Notes from Alexis: Interesting ways of finding a books story line. Plus being 55 does tend to make one stop and look at life.
I haven’t been able to write this last week as I have had a problem with ‘Tangled Webs.’ I have walked all around it, and finally saw that the problem is that I know the whole story. When I saw it from what the reader knows, then I was able to resolve it. This is such a complicated plot I have to be careful not to reveal too much too soon.
I have fallen in love with Simon and Garfunkel, got their ‘Concert in Central Park’ album. Also got a couple of Gheorghe Zamfir’s records and they are so lovely that I’ll tape them for you.
Loved to hear about your cats and mice stories. I hope bus driving smooths out and becomes as natural as rain, of which we do seem to be getting our share. The earth loves it so who am I to complain? Gwen that’s who! And Gwen bitches mightily about every inconvenience! Not to mention it has been snowing off and on for the past four or five days.
The canoe is coming along nicely. We went to a fiberglass seminar and now we feel quite a bit different – not so scared. I can’t get over the lines of it, they are so lovely. I think that boat has been a Godsend for Dad. Work has just been so hard for him lately. He goes out and works on the boat and forgets all about the job.
I can almost picture your house going up. You know you guys are going to have to plan on a greenhouse so you can control the rain. Just think, we are eating lettuce and radishes out of the greenhouse. We need it to protect against the cold and you need it to protect against water, although we have had so much rain lately that we are protecting against water, too.
I really hate it when I just rock along day after day without feeling creative and with no enthusiasm. I am so used to being hyper, that being calm is more like being becalmed, lost in the doldrums. To me the daily routine is a stagnant pool, and just think, that is the condition of most of the world and they are happy as larks.
I am grateful that I don’t have to go to work, for I barely have enough energy to get up in the morning. I feel I need to lay down and rest, and yet I am not sick. Actually I feel as if I am recuperating from a long illness, and I’m getting damned tired of it. And yet I’m not depressed or even blue. There really is no way around it, I am cruising at 55. Tell that to the Indy drivers, 55 is really just standing still.
Well, it seems I have done nothing but whine and cry around. Dad says I need some spring, but I think I’ve had about all the spring I can take. What I need is some summer.
P.S. Boy are writers weird folk. I looked at the way I was feeling and realized I had a part of the story that I needed, just that kind of feeling, and went in and wrote about it. Is nothing sacred, not even pseudo—depression?