It's Sunday afternoon. We are covered in lots of fluffy new snow that makes the first of March look like December 25 should. I've been writing today, though I'm about to give it up because my mind seems to be of the marshmallow-type consistency that snow looks like.
Since I seen to have nothing to say, I thought I'd share a couple of paragraphs from my work in progress. A little lead-in: I've discovered in my own writing and the favorite stuff that I read, a woman is often finding a piece of herself, maybe for the 10th time, whether it's because of an empty nest, a divorce, or just a rotten-to-the-very-last-minute day. In this part of a favorite scene, Molly Linden is finding one of those pieces.
Sometimes, she hadn’t liked Julian very much.
The thought made her smile as she dug into a drawer for her aunt’s rulers. Even though Sadie hadn’t quilted since arthritis swelled and stiffened her knuckles, the house was ample evidence that she never threw anything away. And there they were, under a Simplicity pattern that had cost seventy-five cents new and a paper-clipped-together collection of recipes cut from magazines. There were scissors of all sizes, but no rotary cutters. No cutting mats.
A few minutes later, with the work table cleared and her glasses balanced halfway down her nose, Molly was stacking and cutting. The black-handled shears were so dull, she could only cut two pieces at a time, and she scowled as her thumb began to ache. But she kept cutting. Kept stacking. Shards of light sprinkled the room.
So, what are you working on? What couple of paragraphs finds a deep place inside you?