Moodling on a rainy day

 

Rain, rain, go away
Come again another day

Surprise! It’s raining in North Texas—as it has done almost every day for weeks. Most people are complaining, and rightly so—we may grow webbed feet (anyone remember the story from Owen Wister’s The Virginian? IF not, the book is worth exploring or revisiting, origin of the myth of the American West, and all that. But I digress.) The Metroplex is in serious danger of flooding if a lot more rain falls on already-saturated ground. And in Frisco, where one branch of my family lives, they have or had loud, frequent lightning. Since the house was hit last week, killing most  of the televisions, my daughter-in-law reports she is no longer a fan.

But unlike everyone else, I have thoroughly enjoyed this morning. The rain has been steady but gentle, the sky dark as night, and the thunder softly rolling (not at all how Sophie interprets it—at one point she was trapped between the twin evils of thunder outside and the vacuum cleaner inside). I have been at my desk all morning, happily keeping busy[JA1] .

Actually what I’ve been doing is moodling. Thanks to mystery writer Joanne Giudoccio’s blog where Catherine Castle taught me this new word and concept. In Castle’s words, “The imagination needs moodling—long, inefficient happy idling, dawdling and puttering.” Another author suggests, “What you write today is the result of some span of idling yesterday, some fairly long period of protection from talking and busyness.” Castle advises, “Give yourself permission to daydream and reflect without too many expectations. And don’t be disappointed if a spark or epiphany doesn’t emerge quickly.”

To the immediate right of my desk is a large window that looks out on part of our small back yard, including the deck with its profusion of flowers. So that’s what I’ve been doing—gazing out the window a lot and letting my mind wander. For days. It’s gotten to the point that my conscience is bothering me, because I know I’m avoiding my work-in-progress, a mystery, and hoping inspiration will suddenly strike—and that I’ll recognize it. It’s not all gazing out the window, and some of what has occupied me can legitimately be called work. Answering emails, posting about the newly reprinted historical novels, taking care of such business as a dental appointment and figuring out how to renew my handicapped parking tag. All that is done with some frustration—I cannot crack the secret of getting an identification card once you don’t have an active driver’s license. Then someone involved me in a quest for the name of a novelist from the 1970s, so I’ve spent time wracking my brain, fruitlessly. There’s a must-write column due this week, so I have to get to that.

Still, what I’m doing is putting “busy work” between me and the novel. I told myself that I would get back to it this week, but things are not looking good. This morning, my most productive time is almost gone; tomorrow I’m going on a big grocery expedition, I think, the Lord willing and the heavens don’t open again. Maybe Wednesday?

It was a kind of stare-out-the-window weekend too. The only excitement I can report is a trip to the new restaurant, The Rim, at Waterside. Carol and I went because we have never found better fried chicken than what Keith Hix produced at his Buttons location. We were crushed when Buttons closed and overjoyed when he and investors opened The Rim. The fried chicken was as excellent as ever, so hot you had to poke steam vents in it and let it cool; the potatoes, smashed not mashed, were maybe the best I’ve eaten (Jordan, the queen of mashed potatoes in our house, is offended that I even thought that). The Rim is not an upscale, white-tablecloth kind of place. Whoever designed it was striving for retro—and almost made it. But it’s sure worth a trip to Waterside. I came home with two drumsticks for my lunch but lost one to Jordan the minute I hit the door.

Ho hum—lunch and then a nap and more moodling. Christian is fixing dinner tonight—a roast with all the veggies.

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A truism about ambition—or the lack of it

Rumbling thunder again, and Jordan and Christian have gone to Denton for the evening, although I expect them home shortly. I told them, via text, I was going to forbid them to leave town because it seems to trigger these storms. At one point it was raining—only slightly, big separate drops—at the cottage but not the house, only yards away. The heavy rain came soon enough blanketing everything. Patio and back yard under water again. Sophie was intimidated enough by the thunder that I was confident she’d stay inside, so I left the door open to get that good cool air and clean rain smell. And I didn’t pay attention when it stopped—something caught her attention, and she bolted out of the door. I cheated—enticed her back with a treat and then closed the door. Now the sky has that strange pinkish-yellow glow of sunset. No rain. But that's twice within a week. Does the Lord not know that it is July in Texas and it never rains?

You know that feeling that you have all day to get things done, so you fiddle and waste time and get nothing done. That was me today, a wonderfully lazy day. I did a bit of editing and then devoted my attention to a Sara Paretsky V. I. Warshawski novel and spent way too much time. Late this afternoon, after a nap, I got busy—sent the final manuscript of my next novel to the publicist (watch for a big announcement soon) and a sample chapter to the webmaster to post, so you can read in advance of the September publication. Reposted The Color of Fear so that the digital version now includes the first chapter of the next one.

Fixed myself a great dinner, after purging refrigerator and freezer of things that were there too long and/or I wouldn’t do anything with—half a salmon pattie and a frozen vegetable lasagna went into the trash, along with remnants of the squash casserole I’d made and learned a cooking lesson on. So did a small bit of fettucine Alfredo, a takeout that had given me two or three meals—so rich I could only eat a small bit.

Tonight’s dinner? Two beef sliders, sliced yellow squash sautéed in plenty of butter (actually Smart Balance, much as I hate margarine—I do that in deference to my lactose problems), and cantaloupe. May just allow myself a bit of a Hello, Dolly bar for dessert!

Back to the novel!

Storms and a Eureka Moment

I seem to be always celebrating one of my grandchildren, which just proves that they all take after their grandmother and are exceptional. This is my Tomball granddaughter Morgan Helene who just earned her black belt. She’s been studying karate long and hard for several years, and I’m proud of her accomplishment and her perseverance. Morgan will be 12 in August. Why are they all growing up so fast?

Rolling, rumbling thunder woke me about one o’clock this morning and went on off and on the rest of night, often but not always keeping me awake. In one of those awake spells I had a eureka moment about the new novel I’m working on. I have about 10,000 words written, but I have no idea who the murder victim is, nor the killer. Not sure about motivation. Last night I got bits and pieces that mean going back and planting some info, plus an overall idea about who did what why. I did something I never, ever do—got out of bed and made notes. Usually I rely on my memory, but this was really good stuff, and I was afraid to trust it to morning’s recollection. So first thing this morning I was transcribing those notes, hoping they made a modicum of sense. I’m still far away from putting much of that new information to use, but now I have a clearer picture of the road ahead. This rainy, dark day is a good one to spend at the computer.

My children used to have nanny/housekeeper who would say the weather was “fairing off.” That’s what it did, and as it brightened so once again did my disposition. Lovely to have it cool all day.

Dinner tonight at the lovely home of friends in Weatherford. They are collectors who actually own a small museum, but their house is also a museum. Being in it is a treat, as was the delicious dinner. But conversation was central to the evening. I like to think I have intellectual friends, but I don’t usually go to dinner parties where the conversation is this passionate, learned, and lively. Many opinion, some different. The topic was politics and current events and the mix of the two , and I found it fascinating. Another reason to feel fortunate.

Out past my bedtime. Night all.