Saturday, March 21, 2009

A busy day doing nothing

Whoosh! I am tired tonight, though I can't tell you what wore me out today--a trip to the grocery, a long time spent trimming porch plants and planting my new cilantro, getting as much ready for tomorrow night's dinner guests as I could. Seems like I kept getting to the point that my back told me to sit down for a while, and so I did.
By five o'clock, I was really tired, so I saw Jay and Susan in the yard and suggested they come for drinks on the porch at six. Meantime I went and rode my bike, but didn't go nearly as far as I usually do. Nor did I get my pulse rate up as high. But it sure felt good to sit on the porch, with a light breeze, and visit. Sue came over to steal some of my rosemary, and so she joined us. We sat for an hour and then I came inside and sauteed some sugar snap peas, grape tomatoes, sliced mushrooms, and one lonely stem of asparagus--it got left out when I cooked and put away the asparagus for tomorrow night! Then I sauteed some Dover sole, and when I took it out of the pan, I deglazed it with white wine and lemon juice. Poured that over the fish, added a little more olive oil to the pan, and sauteed some capers until they opened up. That was an experiment because I want to scatter sauteed capers over the non-traditional version of salad nicoise that I'm doing tomorrow night. Really good.
I'm really back on a writing roll, and it feels so good. This morning, as I lingered in bed as is my Saturday habit, I had all kinds of thoughts about how the plot was going to work out--and when I got up I rushed to put them on paper. So I'm itching to write a scene that's in my head and will do that tonight, though I've also started reading an old Mary Higgins Clark novel I've never read and am itching to keep on with it. Her plots are so complicated, with so many threads going from the very beginning, that it makes me feel amateurish. But I'm not giving up--I'm having fun with this.
I corresponded with an author today who published two books that I thoroughly enjoyed with a small press unknown to me--or so I thought. Turns out they were self-published and the name of the publishing company was a well-chosen ruse. Makes me think two things: I don't want to have to go that way, and there must be lots of writers out there, like this woman, who write really well, absorbing characters and plots, but just don't get the right break in the larger, competitive world of publishing, where agents are inundated with proposals. This author told me she got tired of waiting. I can sympthize.
I had another thought today--I'm beginning to worry less about what I would do in retirement. I was so busy all day, and there are lots of things I've left undone for tomorrow. I think I'd find plenty to do, plus plenty of company. Something to ponder on.

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