Finally sent you off an email long overdue to Joy. The manuscript consultant.
I typed out a long list of what I did… Shortened Gold Cross chapter and renamed it Waving from the Rails; changed city name Ife to region name Yoruba so it doesn’t get confused with religion Ifa; shortened “Map in the Dust;” deleted “Dog Bite” and “Letter to Fanny Fayerweather,” eliminated women discussing molasses tariff at Advent party and renamed chapter “The Source of Her Distress.” And so on.
The noise here was off the charts this morning so once again I took refuge in the basement.
But honestly, I didn’t really shed the morning’s irritation until Finn and I cut down Madoc Street and entered the woods.
I thought about the wisdom of the Japanese for having a word that means forest refreshment.
I hadn’t been on the paths since all these weeks of torrential rain. There was a new and dark pool in a place never filled with water before. And the broad pounded dirt paths were snaked with mounds of detritus, making them nearly unrecognizable. At one point I wasn’t sure I was going the right way.
Which reminds me of how yesterday, coming out of the guest suite at my mother in law’s place I went the wrong way even though I’d been in and out of the door at least four times already. My husband gently cleared his throat by way of correction.
And while we’re talking about Schenectady, can I just say that Schenectady is one reason to love autocorrect (maybe the only reason?). As long as you type four or five of the letters of the city (in any order), you’ll get the selection. Or, two letters as it turns out.