Status

Is your furniture plotting against you?

Disclaimer: Everything stated below is in relation to *most* jobs. Of course, if you’re in any industry focused on beauty or fashion, this will not apply to you.

 

Hello, Precious Readers!

 

Thank you to everyone who participated or visited the Night Owl Reviews Spring Fling Scavenger Hunt this year. It was a joy to be a part of it, and I’ve already been notified of the winners. I hope you were one of them!

 

Yesterday, I came across an article suggesting that modern-day office design is subtly sexist. I won’t go into details, you can read the article for yourselves. If you’re a longtime blog follower, you know that I used to be a massive workaholic. The stereotypical office drone commuting for long hours, sitting at a desk, and staring at a computer. As a writer, I still do this, but it’s a desk space of my choosing (my home), and I’m surrounded by things and style that bring me peace of mind, not what an architect and interior designer decided that I needed in my life.

 

Also, I’m old enough to remember the days when cubicles were first popularized and ceiling-to-floor length walls separated each individual by those fuzzy, gray, sound softening panels. After a few decades of this style, scientists decided that the top-to-bottom walls were unhealthy for humans by causing isolation, depression, and other physical and mental illnesses. Thus, a new era was born: the day the walls came down.

 

Those in the current workforce or just entering are probably more familiar with employees working in spaces where cubicle walls barely reach the average-height-adult’s sitting position shoulder height, if there are walls at all. Desks are also “open concept” providing a reduction in “visual noise,” often with table legs instead of solid panels covering the person from the waist down. There are no longer walls or dividers, but open glass to provide as much natural light as possible and a transparent view to encourage accountability and teamwork.

office

 

While I don’t fully agree with the article regarding women feeling the need to make additional effort beyond their normal routine, I will point out that open concept does not necessarily keep women’s needs in mind.

 

The article made me think back on how I would dress myself. I dressed according to the general office policies, but didn’t make any additional effort with hair and makeup unless I felt like it. I spent most of my life as a tomboy, so if someone didn’t think it was “feminine” enough for me to not style my hair or wear makeup, tough cookies for them. If someone judged me on it — that’s creating a hostile environment. If someone is judging me on my looks to meet the judging person’s idea of “attractiveness” — that’s sexual harassment. I have confidence enough in myself to know that my looks are no one else’s concern except mine. If someone is using my looks against me and stifling my career because I’m not “feminine” or “pretty enough” — that’s sexism.

 

For anyone judged based on someone else’s opinion about your looks and/or are being rated by someone else’s idea of an idiotic scale of “attractiveness,” I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have to put up with that. AT ALL.

 

Having said that, I’ve worked several different styles of jobs, which came with several different styles of environments. This includes the “open concept” desk space. As a woman, society is *crawling* into the 21st Century where our needs are actually thought of in a respected and conscientious manner as human beings, but we have a looong way to go. Once in a while I like to wear skirts, whether long or short. However, whenever I leave my home and I’m wearing a shorter skirt, I have to think if my legs will be covered by the furniture or not. I am not a thin person. It is highly uncomfortable to cross my legs. Doctors have proven that crossing your legs is bad for your posture, your hip and knee alignment, and can cause long-term back problems. I tend to cross my ankles, but doing that for long periods of time (say ~6.5 hours of actual desk time excluding lunches and times to get up and go to other areas and walking) is also highly uncomfortable. This also doesn’t negate the fact that if a skirt’s hem is anywhere close to your knee-length, or shorter, if there isn’t enough fabric to politely tuck between our knees, we run the risk of accidentally flashing our underthings to people. Does this make sense to you? For women to be considered “feminine” we should wear dresses or skirts, but skirts don’t always function to allow women to sit comfortably? This has never made sense to me. Probably why I mostly stick to pants.

 

I have a secret for anyone who has never worn a dress or skirt before: women like to sit without having to cross our legs! There’s also the issue of “manspreading” on seats, but that’s a different discussion: In short, please don’t “manspread” on public transportation or spaces. It’s rude, disgusting, and completely encroaching on personal bubbles. If it’s a public space, that means it’s PUBLIC and the space DOES NOT BELONG TO YOU. Women’s personal space is a HUMAN RIGHT, not a privilege for someone else to take away. It is not for anyone else to decide where that boundary line is except for that individual woman.

