Monday, May 10, 2010

Submit One

I did. Submit a story, I mean. I'm trying to submit one story a week, trying to find places to send these things that I work on, words that I struggle to arrange in a pleasing order, an order that pleases someone other than me. I've got one about 6500 words long that I'm working over (yeah, that's what I mean to say, working over, like a methodical beating in a police procedural) and I just am not happy with it. I have more info I could put in it but I don't know how logical it is; I took it out and now I think I should shove it back in. Gah. *pulls hair* Why didn't I take up something simple like nuclear physics?

May 9--Santa Rosa Island. It looked like a watercolor, Jean thought, one, by one of the Wyeths maybe, of dunes and sea oats and blue sky. The shreds of clouds out on the horizon highlighted the difference between the light blue sky and the deep blue ocean. She smelled the salt, its crisp iodine smell prickled in her nostrils. The wind-blown sand made her squint which also softened lines to watercolor's imprecision. She appreciated this corridor of calm between the baking hot parking lot and the beach crowded with families and blaring radios. Winter was the best time to be there, when the wind carried a hint of a chill that drove all but the most determined beachgoer away. Jean came every day no matter the weather just for the five minutes of peace the walk over the dunes provided. She relished the sight and sound of the waves, their rhythm reset her inner metronome to a tempo that soothed her, kept her devils at bay, but it was that short walk between the fragile fences that kept her from straying off the path where she felt connected to the universe.

Another Monday, another week flying by. I know it's an old person's lament, but I want time to slow down. The days pass so quickly I barely notice them. And when did the hours get so short that the morning's over before I can get any traction and the afternoon is a mere moment? The speed of it all makes me dizzy. I long for slow hours of repose and contemplation, but can't seem to attract them. And I want to bake cupcakes.

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