You know how sometimes when you’re approaching the end point everything stretches out and it seems like you’ll never arrive?
I’m there. Please tell me I’m getting close.
One great thing about writing a novel that is waaay too long is that making deletions goes quickly. Highlight. Control X. Boom! Gone.
One casualty of this process was unexpected. I am unable to appreciate the 799-page novel, The Love Songs of W.E.B. Du Bois right now. Editing is too much with me. Every other page I was confronted with details that could’ve been cut without hurting the scene or character development. For now, that’s too distracting.
Spoiled by my editor?
Also, my library card expired. What?
It was cold enough to snow today but did not.
Speaking of wonderful writing (wait, who’s?), please click on Raven and Sparrow and read Dana’s recent post.
My good friend Joan gave me Anne Patchett’s essays for Christmas, These Precious Days, and I have to say that Dana’s essay about woodpeckers is of the same caliber.
I smell roasting chicken. Soon it’ll be time for dinner.
Roasted chicken is worth celebrating and so are these two news bits: Marjorie Taylor Greene has been permanently banned from twitter and two of trump’s spawn have been subpoenaed in the New York fraud case.