 

A simple “love shout out” to any restaurant or office space that actually covers a person from the waist down either by long-length tablecloths or desk design, respectfully. I love you. Thank you.

 

Long before reading the article, I binge-watched seasons of Cupcake Wars* on Hulu* and remember thinking how badly I felt for the female judges for the show. Being on TV, the host and judges must look flawless (and do! You’re fabulous!), but that often includes being up-to-date on fashion. Add in the judges table does not have a front panel, and I sadly empathized episode after episode, season after season, with the female judges. Realizing for a majority of the show, the women are dressed in dresses and skirts at, or slightly above, the knee. While the men sit comfortably with their feet at hip-width, their shoes resting on the floor or bar stool shoe ledge (not quite sure what that’s called, but I hope you understand what I’m talking about), the ladies either sit with their legs crossed the entire time or perch on the edge of their seat at an angle to keep their waist from the camera’s (and America’s) view.

table

 

The show is only 22 minutes long of air time, but if you think about the actual amount of time spent on that set for each episode: filming time, the prep for each round, the length of each actual round (some are 2 hours), cleanup after each round, the judges deliberation time, etc. That’s a FULL DAY. I imagine easily OVER 12 HOURS OF SITTING ON THAT CHAIR. With your legs crossed. Hoping you don’t have a “paparazzi” moment on (inter)national television.

 

Does that sound comfortable to you? Not to me. My back, hips, and knees ache at the thought of it.

 

I wear pants and shorts so I can be comfortable. Not to please anyone else. I wear skirts and dresses to please myself if I feel like wearing one. Not to please anyone else. However, watching these women try to emulate being comfortable while constantly wondering if their underwear is flashed on camera, all I could think of were times I dressed and fretted over what I was wearing — if my destination would be skirt/dress friendly… if I should even bother wearing a skirt or dress so I didn’t have to deal with that headache.

 

One part of the article that I found rang true was the idea of privacy. In an open office plan, if you need to make a private phone call, there is no reprieve. You often have to leave the building. My last corporate job, they had the right idea, and I’m grateful for it. While they believed in an open floor plan, they had created one-person, door-closing, private “pods.” These were workspaces if an employee needed to conference call or do virtual training with clients. Although it was created with the intention of eliminating background noise during training, it also allowed a temporary private space to talk without the background sounds of, “Whoo! Did you catch the Seahawks last night!” or “Did you hear about X lately?” or “Who took my lunch from the refrigerator? It had my name on it!” It had a second benefit of, if an employee was caring for dependents and received an unexpected call from their dependent, they could take the call quickly without divulging their personal and private information to the whole office.

 

 

Overall, I want you to know that I like open-concept offices. I think they inspire creativity, collaboration, teamwork, and provides a bright work environment. However, if you plan to have this design, it is critical to have a few “office pods” available for people. Make the desks have a front panel for privacy and comfort for your employees (if they want it). Also, in an ideal world, people wouldn’t be judged on their looks for their careers. Don’t get me wrong: I do believe in a required level of personal hygiene and gender neutral dress codes that apply to everyone.

 

*Not a sponsor.

Status

Do I have something on my face? Oh wait, it’s just me.

facing life

It’s Friday, Precious Readers!

I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am about that. For those who follow me on Facebook and are a part of my Facebook Group: Katherine Bacher’s Happy Hour (hint hint), you may already know that this has been a week from the seventh circle of hell.

After weeks of (not) adjusting to our new neighbors’ schedule, we are pretty much sure our new neighbors are drug dealers and/or gang members. For longtime followers of this blog, you will know that often, the life of an author is not glamorous or even lucrative. We write because we love to do it. It’s not for the money or the fame. I write because it’s what I was born to do. I would write even if I was never published. (I’ve written this blog for over 5 years, so what does that tell you?) However, due to not having achieved 100% world domination, I still live in an apartment in a ghetto area of Washington State. This includes dealing with people who choose to make less lawful-based career decisions. Due to my neighbors’ nocturnal and nefarious activities, my husband Pilot and I have not had a good night’s sleep in several weeks.

