For the first time all week, I had a whole day at home to myself—not need to rush to eat breakfast, shampoo my hair, get ready for the day. I could, and did, move at slow speed. But I had promised myself I would get some work done.
I spent a lot of time exploring Kindle ads and decided that the system to really boost your book sales is so complicated and takes so much time that I’d rather write and read. I have tried one tentative ad, but the more I read today the more I thought my ad would be inconsequential. If you feel inclined to search for cozy mystery on Kindle in the next few days, you should get a blurb for Murder at the Bus Depot—but it will be way down on the list of titles you see. I shall settle happily back into semi-obscurity.
Then I read for a while on a book I’m reading for a competition and found myself increasingly caught up in it. It’s a novel about incest and paranormal experiences—I think. Both subjects that I would not choose. But it’s well handled, and I’m hooked.
After lunch I tried to write on the novel I just started—I think I got maybe 500 words, but they were wishy-washy. I was talking to Christian, who was watering the yard, and I was sleepy, and I could just feel that the words weren’t right. Took a nap, got up and erased all those words, and wrote a thousand new words that are much better. My lesson? Listen to your instinct. There are times the writing just doesn’t flow. Of course, getting the wrong words down may fuel going back and getting it right. Who knows?
Tonight, a lovely peaceful dinner at the Fort Worth Club, thanks to Subie and Phil Green. A rare treat for me—steak and a huge baked potato. So good, and I got to bring part of the steak home for my lunch tomorrow. Great conversation with longtime friends. I’m feeling very spoiled and lucky in life.
Tomorrow we move into July, the month in which I turn eighty years old. Yikes! Taking my blue hair with me into the next decade.