April Newsletter: Sherlock Holmes of Baking Street
Hey gang, time for the April update! This is coming to you from a new platform, since people are moving away from Substack for reasons, so fingers crossed it all says afloat. I am moving house in a few days, still have a baby and a full-time job, and am definitely languishing. But let's get to it. There are some affiliate links at the end of this email, just FYI.
Preorder Sherlock Holmes of Baking Street now!
I talked about this last time, and it's live now and ready to share! Pre-orders are taking place on Kickstarter until May 1st. All proceeds for this book benefit The Beacon Society.
Sherlock Holmes of Baking Street contains 37 essays, personal reflections, and short stories that use baking as a springboard, and a springboard only—it is not a cookbook. Subjects range from a progressive dinner mystery to the revelation that one of the original Holmes stories is actually a secret code for a recipe that will probably kill you; a very nice traybake of kitchen fire adventures; death by flour; thoughts about dopamine as it relates to milk, cookies, and Sherlock Holmes; and the power of Japanese bean paste to turn Sherlock into a very real boy by way of the movie Mr. Holmes.
You can read my author interview on the Kickstarter as well.
Statements of Advance Praise
“There is nothing half-baked or cookie-cutter about this charming confection of culinary-themed Sherlockian fact, fiction and fancy. The editors, with a finger in every pie, have separated the wheat from the chaff for readers, and without over-egging the pudding, this collection proves you can have your Sherlockian cake and read it too! Bon appétit.”
--Charles Prepolec, BSI, MBt, Editor, Gaslight Gothic: Strange Tales of Sherlock Holmes
“Sherlock Holmes of Baking Street is a smorgasbord of delightful stories, essays, and articles that will satisfy the hunger of its readers. My mouth was watering as I turned the pages and you, too, will find yourselves returning for a second helping.”
-- Greg D. Ruby, BSI, ASH, The SOB in Charge at the Sherlockians of Baltimore
“The stories, references, and recipes found within these pages are as varied and entertaining as the Adventures they are based on. A must read for anyone with a taste for the flavors of Sherlock Holmes, baking, or both!”
-- Crystal Noll, ASH, 221B Con Director, The Serpentine Muse Co-editor
Excerpt from my short Holmes/Watson retirement-era story, 'The Life of a Hermit'
I should have expected that retirement would suit Sherlock Holmes. If you had suggested it when we first met, or within the first decade of our acquaintance, I would have scoffed and dismissed the suggestion outright. This man? Who cannot stand a day without brainwork? Who laments the change of season that means a dip in the national crime rate? Who leaps from his chair at the suggestion of intrigue in the countryside?
But of course those things all describe a man who would love nothing more than to be constantly occupied with his own little projects, who walks for hours along the cliff's edge admiring the sea, who revisits his own case notes and picks apart his own deductions for the purpose of another new monograph.
I should not have been surprised by the cottage. It was several miles from the nearest train station in the town of Fulworth on the southern coast, and could only be called habitable by virtue of its intact roof and the doors that closed with a shove. In every other respect, the thing was falling down.
"Good lord, Holmes," I said when first I saw it, dropping my suitcase at the end of the garden path in horrified protest.
"It's perfectly sound," said he, picking his way among the weeds and overgrown bushes up to the front door. "I toured it before I bought it, and the estate agent assures me a little elbow grease and new paint will have the place shining in no time."
"A little elbow grease?" I was reluctant to leave my motorcar behind, parked here in the middle of nowhere with no protection guaranteed. I remember looking slowly around at the grassy Downs all around the house, hearing the not-too-distant crash of the ocean waves against the foot of the cliff, and thinking, Oh, we've done it now.
Holmes shouted at me from the house to stop being ridiculous and come inside. I gathered my dignity around me and picked up the suitcase once more, and cooperated.
The interior was as dismal as the exterior. The front room was bare, except for the pile of things Holmes had hauled in from the car. It had two windows, one on either side of the door, that looked out into the sorry excuse for the garden; both were cracked. An enormous cold fireplace on the east wall moaned softly as the wind— notorious on the Downs— leaked in through the flue. The windows on the west side of the house were entirely covered with ivy, some of which was coming into the house through cracks in the walls. Every surface was covered in dust; my skin crawled at the thought of touching any of it.
Two doors led from the front room: the one on the right led to a small kitchen, the looks of which did not inspire confidence. Holmes came out of the room on the left, brushing his hands off and looking delighted.
His delight faded when he saw the expression on my face. I tried to salvage the moment by smiling, but I fear it was a sorry impression of one.
"Oh, my dear fellow," said he, reaching out and grasping my shoulders with his thin, strong hands. He looked deeply into my eyes. "It isn't what you expected."
"No," I admitted, glancing away. "Not exactly."
"Perhaps I should have… prepared you better."
"Perhaps," I agreed. I cleared my throat. "Where should I put these?"
Holmes ushered me into the room he'd just emerged from. It would become our bedroom, cozy and warm and bright in the afternoon light, but at the time it was an empty shell, cold and lacking promise. I put my suitcase on the floor and draped my coat over it. Holmes was watching me, so I took a deep breath and turned back to face him.
"This is why we had to bring the mattress," I said. He grimaced. "The furniture van is scheduled to arrive first thing tomorrow morning."
I nodded. "My army days of sleeping on camp beds in the desert are a long way behind me," I said. "You're lucky I love you."
"I am, yes," he agreed, and we went out to wrestle the goose-down off the back of the motorcar— rolled up off his bed in Baker Street and tied down to the boot— into the house.
He'd saved us from sleeping on the floor that first night (and himself from a nominal divorce) but just barely.
Over the next few months, he proved himself up to the task of improving the place, and while I didn't quite eat my words, the house grew more habitable and charming by the day. Holmes took charge of airing out and cleaning every room; he had all the windows fixed within a week, just in time for our first autumn rainstorm; by winter the fireplace and all the kitchen appliances were in fighting fit, and we stayed warm. A plumber came and gave us an exorbitant quote to turn the pantry off the kitchen into a proper bathroom with hot water. Holmes haggled, argued, considered, and finally agreed, and we had steaming baths on Christmas. In the spring, he hired a chap to pull down the ivy, and another to repaint the exterior. We handled the interior ourselves, and did a passable job of it. We turned the cottage from a heap into a home, and every week I find Holmes adding another project to his interminable list of improvement ideas.
Preorder Sherlock Holmes of Baking Street right here!
Other Updates
Not much else to report, honestly. We just got our keys to the new house today and our moving truck comes Thursday. This weekend was spent in a flurry of packing; my mom packed the kitchen so hard we don't have anything to cook on, and no utensils to eat with (she remedied this by bringing us different utensils in a tupperware, and I am grateful for her thoroughness lol).
Work has been pretty full-on, but I've got The Mage's Mistake on the back burner and am waiting for a chance to revisit it. One of the ways I plan to make this happen is by participating in Before You Hit Send hosted by editor Angela James, as well as a 30 Day Re-Discover Your Writing Mojo Challenge in my online writer's group that starts in May. I just need a little outside pressure to give writing some time in my day again, and I'm hoping these two things will get me there.
How are you doing? Languishing? Surviving? Staying afloat? Watched any good shows or read any good books recently? Tell me about them.
Elinor