To help report this activity to local police and to our landlord, my husband setup a camera to take photographs every 5 seconds. The video footage was quite astounding, showing over 10 cars coming by and being met by our neighbors (after 11:50 pm, mind you) within the first few minutes of footage (first full 10 minutes of recording.) This continued on from 11:50 pm well into the wee hours of Monday morning at 5:30 am. I wish I was kidding, but my lack of Z’s is proof otherwise. An unexpected result of recording through the night added to our stress: my car was broken into on Monday morning around 3:30 am. On the plus side, the perpetrator got The Cranberry’s door unlocked and partway open instead of busting the window open. Which happened last year. And, several other times to both Pilot and I before. Between both Pilot’s and my vehicle combined, this will be the 6th time our cars has been broken into while living in this apartment complex.

To add insult to injury, that same Monday, Pilot’s car battery died in the middle of the day. He managed to get it charged, but it died again around 5:30pm Monday, requiring meeting him at his stranded location, dealing with tow trucks, and dropping the hunk of metal with a mechanic. It is still currently at the mechanic’s, who informed us his vehicle, War Machine, needs a new alternator and an entire new electrical system. So there’s that.

This can take a toll on a person’s sanity. Operating on 1 vehicle is difficult for two workaholics like Pilot and myself, but the morning commute has been filled with quiet laughter together while both of us trying not to take our frustration with life out on each other.

One thing that has gone by the wayside is my personal self-care. While I still have several things to follow-up with (the mechanic, the local police, our landlord, and now attempting to find a new place to live as we consider vacating the apartment we’ve called “home” for the last 8 years and our entire marriage), I plan to make time for some rest and rejuvenation this weekend.

Speaking of rejuvenation, I take the time to fill out surveys, in Hopes of products suited to me will fill the shelves. Plus, it’s a great time passer.

I was asked to take a survey today about facial skin care. The survey did not provide a progress bar (which annoys the heck out of me), and ended up being more in-depth and scientific about the product itself rather than just “do you like label A or B?” The experience ended up making me face a mental mirror about a deeply rooted insecurity and fear that I was unaware of floating around in my psyche.

While filling out this survey, a sense of dread bloomed into a dark, gray cloud that hovered over my head for a good half hour after completing it.

welcome to your face

Those nearest and dearest to me know that I have an above-average concern regarding sun exposure. Living in the Pacific Northwest means that sun exposure is limited compared to other parts of the country, but it can actually be more dangerous for PNW dwellers than your average Californian. So many of our days are gray and overcast that many in the PNW do not wear sunblock leading to spots, advanced skin aging, and the looming skin cancer. I don’t know if it’s in my Asian DNA or mental paranoia, but I fight the sun like a mother f-ing heavyweight champion. (Insert favorite fat joke here, says fat blogger.) Although I don’t wear sunblock everyday (longtime readers know I am not a morning person), I do my best to wear it when I know I will be outside for extended periods of time. I’m better at keeping my arms covered, I wear my Bubble Run hat or travel (crush-able) visor, and weirdo that I am, I wear driving gloves to keep my hands sort-of youthful looking (thanks to a lovely requested Christmas gift from my Mom. Thanks Mom!). I tend to splurge on facial products and nail products. This includes night creams and daily moisturizer with SPF. I have a gentle scrub face wash, toner, moisturizer, and a night cream.

This concern did not appear once I hit adulthood. In fact, when I was in elementary school, I was often getting in trouble with the summer day camp teachers for taking too long putting on sunblock before going outside to play. I would use the mirror in the playhouse area to make sure I covered my ears, got the back of my neck and shoulders, etc. Yes, even as young as eight years old, I was concerned about sun exposure and skin care. This is not due to me burning. In my youth, I tanned mostly, probably due to the huge amounts of sunblock I was using. I didn’t get my first sunburn until I was about 19 years old during an unfortunate misunderstanding of how long we would be on Boeing Field for an airshow during the first year of Pilot and I dating.

However, that’s not what I wanted to talk about with you. While answering questions such as Do you look for anti-aging features? or the ever popular women’s questions about concerns over eye sagging and wrinkling, I was confronted with what was my actual fear? Yes, of course, no one wants skin cancer, but this was more than that. I asked myself why I was so concerned about aging beyond my irrational thanatophobia.

Here was my revelation:

I have no idea what I will look like as I age.

I can hear you thinking right now: What the heck is she talking about? None of us know what we’re going to look like as we get older.

Here’s my rebuttal: Actually, yes, most of you do.

