It's hot and humid as hell. I should be headed for the pool, but I'm here in the library stalling about putting the hard eyes and the sharp ax to the last half-dozen scenes of my book. Even though I wrote the closing scenes over a year ago, this revision/rewrite is coming to a close, and, although I know there will be more, the process is giving me pangs. I dawdle, I procrastinate - I've even dug up an old short story (really an excerpt from the next book) and prettied it up for submittal to a short story contest. Deadlines and restrictions. What to leave in, what to take out...(thanks Bob)
I was in Kroger, supposed to be buying batteries (I refuse to believe those are D cells in that thing!) and what did I buy instead? A dozen quart mason jars. I also found a small tub of soda ash tumbling around in the trunk of the car. What's that you say? Too busy dyeing thread and cloth to write? What could be next? Stitching? These old pictures gift me a lot of vicarious comforts. The known is sweet.