Boreas, John William Waterhouse
Bright sunshine and boreal breezes this morning. The sky is aster-blue, illusions of cloud here and there, and the wind straight off the polar ice. My kitchen is warm from breakfast, potatoes with yellow bellpepper and carmelized onion, egg over easy, freshly made orange juice, and coffee. I’ve prepared tomorrow’s lunch–mixed greens salad, spicy chicken, and tasty vegetable tchotkes, and the laundry’s in the dryer. I’m afraid to sit down and start today’s work on A Lamentation of Swans. Not that I don’t want to, not that it’s painful. I’m excited about doing the work; I’m afraid because I don’t know what to do.
Talking with Patricia yesterday after the meeting, I encouraged her in getting back to work on her novel, Shades of Red, which has lain fallow for three years. She published a mystery novel several years ago and she’s sold short stories to Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, not an easy market to crack. She said when she read through what she’s written, she sees that it’s good (damn good, in fact) but still she’s anxious and fearful about it. I understand her fear, and recognize my own.
Time to get to work.