Gah!

Try as I might, I can't get caught up this week. Pesky son and daughter-in-law in town to visit taking up my valuable writing time. No matter that they'll drive away on Saturday and I'll have months of free time to scribble to my heart's content. During which I will, of course, pine for their company. I have come to realize that I am never satisfied.

A quick Wii Fit/Weight Watchers update: I successfully completed my July resolution to Wii every day and decided to stretch it into August, and I've lost nearly 30 pounds in the last 3 months, mostly due to my darling Durwood cooking fantastic meals for me, and being all proud and encouraging. I don't think the weight loss is very noticeable yet, but I sure do feel better than I have in years. I'm hoping to go diving (finally) this weekend and I'll bet that's when I'll notice a big benefit too.

Okay, writing. I brought my notebook to work today so I could get totally caught up, and I did between tank filling and customers. Here we go:

August 4--Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Path in a Wood. Like walking from day into night, the path into the woods enveloped Amanda. The first change she noticed was how cool it got, then how the thick trees filtered out the hot strident song of the cicadas. She shivered as the dim light swallowed her up, her white shirt glowing in the greenish light. It was so quiet there. Her footfalls made not sound on the spongy path. Only a few birds called far in the distance as if she had entered another dimension. She half expected to see Little Red Riding Hood skipping by on her way to Grandma's and she was convinced that she'd find the Big Bad Wolf hiding behind a tree just around the bend.

Short but interesting.

August 5--Amadeo Modigliani, Portrait of Jeanne Hebuterne in a Large Hat. No one looked at her face. No one could see her face. She was wearing such a huge hat, so round and with such a floppy brim, that she looked like a walking hat rack. Tall and thin, dressed all in black, Jeanne moved down the sidewalk gliding like she was on wheels. Her sallow skin matched perfectly the Panama straw of her hat which was banded with a strip of the black silk shantung of her dress. The only jolt of color was the deep auburn of her waves of hair, the only vibrancy about her.

I sorta like this, but I'm not satisfied.

Anybody else writing anything? Remember I won't be at writer's tomorrow night. See you next week with Jenny's critique.
--Barbara