Sunday, June 18, 2006
Sunny, hot, humid
Finally “finished” the ghost story at 7:30 this morning. I still have more rewrites. But the handwritten draft – with plenty of cross outs and revisions as I went along – is done, and now I have to frantically revised it a half dozen times today so I can send it off tomorrow. I changed the ending three times, and I finally have something I can live with. I hope. I’m not sure about it. I like it, I like a lot of it, but it’s not necessarily formula. However, it is a ghost story, and a bit of an unusual one, so we’ll see how it’s received.
Made notes for something else as well, that I want to eventually set in Northumberland. It’s going to have to take a number.
Finished The Mermaid Chair. Although I think the writing is beautiful and powerful, I had trouble keeping my disbelief suspended. I don’t believe the hospital would have allowed the mother to store her dismembered finger(s) in a jar without trying to reattach them. Maybe in 1960 – but not in the twenty-first century, with modern technology. I don’t believe the mother’s friends would withhold the information when it was obvious to all of them why she performed these acts of dismemberment. I don’t believe that characters as intelligent and caring as these are would make the decision – they would have the insight to know it could prove fatal. It bothered me enough to keep taking me out of the book. And yet, it is beautiful writing.
Started Elizabeth Bowen’s A World of Love and am struggling with it. The style removes me from the action of the book instead of including me. Again, on a technical level, it’s well done. But I don’t like being pushed away from the characters. I like to be drawn in.
Still wondering if the rumoured resolution to The Situation is real. I hope so. I want my life back. I can’t go back on the exact course I had before The Situation began, or before my mother’s accident last fall. Too much has changed, including me. I have to think.
I signed four contracts for the 2008 annuals – two due on Aug. 1, two due Sept. 1. Got my check from the March annual. Still waiting to hear from one more editor.
Got a “not now, but maybe later” back from another pitch. Which is fine, and it was nice of them to let me know. I’m tired of the rude people who post an ad and never respond one way or the other. So you get 5000 responses. At least show you’re a professional by answering them.
Did more grocery shopping this morning, got in the papers, put in my mother’s air conditioner. We’ll head to the farmer’s market in a bit to see what’s fresh and looks interesting.
Then it’s more revisions on the ghost story – I still don’t have a title, which is worrisome – and on the two other short stories that need to be revised by Wednesday in order to discuss in the Dog Blog.
I’d also like to get back to Real, although my characters are quite content to stay in their Tahitian digs until I return. They don’t mind at all – and I don’t blame them. I could use a bit of time in Bora Bora myself!
One thing that does need to get back on track is my own relocation plans. At least, if the Situation truly has been resolved in our favor, it will be on my own terms.
Edmonton was awesome last night in Game 6 of the Stanley Cup Final against Carolina, winning 4-0. I was so proud of Raffi Torres! Not only did he live up to his press nickname of “the human wrecking ball”, but he scored the second of the four goals. In Bridgeport, he was one of the leading goal scorers. Because he’s so physical in his play, people tend to forget what a good scoring touch he’s got.
I felt badly for Carolina goalie Cam Ward (after all, he is another one of “mine”).
And I have no idea for whom to root in Game 7. I wanted 7 games – I got ‘em!
I ignored one of my own rules yesterday at the race track and missed betting on Seek Gold, a 91-1 shot who took the Stephen Foster at Churchill yesterday. However, I did bet my old buddy Perfect Drift across the board, and he came in second, and I had the exacta of Happy Ticket and Oona Mccool in the Fleur de Lis. So it wasn’t entirely a loss.