(Most of) You have family members you can reference where you got your looks from. Perhaps you’re a “Mini Me” of your parents. Maybe your family’s DNA caused looks to skip a generation and you look like your great grandparents. It could be a situation where you look more like your extended family. My husband is the youngest of three children in his family. My husband looks the most like his father in height, stretched build, and facial features, except he has his mother’s eyes and hair color. His sister has their dad’s height, but looks the most like their mother. Pilot’s brother doesn’t look like either of his siblings, is the shortest of the three (while still tall), has a slightly stockier build that comes from their mother’s side of the family, darker hair, and in looks he is almost a twin of one of their first cousins.

Maybe you have your uncle’s nose and your grandparent’s build. Maybe you have your mother’s eyes and your father’s ears.

For me, this is what I know about myself:
I’m Korean.

That’s ALL I know, and whether that’s 100% Korean is yet to be determined.

I don’t know if I look like my biological father. I don’t know if I look like my biological mother. I don’t know if looks skipped a generation and I look like one or a combination of my grandparents. The unknown is scary. There’s probably some additional tie ins with my Type-A personality about “control issues” due to so much uncertainty in my infantile year(s) and lack of control over the future of my body, but I don’t feel like opening that Pandora’s box anytime soon.

This is going to sound weird, but sometimes I forget that I am Asian. The world sees me as such, but to me, I grew up as a suburban, “white” American, of German descent. Sometimes I’m actually still surprised when I look in the mirror and I see a change in my face. This was exceptionally confusing when I was just hitting puberty as a teen, watching my small, cherubic face lengthen, my height extend, etc. I had nothing to reference from. Every change was a surprise and I had no frame of reference while experiencing it.

About a year ago, I noticed a brown speck near the base of my palm, smaller than the head of a pin. I thought it was a piece of dirt and proceeded to flick it off.

It didn’t.

I realized it was a brown spot that had appeared on my skin and IT WAS PERMANENT.

While this wasn’t earth-shattering news, or a symbol of something more unhealthy going on, it was a realization that I am well into my 30’s and not getting any younger, and that if I wanted my face to be even close to resembling what I know it to be in this moment in time, I needed to up my game from daily SPF moisturizer and face washing. (Hence the night cream(s).)

All I know about Asian aging is that we age slower than some other ethnicities, but we also have delicate skin. I have the hooded (flat) eyelid, so my eyelids may be prone to drooping as time goes on. I may develop jowls and end up looking like a Korean Winston Churchill. Maybe I’ll develop osteoporosis, which is more prevalent in aging Asians than other races, or shrink down an entire foot as I age. I’ve already lost some hair on the top of my head near my forehead. To be fair, I think that was resulting of a medical condition that is now more under control… but it hasn’t grown back.

Most people who are 60+ years in age say that they sometimes don’t recognize the person in the mirror facing back at them. I can genuinely say that the person I meet in 30 years will most likely be a complete stranger to me unless I do my best preventive and maintenance methods, that I can afford to do, right now.

It was one of those psychological jabs poking insecurity into my brain, causing a moment of that loneliness that reveals itself to me from time-to-time, making me feel different than my family, different from my friends, different from my own celebrated German-American heritage. I experience the following jabs:

  • I’m a phony
  • I don’t belong with my family
  • I’m not a “real” Asian
  • I’m not a “real” American
  • I’m not a “real” anything
  • I don’t deserve to celebrate my American and German roots

Another thing that pops into my brain, as a woman, I have no idea what my children would look like. If I had married an Asian man, I would be able to say my children will look Asian and most won’t question that they’re my or my husband’s kids.

Even though it’s 2018, there are still many who frown upon interracial marriage. White supremacy gangs are the leading type of gang activity in Washington State, and despite living on the coastal side of it, there are still areas where Pilot and I will encounter hate and/or racism merely for looking the way that I do. It’s rare, and the situations are few and far between, but they do happen.

I have, what I feel is, a legitimate fear that if Pilot and I were to have children, chances are they’re going to look mostly Asian instead of Caucasian. Based on other Asian/Caucasian couples that I know and have met who have children, their kids tend to take on more Asian features than their Caucasian parent counterparts. (The Asian genes are incredibly strong.) I fear that if Pilot and I were to have children, and he’s watching them by himself, that someone will call CPS on them fearing he’s kidnapping them. Or that a stranger will make a comment that may hurt my husband and/or those children because of ignorance, hate, or a misunderstanding. I don’t look forward to those questions, potential tears, and conversations of having to explain human stupidity to a child in a way that they understand and doesn’t hurt them further.

