Last night I dreamed that I went to the garage to look at the boatbuilding project. Not to work on it -- there was no time -- only to look at it. Dust and mildew had coated everything, and I couldn't remember how long it had been since I bent over the plywood and bronze screws. Days? Years?
So much time had passed that thumb-thick creepers had twined in through the doors and were growing around the building jig, the frames opening like pleading arms, around the legs of the dusty workbench.
Old. Forgotten.
I'll get back to it, but there is work to do elsewhere yet. Revisions of Book 1. The lying fallow of Book 2. Patience, I tell myself. Patience.
This latest revision of Book 1 was fairly hefty, with a few thousand words added, and a subplot firmed up and made, I hope, more relevant. I'm starting to forget about Book 2, which is good.
What were those characters' names again? What happened when? Perfect.
With any luck I'll finalize the Book 1 revisions this week, and can then turn my attention to Book 2. And the boat.
Patience. Patience.
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1 comment:
The boat is only resting, as we all need to do on occasion. It will look refreshed and new when you're ready to return to it.
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