Writing a book

Garrison Keillor had a wonderful column in the paper this morning, about writing books. He talked about the agony of the author, trying not to be distracted even by world news. "Writers," he wrote, "get obsessed with a project and lock the doors and sit and work at it, like animals in a leg trap trying to chew through the leg, which is not good strategy." And after the book is published--great joy? No, maybe relief, sorrow that it's gone because it was what filled your life--and then there's that passage you meant to rewrite and didn't.
I'm not quite so bad as to lock myself up and turn off the phone. I'm always hoping to be distracted by a phone call, an incoming email, a visiting neighbor--anything. Unless, of course, it's one of those rare times I'm on a roll.
Right now I'm not on a roll. I'm on a dead stop. I'm writing a book for fourth graders about Joaquin Jackson, a Texas Ranger who had a long and distinguished career with the oldest law enforcement agency in the country, went on to have a few brushes with Hollywood, and now has written his memoir. He's larger than life, as testified to by the picture of him on the cover of a 1993 issue of Texas Monthly. He's a wonderfully dedicated man--and yet, sometimes, he shows a compassion you'd not expect from a Ranger, an understanding of those on the other side of the law (unless of course there was a brutal crime and then, stay out of his way!). I've read his memoir (co-authored) and the websites about him, but I can't wrap my mind around how to translate all of this--some of it brutal, some profane--into a book for fourth graders. I can't even figure what questions I would want to ask him in person (I may well get that opportunity late in June). The banal, "What advice would you give to youngsters?" comes to mind, and maybe it's a starting point--but it might also be a dead end if he says something like, "Always tell the truth."
Of course, I know the answer to this problem--sit down and write. Quit worrying it in your mind. Every night I come home determined to do that--and I distract myself (have you ever read a P. D. James novel? Most absorbing!) but when I do there's this sense of guilt that I should be working on "the book." So tonight I'm going to work on it--except what am I doing? Posting on the blog! Maybe I can write one paragraph that I like (I did write a page that I didn't like) and that will set me off. Cross your fingers, please.
We had heavy heavy rains today, good for my new grass. I was to have lunch with good friends close to where they live because he is in a wheelchair. I called to ask about the impending storm, and his wife agreed that we didn't want someone in an electric wheelchair out in the weather that seemed to be looming. So I left the office, thinking I'd do a couple of errands before it hit. Between the door and the car--which isn't far--big drops fell, and once I was inside the car, the heavens dumped. I drove home, but then it seemed to let up, so I circled back and went about my errands--where it hadn't rained at all. Then about 3:30 the sky darkened and opened up again with another deluge. No lightning, very little thunder, but lots of rain. It's predicted off and on tonight and tomorrow. Good kind of an evening to puzzle out that first paragraph.