My parents had to give me a lot of educational and grown up discussions about adoption, racism, what it means to be a family, parenting, the parent-child dynamic, etc., probably far more discussions than the average family about us: What could/could not be said at home versus in public, how to act when meeting people for the first time as a family, how to make sure that I am always making that extra effort to make sure that I keep the offender comfortable after they’ve insulted me, my intelligence, my race, my assumed heritage, my actual heritage, and whatnot. I never remember them offhand, but something will trigger one — a comment someone said, witnessing institutional racism, seeing a parent of interracial children get questioned, etc. and I remember a certain “family meeting” I had shared with my parents for whatever ridiculous screwed up thing had happened that day in my childhood. I do have hope that maybe the world will change into a less racially charged place where it’s not assumed that children of a different appear race to the adult means that the kids were “rescued” or “kidnapped,” depending on how the offender is feeling that day.

I had no idea that a survey about face cream would stir up all several emotions that I haven’t felt in… well, frankly, in almost twenty years. I suppose I could look at it from a different perspective: I get to meet someone new in the mirror about every 10 years who likes and hates all of the same stuff that I do. If Pilot and I were to have kids, maybe they’ll take on features of both him and I so I won’t have to try to guess who they look like.

Probably a bit heavier for a Friday post, but why not throw out an existential question for the weekend? While War Machine is in the shop and Pilot uses my car, The Cranberry to meet with clients for work, maybe I’ll spend a nice quiet Saturday using one of those home facial masks.

TGIF everyone!
– KB

Status

Why do newsletters have to be so awesome all of the time? (a.k.a. Doughnut guilt.)

cgd

Hello Precious Readers,

For the past week, sweet hubby of mine, Pilot and I continue our clutter war and purge, purge, purged bags and boxes of items donated or properly disposed of if deemed unusable by another living creature on the face of the planet. Happy note: we are winning the clutter war. We’re 65% there and moving closer to 100% clutter-free each day. It’s been refreshing, liberating, and getting us closer to magazine-perfection clean of our apartment. I’m not talking about an hour here or there. No, not at all. I’m talking, the moment I reach home, I’m cleaning for 5 hours straight with a 20-minute break somewhere within that time to eat a small microwaved dinner from my freezer of leftovers.

This has replaced my scheduled home workout time, as I usually budget 1 hour of active, challenging exercise every other day. Hardcore cleaning includes the bending, lifting, throwing, moving, walking, running, etc. for hours straight.

However…

I haven’t been health-minded the last 48 hours. Yesterday afternoon I spent time at a local coffee and doughnut shop with my friend, Caring* to enjoy a lovely almond and sour cherry doughnut with a soy americano, and catch up time with a bestie. The doughnut was smooth, pillow-soft, delicate, sweet, and every bite was heaven. The conversation flowed inside the shop while a Seattle rainstorm wreaked havoc on the world outside. Perfect afternoon.

Today, someone brought in doughnuts to the office.

I resisted.

Passing the plate 3 times, I didn’t touch them and resisted.

For crying out loud, I’d had a doughnut yesterday. I don’t eat them on the regular. I get them about 3 times a year as a treat for Pilot and I, but we aren’t regular sweet pastry eaters as we’ve been trying to go healthier each year making small, incremental lifestyle improvements so they stick. And they have, until today.

In the office hallway, in the background, the sound of voices wafted from the staff kitchen. A coworker ask another if he would eat one of the two doughnuts left on the plate. The other responded in kind saying he had already eaten THREE. (I had not had a single one.)

I couldn’t just leave those poor doughnuts all alone, could I? I took ONE doughnut. a simple doughnut with light chocolate frosting on top.  I didn’t even eat it right away. I momentarily stared at it sitting on the little paper towel, then let it sit at my desk for a good forty-five minutes.

The place I work at has a weekly newsletter with information going on across the board in all departments and levels. Some are feature articles, some are business-focused. Some articles are meant for full entertainment.

I waited…

waited…

waited…

and after doing a quick scan through the newsletter, I zipped through most of the articles reading them briefly, the headlines flashing across my screen. Then midway through the newsletter, I paused and glanced at the sugary goodness to my left.

There, the doughnut sat.

