Waking Up in the Land of Glitter
WAKING UP IN THE LAND OF GLITTER
“Every word in this fun read sparkles. I woke up in the land of happy reading!”
—Debbie Macomber, #1
New York Times
bestselling author of
One Simple Act
“A fun read about stumbling into love, honoring friendship, and celebrating the power of craft. Full of good cheer!”
—Kate Jacobs,
New York Times
bestselling author of
The Friday Night Knitting Club
“Kathy Cano-Murillo is an amazing storyteller—her narrative is as bejeweled as her crafty creations!”
—Alberto Ferreras, author of
B as in Beauty
“Who knew that glitter really does make the world a better place? Kathy’s book is creative, inspirational, and empowering.
I couldn’t put it down!”
—Terri O, TV personality, spokesperson, and craft expert
“Kathy’s novel dazzles! WAKING UP IN THE LAND OF GLITTER weaves a story of friendship, trust, and self-discovery. Whether
you’re a painter, crocheter, sewer, or have nary the crafty bone in your body, you’ll leave this book with the feeling that
creativity is key, but love conquers all! A must-read for crafty women of all generations!”
—Vickie Howell, host of DIY Network’s
Knitty Gritty
and author of
Pop Goes Crochet
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are
used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2010 by Kathy Cano-Murillo
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced,
distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written
permission of the publisher.
Grand Central Publishing
Hachette Book Group
237 Park Avenue
New York, NY 10017
Visit our website at
www.HachetteBookGroup.com
www.twitter.com/grandcentralpub
First eBook Edition: March 2010
Grand Central Publishing is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
The Grand Central Publishing name and logo is a trademark of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
ISBN: 978-0-446-55889-1
Contents
Grow a Glittered Cactus Garden!
Hey there all you future craftistas!
The first dedication of this book is for my husband, Patrick Murillo. If it were not for him, I never would have had the courage
to come out of the closet as a wannabe artist so many years ago. Seeing potential I could not, he coaxed me into decorating
a blank wood box with paint pens, glitter, feathers, and Mexican imagery. Little did we know that action would set our future
in motion!
The second dedication is to all the creative individuals out there who have a vision to do something great. Whether it is
on a public or private scale, I hope the characters in this book will inspire you to reach your goals. Remember—no idea is
too big or too crazy!
The third dedication is to my parents, David and Norma Cano. Thank you for blessing me with your artful spirit and extreme
tenacity so I could fulfill my dream of writing and sharing this book!
And last, to Ellen DeGeneres, self-proclaimed disliker of glitter. May she see that there is a type of sparkle for every personality,
and that waking up in the land of glitter can be a good thing!
H
ello, Arizona! Crafty Chloe Chavez here—braving the heat in front of La Pachanga Eatery with your weather update! It’s already
ninety-eight degrees on this otherwise lovely Phoenix August morning, and it is time to break out the ice cubes, because we’ll
hit one hundred and ten by this afternoon! Coming up after the break—why was this beloved local business a target of vicious
vandals?”
“Um, you can’t go on live TV with blood on your arm; our viewers are eating breakfast,” the cameraman said, nodding at Star’s
elbow as he hoisted his equipment up on his shoulder.
“Crap!” Star whispered before she licked her finger and scrubbed off the stain. “I wish it
was
blood,” she mumbled, while standing in the parking lot of her parents’ restaurant.
“Ah, don’t be so nervous. You’ll do fine,” he said.
“I’m far from fine this morning, but I’ll deal. And for the record, it’s not blood, just a smidge of spray paint.”
“Spray paint?” he repeated, his attention piqued.
“Hey!” Star chirped. “Speaking of blood, by any chance, do you knit?”
Star set aside the current troubles on her mind to enthusiastically explain the blood-to-knitting transition. “See, I’ve been
working on this high-impact art project—the Victims of Violence blanket. It is dedicated to those who have been wrongly hurt
all across the world. I want to get as many people as possible to help create a ginormous knitted blanket to represent our
unified offerings of comfort and warmth. I feel that if we all just came together in the name of peace and love—”
“I don’t knit,” he deadpanned, cutting off her passionate plea. “You’re live in less than three minutes.”
Star shoved her arm into her limited-edition Tokidoki messenger bag that was slung across her chest and fished for her cherry
lipstick. “It’s totally cool if you don’t know how,” she said as she retrieved it. She whisked the color across her mouth,
and then wiped the sweat from her neck with her other hand. “It’s not about technique or even knitting itself. It’s about
the intention. Each stitch is original and represents that person’s energy. That’s what makes it
art
. Art that
matters
. Not silly crafts that Crafty Chloe does. The Victims of Violence Blanket project could change the world.”
“We’re outside, sweating like pigs in a sauna, and you’re talking about knitting? At least it’s for a good cause. Almost done?”
“Actually… I haven’t started. I don’t know how to knit either. I’m more of a visionary type.” She raised a fist, shrugged,
and grinned. “But I have hope! All I need is to find the right person to partner with, and I’m on my way!”
