Weekends are often
the quietest days of my life, and today was no exception. My family was busy,
to put it mildly: a football game for Jacob, two weddings, a party, and a
Dallas get-together for the adults. When I saw Jordan this morning, I said, “I’ll
see you tomorrow,” but she did sneak out for a quick minute late this
afternoon. And Jacob has promised promised promised to check in with me when he
comes home from ice skating at ten. I remember days that busy fondly, not sure if I miss them or not. Maybe that's part of the identity I am giving up for elderhood.
Meantime I had a
pleasant day doing two things I enjoy: writing and cooking. Yesterday I cleaned
out the odds and ends left in the freezer—a bit of something tomato-based I
didn’t recognize, some beans (not sure of seasonings on them), some cooked
chicken, a seasoned lamb patty, and a half-full container of beef broth. From
the fridge I got caramelized onions—should have cut the strips into small pieces,
because they were stringy and hard to deal with but so good. I added chicken
broth and canned tomatoes, and voila! Soup! I let it simmer all day and had a
cup for supper. All that simmering meant you couldn’t distinguish anything in
it, but it was good--a touch of that lamb flavoring came through. Now I have this large pot of soup I’m wondering what to do
with.
I wasn’t really
hungry by dinner, because I’d had a cranberry/orange scone from Central Market
for breakfast—I had no idea how big those were. For lunch I had a twice-baked
potato, also from Central Market. But with my soup, I managed a small sirloin
slider and a small salad with Cardini’s Caesar dressing—my latest favorite of
prepared dressings.
As for writing,
today was the day I vowed to get back to what I laughingly call the work in
progress—there’s been no progress for too long. I abandoned it at 2600 words
because other matters kept pressing in. Tonight, I have it up to 2800 words but
the strangest thing happened. It isn’t going at all like I planned—the characters
are not doing what I thought they would, and the good guys are being stubborn,
the bad guys acting nice.
I remember the
late Elmer Kelton, great Texas cowboy novelist, talking about the writing of The Wolf and the Buffalo. He set out to
write about the life of a Buffalo soldier at Fort Concho after the
Civil War, but this Comanche chief kept crowding in, demanding to be part of the
action. Ultimately the novel became the story of two lives—a Buffalo soldier
whose fortunes were rising, and a Comanche chief whose world and way of life
were disappearing. Elmer won awards for the book, and it is considered one of
his best, out of a long and prolific career. If you haven’t read any Kelton
novels, rush, do not walk, to get your hands on one. You’ll be richly rewarded
The message of
course is an age-old one for writers: listen to your characters, and they’ll
tell you where your novel is going. I’m listening, but I’ll be darned if I can
tell what Kelly and Keisha are telling me. (I’m working on a Kelly O’Connell
Mystery.) I’ll get back to it tomorrow, and see if I can figure out what’s
happening.
A really pretty
day, but I didn’t venture out of the cottage. I often don’t if I’m alone. I can
open the French doors and have the lovely day come inside with me. Now, at nine
at night, the air is getting, as a former nanny used to say, “airish,” just a
touch cool.
Don’t forget to
watch for the super moon tonight.
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