Innocent. Quiet. Haunting. Mesmerizing.

Daring me to eat it.

I could resist no longer.

I had been so good nutritionally and exercise-wise. Forty-five minutes after it had been resting at my desk, I gave in. I FINALLY tried a bite of the doughnut.

Mid-bite, the flavor of the cloyingly sweet treat filling my senses, my eyes lifted towards the blue-light glowing monitor of my computer and BAM! I was hit with the headline of the next article:

“Eat Healthy to Live Longer.”

WHY, OH FREAKING WHY does the weekly newsletter have to be SO helpful, thorough, engaging, entertaining, and completely and utterly guilt-inducing?

<Shakes rage-filled fist into the air, in “Khaaaaan!”-like manner.>

That is all. Happy Friday.

– KB

Status

Celebrating with my favorite snack!

Hello, Precious Readers!

It’s January, which means it’s the beginning of a new year. New Year’s Eve was fairly quiet in our home, not counting the fireworks that were set off throughout the neighborhood. To me, January not only signifies a new start, but also a time of reflection over the last year. In harmony with the season, I completed my third book, Missing You and it’s with my editor.

Sending off my book is a bittersweet sentiment. It is the last book of my current contract with Trifecta Publishing House and wraps up my character, Roxy Summers’ storyline… for now. I promise that I have several more ideas brewing, but I need to recuperate from this one.

After completing any project, as an introvert I always need recovery time. To close friends and family, I’ve already received the question, “Okay, you’ve finished Book 3. So what’s happening in Book 4?” Perhaps other authors go through this (at least I hope so!): My brain goes through a “creativity divot.” Imagine having worked for 24 hours straight, and then asked to drive a car across the country without sleep. That’s where my brain is. The larger the project, the longer the recovery time. I have a cup of creativity in my mind, and after it’s been used it needs time to refill.

Writers, we’re a strange bunch. We’re never fully satisfied with our writing. Ever. Maybe we weren’t has happy with a character or scene we’ve written, or maybe our project had typos for which we smack our heads against the surface of our desks afterward, or maybe we had to remove a character from the story, no matter how much we loved them. After a book has been submitted and/or released to the public, we’re constantly wringing our hands to know if it’s good enough, was the cover a good choice, were we able to convey the story in a way that not only matches what we envisioned, but communicated it in a way that is easily understood by the masses? This is no small feat. No matter which of these, or all of the above (and most often, more), have occurred, it’s important for a writer to take breaks to celebrate the little victories.

Otherwise, we’d go crazy.

This brings me to the topic of the day. Today is January 19th, which means it’s National Popcorn Day! Popcorn is my absolute favorite snack. I’m not talking about the chemical filled-quick fix-microwave stuff.

No, no way.

I’m talking about: fresh, fluffy, crunchy, tender air-popped clouds of savory deliciousness. There are many varieties of corn that affect the final shape of each popcorn kernel, and I like my popcorn puffy and round, known as “mushroom” popcorn. Most people use “snowflake” popcorn, which looks like a firework in the sky.

popcorndotorg popcorn shape

Image from Popcorn.org

This might seem blasphemous to other popcorn purists, but I don’t like butter on my popcorn. I don’t like soggy bits, and no matter how carefully one can drizzle, there’s always a soggy kernel. I prefer to air pop my crunchy bits, half of the time I eat it plain. No butter. No salt.

If I’m feeling frisky or needing a bit of kick-you-in-the-face flavor, I’ll add a light-to-no-flavored cooking oil (avocado oil and grape seed oil are fantastic on it!), and add seasoning flavors to it.

I’d like to share some of my special popcorn flavor go-to’s with you. That’s how much I love you.

(The following is in no particular order of preference.)

