M. considered E’s messenger. Her green eyes held his, her face betrayed no anxiety. She sat erect and poised in the saddle, composed and self-contained. She had not given her name yet her behavior was not rude. An arrogant person could have taken offense by the simplicity of this greeting. M. was impressed, as she meant him to be.
Yes, this signals that I am writing again, trying to figure out where the heck this story is headed. I know how it ends, but am not quite so clear how it gets there. The fates of the principals is fixed in my mind, but we have a ways to go. I have not even sorted out quite what happens from the parlay prefaced by the snippet above.
The only way forward is forward. I will probably end up having wrestled with this scene and the one after all weekend. Which is still rather rapid progress. There is hope.
Since I preach extempore, this is evocative of sermons where I spin out several threads and then wonder, as the congregation no doubt also wonders, how I will ever pull it all together. It usually comes together in the end. But not always. Helps keep me humble.
It is about eight months since I worked on the book, a huge loss of time. I am not getting younger and this is only volume three. I want to write ten before I die. Time to win Powerball so I can retire and write.
--the BB
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