Along with the miscellany in my brother’s house, I found a box of postcards. They belonged to my mother. And her mother. I recognized a few. The ski lift at Red River, NM. The Mississippi River trickling into Lake Itasca. An antlered buck from Shenandoah National Park. My scrawl on the back, “Camping in a tent. Rode the chair lift.”
Others. Not so much. Old Point Comfort, VA during WWII. Hand colored before mass-produced color photos. My mother traveled to see my father before he shipped out to the Pacific. To her mother she wrote, “The pool is closed now. We gathered shells on the beach. Save these cards for me.”
A flicker of the past. Loves I’ve lost to time. The postcards were too precious to toss, but with so many boxes in the attic, I had to find a way to live them.
Clothespinned to a chicken wire frame, the cards are now the window treatment in my bathroom. Every day, they make me smile.
I’m ready for the final turn on SCHOOLED. Most of my Beta Reads are back. One was so good, so concrete, I felt myself nodding at every red-lined comment. The things I knew were wrong–are wrong. The things that needed more–still need more. I’m lucky to get a great critique. Not great in the expansive ego building sense, but solid. I know I can fix this. She said the nicest thing, “This is a very good story–I found myself thinking about it when I was away from it.” What writer doesn’t live for that?
November is National Novel Writing Month. Last year’s manuscript is tucked away, a Clairfontaine notebook of a novel. That’s right. It’s still in longhand, ready to be typed. The ending is wrong, but thanks to the New Mexico fire season, I know what to do. The collage hangs above the buffet in my dining room-cum-office. It would be reasonable to start typing as soon as possible.
I should be reasonable, but I have another bright, shiny thing going on in my head. Not a fully formed plan, barely a spark. I can’t quit thinking about it.
I’ve never been a fan of all things in moderation. I favor submersion. Full tilt.
I’ve been working on visual images in the story. Click on the thumbnail to see the what I’ve added. It isn’t finished. I have a dozen scenes to write. The climax takes place in the big empty space right of center.