  • Brewer’s/Nutritional Yeast. Loved by vegans everywhere, it provides a cheese-like flavor, without the fat, calories, or dairy products. We get ours at our local grocery store in the bulk food items area. I also use Nutritional Yeast in several other recipes. Using Nutritional Yeast helps me with my cheese-loving addiction without the guilt.
  • My own personal blend. I don’t have an exact recipe for this one. As mentioned in previous blog posts, Mom and Dad grew up on good ol’ American farms. My mom learned comfort food cooking from her mother, and so on. We rarely used recipes, and recipes were typically for baking not cooking. For cooking, we measured with our hands and our eyeballs. If you want my personal recipe, grab your favorite storage container and shake together the following:
    • 1 part Nutritional Yeast: The amount used is what you’ll compare all other seasonings to.
    • 1/4 part Cumin
    • Large dash of Smoked Paprika (splurge on good stuff, if you can. It’s one of my few splurges. I love a good smoked paprika!)
    • Optional: A dash of Cayenne Pepper to taste
    • A dash of pepper
    • Optional: A light dash of Salt
  • Sometimes I’ll flavor the oil itself.
    • Make fresh
    • Wash and pat dry fresh rosemary stalks
    • Simmer gently in your favorite cooking oil to infuse the rosemary flavor for ~10 mins
    • Drizzle flavored oil over your popcorn
    • Sprinkle parmesan to your personal taste
  • Furikake. No, this isn’t a bad word. Furikake is a general term for Japanese “rice seasoning.” There are several varieties of flavors, but I stick with ones that focus on seaweed being broken up into tiny flakes. Sometimes this is referred to as “Hurricane Popcorn” stemming from the State of Hawaii. I prefer to use a light touch of oil instead of butter. Multiple varieties of furikake can be found at most local Asian food markets. If you haven’t tried it on plain rice, you’re sooo missing out!
  • Ranch Popcorn. I haven’t tried this recipe yet. I hope to soon. I have no comments if this will be good or not. If you try it, let me know what you think!

Although Missing You is not yet 100% done, the story is complete and it’s with my editor. There will be a few more rounds of editing before it’s sent off to the printer, but for now, I’m going to kick back with some of my favorite go-to snack, letting both my stomach and mind be refilled.

Love, and love of popcorn, to you all!
– KB

Haven’t read the Roxy Summers Mystery SeriesYou have time to catch up!
Start with Capture Me and meet Roxy in a case of cat-and-mouse for a grand Seattle adventure! Then, travel with Roxy to sunny Los Angeles for a food competition to die for in her sequel novel, Crush On You! Roxy’s third book, Missing You releases in June 2018. Keep an eye out on my bookshelf page for pre-order links closer to the release date!

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Get your copies today!
Katherine Bacher on Amazon
Katherine Bacher on Barnes and Noble
Katherine Bacher on other platforms:

Capture Me (click here)
Crush On You (click here)

Status

Breaking News: Katherine Bacher is an Amazon Best Selling Author!

A lifetime of scraping.

Countless sleepless nights.

Thousands of hours of hard work.

A dream come true.

——EDIT——

My publisher messaged me as of 10/27/2017 at 7:00am (PST). They sent me the below image. I am #1 in the Clean and Wholesome Romance category. I am OFFICIALLY an Amazon Kindle #1 Best Selling Author!

——END OF EDIT——

As of 9:00pm (PST) today, I have accomplished a goal. As in, a top 3 life goal crossed off of my list. It’s a goal I never thought I would actually accomplish, but always dreamed about as a child. I made it onto a Best Seller list. Not just “made it,” but Capture Me made it into the TOP 5 of THREE Best Seller Lists. That’s right:

THREE.

For the first time in my life, I am officially a Best Selling Author. As of this evening, I made it onto THREE Amazon Kindle Best Seller Lists in ONE DAY! The best part of it all… I’m in the TOP 5 of each Best Seller List! How do I describe my emotions from today? I’ll write another blog post after I’ve recovered from the shock.

I am thankful to God for blessing me with this gift. That gift encompasses all of the following:

To my husband, Pilot, who has never doubted my abilities from Moment 1, even when I doubted myself. You gave me the confidence to try. I can never be more grateful to have you as a life partner than that gift you’ve given me for 15 years and counting. I love you with every fiber of my being. Thank you for letting me be your person, and thank you for being mine. I am so happy I get to share this with you.

To my Mom, who told me we were going out to dinner to celebrate mere seconds after sharing this news with her. Thank you for wiping all of my sniffles away as a kid, for all of the musicals and movies, and for all of the Winter Olympics with Cup o’ Noodles in hand.

To my Dad, I wish you were here to see it. I miss you every day. I hope wherever you are, you’re at peace and sharing in this moment with me.

To my friends who have supported me, provided a listening ear, given me caffeine, and ignored my tired zombie face.

To my family, they’re small words but have so much meaning behind them: Thank you.

