Where the What If Roams and The Moon Is by Esther Krivda Blog Tour

Today is my turn on the blog tour for "Where the What if Roams and The Moon Is" by Esther Krivda all stops on the tour offer different content so please check them out.





Can we just take a wee minute to look at this book cover, I LOVE it!








And I have ten things about Esther

Ten Things You Didn’t Know About Me
By Esther Krivda

Where the What If Roams and the Moon is Louis Armstrong


I take Singing Lessons.

If I were Queen, I’d paint the Roses Turquoise.

I walk around singing in my apartment. Or is it, I walk around my apartment singing? I should know that. (You do probably. Or is it, You probably do?)

I don’t sing that great.

I still sing.

I can sew. I have two projects that I plan to tackle. Any day. Skirts. One skirt is on its way from the newly formed Selkie Patterns. They call it their London skirt. They designed the pattern and the fabric. The fabric has Big Ben and a church (I think) on it. I’m waiting. And the other skirt I saw in a window when I was walking to the 42nd Street Library to go write in their Reading Room. It stopped me in my tracks. I got the big idea I could copy it. We’ll see. For the overlay part of the skirt, I bought a tulle-y-lacey-netty-see-through-like fabric; for the underskirt, I bought a stretchy drapey fabric; then I bought two kinds of ribbon; both black, one lacey, one velvet; both for the ruffle-y trim. I think I can copy it. I don’t have a pattern. I’ll just do it. I’ll be a Nike.


I take portrait drawing classes. Whatever you do, don’t draw your loved-ones. Draw strangers. And then don’t ever show it to them. I mean look what Lucian Freud did to The Queen. What could she say? That’s when you’re glad you’re not a fly on the wall. (There seems to be a Queen theme here. I don’t know why. We don’t have Queens where I come from.)


I am the youngest of seven children. Some of my brothers and a sister and my Mother and my Father are in the Big Unknown. That makes me sad.


I have a beautiful view. I am including a photograph of it. What you’re looking at is the tippy-tippy end of Northern Manhattan. That’s where, supposedly, the Indians got gypped and sold Mannahatta (not a typo) to some greedy people. That makes me sad. Every June, this Mohawk Chief comes to the park that you’re looking at and Blesses us anyway. He blesses the River, and the Eagle, and the Wind, and the Rain, and the Earth, and the Trees, and the Clouds, too. It makes me so happy.


Oh, by the way, my Uncle is the What If.

You think I’m kidding.

Think again.