expansive desire to fulfill their curiosity, thus not falling into the stereotypical redneck trap.

But then there’s my boy.

We’ve always had trouble with him and clothes. He had a real aversion to underwear when he was little. As a toddler, the day care asked me to make sure he was wearing some when I dropped him off. It got so that I would have to do a butt check at the front door and send him back in for drawers.

These days he’s embraced the concept of underwear. So much so in fact, that now I’ve had to enforce a rule that pants must be worn to the dinner table. The minute he gets home from school, off go his pants.

Then he requested white “wife-beater” tank tops from Walmart that he wears with his underwear to sleep in. And walk around the house in. And eat dinner in if his father and I allowed it. The two of us find this disconcerting.

Now his sister on the other hand, LOVES clothes. She wears approximately seventy-five outfits a day, all of which then end up on the floor of her room requiring laundering. Am I the only parent who has a conniption when they find folded clothes, married sock pairs, and clothes still on hangers in the dirty-clothes basket? Invariably they will be moldering under a wet towel thus requiring that they be washed AGAIN.

I’m like Sisyphus with the laundry. I’m always doing it – washing, folding, putting away. The very second it’s done, the laundry baskets are full again and no one has “anything to wear.”

Not that the boy cares. He’d be just as happy as a pig in mud to wear dirty underwear and a dingy t-shirt for the rest of his life.

You’ve probably seen this on television, but there’s a few more silly seconds at the end they’re not showing on the networks that are totally worth while.

You’re welcome.

So, what was behind the orange door?

Before we get to that, we want to state again we were given permission to kitten shop. We do admit, this was a bad idea on someone’s part (Ed) and if you make bad mistakes like that in life you get what you deserve (Ed). Saying, after the fact, that you thought your wife and her sister were adults and could be trusted does not absolve you of making such a mistake. It really doesn’t.

Now, on to the orange door . . .

Pleased to meet you!

We went through the orange door and made a right as instructed. We averted our eyes from the puppies because we were not given permission to puppy shop (See, we can be trusted in some areas.) We entered the cat room and waited for someone to approach us before we started touching because that’s what happened in the other shelters. A lady whirled by and told us to look around. Totally unchaperoned! Like we could be trusted. Like adults, Ed. Just sayin’.

We started slowly, looking in every cage for kittens. As you’ll recall, we’d about given up all hope of finding one. About three quarters of the way through, we’d seen some very pretty cats but no kittens. And then, there before our eyes were two of the most adorable kittens you have ever seen! Ever. They were beautiful. We waited for someone to come back so we could touch them. The lady returned and told us to go right ahead and open any of the cages and pet all the kitties we liked. We did as we were told for the second time this year.

We scooped them right out and snuggled them. We snuggled them good. They were twelve weeks old and from the same litter. They looked like twins. We couldn’t imagine how we were going to pick one and leave the other – so, ummmmmmmm, we didn’t. We took them both. How heartless would it have been to separate them? They are twins for goodness sake, Ed.

We knew it was meant to be when they told us they were buy one get one free. (Readers of this blog know Ed loves a bargain.) Actually, Victor, one of the workers offered to throw in a third cat if we wanted. And we wanted except Ava wanted to remain married to Ed and knew she was already about to be on thin ice.

Here’s the moral to this story – if you don’t want more than you were bargaining for, don’t send the Sisters out shopping for animals. No good can come from it.

And here they are – Milo and Loki. The newest members of the Ava Bright family.

You know what’s crazy? We always made fun of our retired friends and family because they were always so busy all the time. What could they possibly be doing every day? Why were they out driving? Where were they going? Did they really have that many doctors’ appointments? Turns out, now that we’re unemployed, we’re so damn busy we can’t believe it. People know we’re off work so they have a million things they need us to do. There hasn’t been one single day where we sat around and did nothing. We don’t like it. It’s darn inconvenient. We’d been looking forward to doing a whole lot of nothing. Yep, no. Nope. Never fear, though, we still have plenty of time to find funny stuff. Here you go.

1. Prep & Pastry. We’d heard about this place a while ago, but hadn’t made it in yet. We’re sorry we waited so long. We did what we always do – order two things and then split them both. As hearty connoisseurs of pancakes, we ordered the chef’s whim pancakes—strawberry infused plate sized cakes, nice and thin, crispy on the edges, and golden brown. Slices of strawberry were mixed throughout. The whole glorious stack was topped with slivers of toasted almonds, more strawberries, whipped cream, and chocolate drizzle. Honest to Zeus, it was the best thing we’d had in our mouths in quite a while. We also got the Monte Cristo of which we are rabid fans. It was tasty, too, but it paled in comparison to the pancakes. If it sounds like we’re writing a love letter to those pancakes, we totally are. Also to the excellent service. Nathan the owner stopped by and we gushed. He seemed pleased to be listed as a favorite thing on our site. For the rest of our sojourn we were treated like minor celebrities. We totally are—in our own mind, of course.