Thank you to Trifecta Publishing House. You’re an amazing group of people. I learn something new every day from you.

Thank you to everyone who has purchased my books.

Thank you to everyone who has left me 5-Star Reviews.

Thank you to everyone who has laughed, cried, cringed, and cheered with each story.

To the following jerk-wads of my life:

  • To everyone who doubted me.
  • To everyone who told me “no” about pursuing an artistic field, saying I was following a “pipe dream” and to “enjoy being unemployed and homeless.”
  • To those who physically and emotionally bullied me.
  • To my racist director of the Pacific Northwest Children’s Choir. Even after auditioning with a combined sinus and ear infection, I still managed to perform well and was accepted to join. You made every day after that a living hell. You singled me out each practice to specifically remind me I was a worthless piece of garbage, and didn’t deserve anything good in life. I always thought it was me. That I wasn’t good enough. That it was for my friend would forget her music book and I’d lend her mine. You assumed I always forgot mine. I took the blame because I didn’t want her to experience the same wrath I received from you. Please know that I never forgot my music book. I was responsible. I was careful. I didn’t need it for choir practice anyway because I practiced at home every day after my six hours of homework for additional hours to be perfect for you. I hoped that my hard work would earn your respect. Not understanding that your blind hatred of me was a deeply rooted, rotted thing within your soul. I was 9 years old. Thank you for turning hard work and effort into a useless, fleeting goal. I’m now here to tell you: I am not worthless. Trying to earn the respect of a horrible human being is. Thank you for teaching me a lesson in not wasting my short time on this planet by filling my days with terrible people.
  • Those who broke my heart in either a romantic or platonic sense.
  • To anyone who has ever hurt me.

Thank you, daily life, menial tasks, and my regular day job. You keep me humble. Even after publishing this blog post, I will need to get to bed soon. For tomorrow, I will still have to wake up early, pack my sack lunch, commute to work, complete my tasks, pray my paycheck comes in on time since it will be the last Friday of the month and hope it will be valued at more than I think it will be, buy a pack of toilet paper on the way home, and take the pups on their afternoon walk.

The difference will be in that extra spark of light inside of my heart tomorrow, because a lifetime of hard work has finally paid off. This blog post is to officially tell you:

I did it.


CLICK HERE to get your copy of Capture Me (A Roxy Summers Mystery #1) on Amazon Kindle FREE from Oct. 26-30, 2017! It’s a BEST SELLER! Did you know?

CLICK HERE to get your copy of Crush On You (A Roxy Summers Mystery #2) on Amazon Kindle for the discounted price of only $1.99 from Oct. 26-30, 2017!

 

Status

CRUSH ON YOU Book Release Party – Aug. 21 @ 6:30pm (PST)! Win prizes, including a FREE KINDLE!

Attention, Precious Readers!
Attention, Precious Readers!

This is not a drill! It’s PARTY TIME!  Whoo hoo!

On August 21st, my second bookCapture Me, a Roxy Summers Mystery #2 releases out to the world in both print and e-book! I’m so excited to bring Roxy Summers‘ next adventure to you. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised at the twists in store for her.

To commemorate this auspicious occasion, Trifecta Publishing House will be hosting a Facebook Live Eventon August 21st, at 6:30pm (PST). I will be there LIVE to chat and host some online party games for you. All you have to do is comment and you’ll be automatically entered for some prizes that will be given away. One lucky winner will receive a FREE KINDLE! That’s right! A KINDLE! FOR FREE! 

What could be better? I have no idea! I’ve entered these contests before for other authors and have won free books this way. I haven’t won a Kindle yet, and I can’t win my own prizes, so your odds just got better!

I know that day is the eclipse, but keep in mind that if you’re on the road or away from home, you can keep tabs on the Facebook Event via your tablets and smartphones as well.

I look forward to seeing you and perhaps seeing some of my faithful blog readers win a prize!

You can access the Facebook Event here: http://bit.ly/2wbW3kl

My first book, Capture Me is available here: https://books2read.com/u/3nOO29
My second book, Crush On You is already available for pre-order in both print and e-book here: https://books2read.com/u/bapznQ

 

Lots of love,

KB

*Facebook is not a sponsor of the event and/or prize(s) distributed. Please do not contact Facebook for any prize(s) distribution you may incur. Please contact Trifecta Publishing House directly.