Reading in bed, in the morning, I noticed the mirror on the wall had a neat symmetry, reflected the boards of the ceiling, so I snapped a photo.
After breakfast I wrote up some quick blog posts for Sunday and Monday, which you’ve probably already read. Then I stepped out onto the deck, intending to see if the table there was dry enough to set a laptop on (I do enjoy writing outside). The air was misty; it wasn’t raining, but every so often it felt like a drop touched my skin. I grabbed my camera and headed down to the dam over the lake to snap some photos of the fog.
Then I sat down for my morning writing stint. After that I biked across the dam to the coffee shop, where I used the wifi to post the aforementioned posts (and these photos, while I was at it.)
After that, I read a few chapters in Catch-22, had some supper—leftovers, because it had started to rain and I didn’t feel like barbecuing in the rain—and wrote for another hour or so. The rain came and went during the evening, but the clouds never broke—at least not before midnight, when I decided it was bedtime.
I wrote about 2,200 words again yesterday. Here’s a very first-draft sample for you.
The handwriting ended. The next page was blank, and the next, and the next. All the way to the end of the book, as far as she could tell, quickly fanning through the remaining pages. June closed it and set it on the desk.
Did it mean anything, she wondered, that the girl—Evelyn, she remembered, glancing at the book’s cover, the author’s name in that faux-Gothic font—that Evelyn had chosen to rewrite a trickster story?
She sat alone for a long time under the misted windows, wishing she could see out to the world. It looked like a bright sunshiny day out there.
After a while, she got up and started to pace. Back and forth, forth and back, slow pondering steps across the breadth of the Gathering Space. (Was it really still a Gathering Space, if at most two gathered there? But then what was it that Nathan’s Jesus had said, Where two or more of you are gathered? Right? Something like that. So she supposed it must count.)
(Especially—and her mind recoiled from the thought—if they two were all that remained in the world.)