I started today full of fire and energy, my mind on a lot of small problems at the office that I hadn't dealt with. But by noon, I had lost that burst of energy and sort of floated around the house, doing a bit of this and a dab of that. I think I can tell that it's going to rain and the barometer is falling, because that's how I feel--blah! I did finally read a book that had been staring at me and write the author in response, and I went to dinner with Betty--but the spaghetti didn't sit well and I was sorry I'd eaten it. I'm going to have to work hard on my attitude!
I wrote one paragraph tonight--get that, one paragraph. But I'm at a crossroads in the novel and can't think my way out of the tangle I've gotten into. I think I'll have to ask mentor Fred to have lunch next week and hash out the plot problems with him. I am reminded that Jamie once said the reason I write historical fiction is that I'm so poor at plotting. I think he may be right.
Tomorrow I am to get the first copies of my cookbook/memoir, and that should perk me right up out of the doldrums. Also going to get a haircut, which is always good for the mood. I asked Jeannie seriously if my longer hair ages me, and she said no, she and Jean had talked about how much they like it this way. So there goes the idea of going shorter again. Melinda laughed at me when I asked if long hair aged me: "First of all," she said, "you don't have long hair."
Then tomorrow Charles and I have a date to eat the veggie plate at the Black-Eyed Pea. I'm going to see if I can drag him to Central Market too. Should be a brighter day, even if it's raining.
This is the fiftieth anniversary of the publication of Strunk and White Elements of Style. I know the book of course and have used it occasionally, but I was amused to read a grammarian's essay tonight on how much damage that book, with its idiosyncratic style, has done to American grammar, making us all self-conscioius writers who worry excessively about the passive voice and the use of adverbs and adjectives.