Have spent a quiet day today.
It’s dark gray overcast and fog. Not a weather condition conducive to grand projects.
My neighbor D. and I went to the library and picked up books today.
I requested several by Joseph Campbell at Solo’s recommendation.
And got a small fantasy volume by Patricia McKillip that frankly I chose because I liked the cover and the size and shape of the book. How’s that for discriminating literary taste? I also picked up a Horatio Hornblower novel for hubby who enjoys the dramatizations he has seen of those stories on PBS.
I have been struggling with the novel re-write. I have come to a chapter that I figure I am going to have to dump about 70 percent of. This is a bit daunting. Yesterday, I threw one whole chapter out, as it seemed redundant to the plot. I suppose that is a good thing in the long run, but it makes me feel weird. I need a better filing system to keep the whole mess straight. It goes against my organized first born tyrant to have loose papers flying all over the place.
I even had a dream about that one time. I was walking on some tall grassy cliffs that looked out over the ocean. I was carrying a large brown folder tied with a string. It was full of loose sheets of paper that I had written all kinds of things on. Poems, stories, and who knows, maybe this crazy novel. Anyway, the wind caught them and began to blow them all out to sea. I won’t record the dementia that I think followed in the dream.
It’s hard to be a creative soul in a first born, INTJ, Aquarian, organized body. If I was messy and disorganized, I could claim mad genius, but as it is, I function more like a schoolmarm with delusions of grandeur.
Ah well, thus is my lot, I guess I will just have to do the best I can with it.
P.S.
I wonder if Billy Teabags’ ears are ringing with the chorus of our shouts?