2. Dear Amy. A letter in the advice column of the Picayune the other day was seeking advice on an issue with a family member. They were trying to decide if they needed to attempt a reconciliation with a cousin whose wife is a “mean-spirited drama queen.” Hey! Wait a minute, was this letter about us? We conferred with each other and determined that we are NOT mean-spirited. Most of the time. We read further. The advice included the following, “You can’t figure out what that message is because your special crazy cousin decoder ring is broken.” Whoa! There is totally a market for this. Someone needs to notify NASA or Bill Gates or that guy who invented the internet and get them on this right away. The applications are endless.

3. Using all the words. The Sisters talk, a lot. While doing so we like to use all the words available to us. As usual, we get some flak for this. The Girl Who Lives at Ava’s House has established a moratorium on words with more than two syllables. We ignore her. This week we got eyerolls and blank stares when we used the words “puerile” and “fortuitous”. We’ll be the first to admit we couldn’t spell puerile all by ourselves, but we could use it correctly in a sentence. We’re given so many opportunities with all those teenagers in our houses. Amylynn wished the cable repair guy “fortuitous shopping” on black Friday only to get a shake of the head and a furrowed brow in return. We can’t help ourselves. These things just come out of our mouths. We simply think people should play along.

4. Morons. Two teenagers in Houston, Texas tried to carjack someone only to discover the car was a stick shift. The idiots then held the driver at gunpoint and demanded that he teach them to drive it. Can you imagine how that went? The driver screaming, “More clutch! More clutch!” all the while the gears were grinding into dust. Ultimately, the driver was forced from the vehicle and a short police chase ensued. The teens “had issues operating the vehicle” and abandoned the car only to be caught when they fled on foot. No

This could solve everything.

information was given about what kind of car it was—Ford Pinto or Maserati. Ava has teenagers in her house and believes every word of this story is true. There’s a moral in this somewhere. We’re just not sure what it is.

5. You’ll burn your eyes out. An arrest was made in Salt Lake City, Utah for a 77-year-old man for sun bathing in the nude back in March. He has a fence around his yard, but it’s chain-link with no privacy slats. We have many concerns here, as we’re sure you can imagine. We’re not even going to touch the man’s age. That’s too easy; the jokes write themselves on that one. Let’s start with what the hell took them so long to issue the arrest warrant? It’s been NINE months. What the hell are they doing in Salt Lake City that’s so damn important that this atrocity hasn’t been stopped? Also, in MARCH? Isn’t it still pretty darn cold in Utah in March? Exactly how tan does this man need to be? He contends he’s allowed to do what he wants in his own yard, but the members of the church next door disagree and would like him to put his junk away. We’re going to start a Kickstarter fund for a Speedo for the guy. Or fence slats. Or a tanning bed.

It became necessary to procure a new family member for Ava’s household. Specifically, a kitten became necessary. Necessary, as in needed. On Tuesday, the Sisters met for a delicious breakfast to fortify themselves to find said kitten. After we were thrown out of the restaurant for loitering, the search began. You might think it’s easy to find a kitten in a city the size of ours – after all, it supports three major shelters with annexes –  but it’s not.

We went to the first place thinking there’d be lots of kittens to pick from. We were handed a form to fill out. It wanted to know about our cat

As much as we’d like to have this kitty, this isn’t what we were looking for, although the adoptable ones were all about his size.

experience (lots) and what we’d do if the kitty ruined our sofa and was climbing the curtains – ummmmm, remove it from the curtain? What if it made a mess in our bed? Wash the linens? We have no idea if there were correct answers because we never got to meet any kittens. They didn’t have any. Not a single baby cat.

With high hopes, we were sent to their annex. They claimed to have several “younger” cats there but this was incorrect. They had no wee kittens at all. We did meet an extremely charming orange cat whom we would have considered even though he was too big except he was very attached to another kitty and we didn’t have the heart to break up the pair.

The next shelter had a six page long application and required two references. That’s the gods honest truth. They would not give you a cat until you were thoroughly vetted and background checked with the FBI. All we could think was that Sara Palin should have gone through such a shake down to become the VP nomination . . . anyway – they admitted they had no kittens but let us touch the older cats which made us and the cats happy.

There was one last shelter to visit. We went with almost no enthusiasm. It’s waaaaaay on the edge of town and necessitated Amy’s honey to have to pick up the kiddies from school because we wouldn’t have made it back in time (Thanks brother-in-law!). We kept asking each other how it was possible that not a single kitten was available to adopt in the WHOLE city. How?

With almost no hope, we entered the facility and were directed to enter an orange door. What no form(s) to fill out? No blood sample? How about some finger prints for the NSA? But nope, the lady manning the desk said – “Go right through that door and have a look.” We were almost afraid, this was too easy compared to all of the other places we’d been to that day. But we did as we were told (that’s rare we assure you) and went in . . .

Come back on Sunday to find out what happened on the other side of the orange portal.