This is an achy Monday. My kids visiting from up north have left for home after a great weekend here at the Winter House. The kids I haven’t seen in too long seem very far away. I watched the season finale of Downton Abbey last night and am still disturbed by it.
I’ve written today, brooding lyrics in the song that is a difficult manuscript. “I’m waiting,” says Carol in the story, “for the other shoe to drop.” It’s a line my people have said before, a line I’ve said to my husband at night when I can’t sleep, a line that’s run through my mind like a shiver up my spine when something feels…wrong.
I’ve felt better as the day’s gone on. The kids are home safe, I got to stream a granddaughter’s volleyball game—she was awesome!—and I realized something about writing.
It’s telling the story of when the shoe drops.