Star mentally congratulated herself for being so perky and positive, despite her current off-color condition, which consisted
of a guilt-ridden hangover and eighty-seven minutes of half sleep. Who was she kidding? Every time someone cornered her, she
changed the subject to an endearing topic. It served as her cutesy defense mechanism.
The cameraman didn’t find her cute. He appeared as if he wished he had taken the evening shift, where they cover stories like
trials, riots, murders, and football games—or any combination thereof.
“Live in one minute. Can you harness that hair?” he barked. “Chavez is territorial about her screen time, and your head’ll
take up more than half the shot.”
“Sure. Hey, has anyone ever told you that you look like that actor Ving Rhames?”
He ignored her.
Rude!
Star thought. That was a compliment. Ving Rhames rocked. Hello,
Pulp Fiction
? Even if this man knew how to knit, she didn’t want his grumpy vibes woven into her blanket. She grabbed a stray lock that
hung over her face and used it to tie back her curly mane, which hadn’t been tamed since the day before.
Meanwhile, a concerned crowd gathered in the parking lot to witness the damage to the property. Star looked at them and bowed
her head. “Oh God, this is really, truly happening.” Suddenly the magnitude of last night’s crime sank into her gut and, even
worse, her conscience. She bit her lip, looked to the sky, and chanted a power prayer seconds before she would lie to thousands
of TV viewers across Arizona.
Star kept her knees in locked position as she stood in front of La Pachanga, Phoenix’s most-famed Mexican restaurant, adored
by art enthusiasts, culture hounds, visiting celebrities, and wealthy folks in Hummers looking for a dash of instant culture.
Chloe’s chubby red-haired assistant powdered the reporter’s satiny cheeks. She then whipped out a toothbrush, spritzed it
with hairspray, and used it to smooth the cone-shaped crown of the reporter’s stick-straight frosty blond hair. She then gave
her shoulder-length tresses a heavy coat of spray.
The Arizona sun was beyond hard-core. Star had lived in Phoenix all her life and still couldn’t adjust to the summer temperatures,
which included driver’s arm sunburn and the melting of sentimental mementos—most recently a memory stick with all her favorite
French pop songs. She inspected Crafty Chloe’s flawless appearance and wondered how, even without the touch-up, she could
look so fresh in a long-sleeved suit standing in direct sunlight. There wasn’t a drop of sweat on her, whereas Star could
feel her own T-shirt damp on her back. Then again, Crafty Chloe wasn’t the one in the karmic hot seat.
Chloe stepped next to Star and gave her a courtesy smile, trailed by a horrified sneer at her hair. Star bypassed the visual
insult and gulped back tears of shame as Chloe began the interview.
“It’s a sad day for Phoenix’s art community,” Chloe stated, somber, as if she were covering war in the Middle East. “In the
darkness of the night, vandals ruined the award-winning mosaic mural here at La Pachanga Eatery—with, of all things, spray-painted
happy faces. Local artist Theo Duarte garnered national attention when he created an ornate replica of the Sonoran desert.
Using only pebbles and river rocks from Arizona locations, the neighborhood-funded project that took more than a year to complete
was heartlessly defaced in one night.”
Star’s head throbbed, cottonmouth set in, and she became dizzy. She focused on a tan Chihuahua across the street, joyously
lapping water from a lawn sprinkler. She wished she could be that dog right now.
“I have with me Star Esteban, daughter of La Pachanga’s owners,” Chloe announced to the viewers of
Wake Up Arizona
. “You look absolutely devastated, Star. What does your family make of this atrocity?” Chloe scrunched her brows together
as all dedicated reporters do. She shoved the cordless handheld mic to Star’s mouth.
Estrella “Star” Esteban considered herself a worldly girl. But this morning, no goddess, saint, healer, shaman, or even Nana
Esteban in heaven could repair the anarchy she had ignited last night. Star cleared her throat, knowing her disappointed parents
watched from home. Even worse, Theo had just walked up and stood a few feet away, his art-repair caddy in tow. Several patrons
patted him on the back to show their sympathy. He shook their hands and graciously thanked them. Theo must have sensed Star’s
pain because he offered her a smile and two thumbs-up for support. Poor guy had no idea about the knife sticking out of his
back.
Like a pirate on the edge of a plank, Star prepared for the death plunge. She gripped the bottom of her glittered el Corazón
shirt, inhaled, and went for it.
“No, Chloe. Unfortunately we have no idea who would have committed such a cruel act. It’s such a horrible shame,” Star replied
with so much false confidence, she almost believed her own lie. “But we are a loving family, and we’ll get through it. Regardless,
our award-winning menudo is still just one dollar a bowl until noon!”
Chloe paused and tilted her head, confused, then went on.
“As you can see, the crime hasn’t even sunk in yet to this emotionally exhausted girl,” Chloe said, yanking the microphone
away. She appeared irritated by the spontaneous sales plug, though she attempted to cover it with her fake local-TV-reporter
sympathy.
“Star, there must be a surveillance tape that shows the perpetrators in action. On behalf of the artist of the mural, the
community, and La Pachanga Eatery, of course, you will prosecute, correct?”