That phrase, in its proper form—another day, another dollar—is one of resignation, an acceptance that tomorrow is going to be just as unrewarding as today. Not at all a reflection of my feelings, except about today. The phrase comes from the nineteenth century when sailors were paid a dollar a day. Joseph Conrad publicized it in his seafaring novel, Narcissus.
And as
long as I’m adding to your trivial knowledge, thanks to Prudence Zavala for a
word that is totally new to me: drupes. It means a fruit with a large pit or
stone, like an apricot or a peach. Good thing Jordan went grocery shopping with
Pru this morning or I never would have known it.
Moving
on, this was an absolutely gorgeous day but, for me, otherwise unremarkable. I
started the day with 3000 words on my current WIP, decided they were all wrong,
and started over again. So now I have 650 words on the new version, and I’m
still not sure where I’m going, though I think this new version is more
promising. For mystery readers, here’s a puzzle: how soon into a book do you
expect a murder to happen? The old wisdom was that it had to be in the first
chapter, preferably on the first page. I think that’s a bit extreme, because I
think a reader often needs to know the background and surrounding circumstances
to appreciate the full impact of a murder. But I once got a murder into the
first sentence. Here’s the opening paragraph from The Perfect Coed:
Susan Hogan drove around Oak Grove, Texas, for two days before she
realized there was a dead body in the trunk of her car. And it was another
three days before she knew that someone was trying to kill her.
Sorry to say such lines don’t
often spring to mind, and I am struggling with this new manuscript. Since I
declare myself a pantser, I should be able to jump in and just begin telling
the story. I sort of know who’s going to be murdered, but I’m not sure. And I’m
not sure how to get there. Thoughts about a cold case are flitting through my
mind. I think the advice I offer others in a lot of situations is apropos here,
and I should take it: quit over-thinking, and just jump in and do it. Maybe
tomorrow (hear that procrastination?).
The young man who I supported in
the city council race came by this morning. I had written to sympathize and
tell him I thought he was gracious in defeat—with emails and Facebook postings.
Told him I’d be interested in his future plans. So we had a pleasant visit,
some about politics, some about everything from mutual acquaintances and what a
small town Fort Worth basically is to discussions of children and puppies. A
pleasant interlude in my morning, and I hope he’ll continue to come back
occasionally.
I did laugh. He referred to
another candidate as “so very young” and I wondered how young someone had to be
to be young from his point of view. He’s late thirties; the candidate he
referred to, who made the runoff, is late twenties. It all sounds long ago and
far away to me.
We are waiting for the city to come take down
the tree. They said this week, though Christian doubts we can count on that. He
once watched a tree that had the X of doom marked on it for months before it
was finally cut down. I hope that doesn’t happen, because every spring storm
that comes along is going to make me nervous now. A domestic problem of less
severity but more immediate annoyance has popped up: my kitchen faucet emits a
high-pitched whine when in use. Annoying is probably too mild a word. Jordan has
threatened to stop doing dinner dishes as long as this continues. I will call
the plumber tomorrow but hope they can counsel over the phone, and I can avoid
a high-priced house call.
And so ends another day. Tomorrow should
be brighter and better. Maybe a bit warmer, but it couldn’t be much sunnier.
And that is always cheering.
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