western monsoon

Bridge in the Rain (after Hiroshige) by Van Gogh

The monsoon hit here in high dry mountain country.  A near full day, without the sidewalks drying to bone in the intervals.  It is so rare to have rain that does not turn to hail, or downpour so quickly to cause flash flooding here.  This was dreaming rain, rain to sail paper boats at small ponds, drink tea and read mysteries.  Rain that made a puddle out of my driveway, that turned the lawn green overnight, that made me listen, listen, listen.

I’m back to work on the book which isn’t, alas, done.  I bragged completion when a revision, that is, a major overhaul, hovered in the wings.  There is a trick writing teachers say when there is, for a variety of reasons,  so little to say about a manuscript:  why not try a different point of view? Ah, even better than merely saying, “interesting,” with an emphasis on the first syllable.

Thus, I am trying a different point of view for the middle section.  There is no easy “find and replace” app for this.  (Do I use “app” in the right sense?)  One has to go through the entire section and convert the proper names to first person, change the third person pronouns as well, and of course, if one is a conscientious writer, one gripes and groans and rewrites mass portions with a tendency to delete paragraphs and wonder, what on earth was one thinking of embarking on such a saga anyway?

There is so much on-line catalog browsing to do instead, for instance, with all the summer clearances.  Reginald Hill and Dorothy Sayers mysteries are especially enticing, not to mention television in this dismal season.  I watched a Real Housewife get married, rooted for the visiting chefs who never win against the iron ones, peeked at the soap opera I no longer really truly watch.

My friend Barbara once reminded me that Auden said when there is work to be done, it became  time to count the pencils and match the shoelaces.

Meanwhile, another friend, Jenny, brought over a vase of real feverfew (as opposed to mutant dandelions I carefully bred in the yard) which sit on the desk, readying to seed, even as the manuscript waits.

One Comment

Add yours →

  1. Indira, this is a beautiful, organic tapestry of emanations from your lovely self, thank you.

    Like

Comments are closed.

%d bloggers like this: