Monday morning, mug of tea and a P&J sandwich beside me. Death Cab coming in through the headphones, and a business meeting in 10 minutes. A good night’s sleep for once, a near solid 8 hours from midnight till my alarm stuttered shrieked me to life. Which wasn’t painful, but I still lingered in the kitchen, wishing I could just sit and read and that there was more sunlight coming in through the windows. But it was a typical cold and gray morning, so I dug out the woolly hat I bought in New Zealand and which I haven’t worn since I walked long shores of warped driftwood amidst the howling winds. A hat from another time, another hemisphere, and then here I was wearing it once more, walking through the Brooklyn crowds towards the subway, smiling at the cross walk lady in her mickey mouse gloves and thinking: today is my birthday. Today is my birthday.
Paul finished reviewing Crude Sunlight, and he did an incredible job. The man is more thorough than a race horse, and each page is filled with jotted notes, comments, reflections and haiku’s. He’s spot on, nailing my spelling and grammatical errors with the aplomb of a 35 year career English teacher, pointing out inconsistencies and errors, contradictions and obfuscations like a fencer dancing through a blizzard of curtains.
The upshot is that it looks like I still have a lot of work to do. Entire lines of thought and plot need fleshing out, characters need tempering, plot points explaining. I’m going to hold off though, wait for the others about the continent to get back to me, to figure out what they think needs doing and correcting.
But oh – he liked it. He liked it a lot, and that’s what matters most.