It’s never too late – in fiction or in life – to revise. (Nancy Thayer)
A windstorm hit the Midwest last week. I would have sworn every red, yellow, and gold leaf would be blown from its branch—possibly with part of the tree still attached. Most of the deciduous trees are winter-bare, not all of them.
Determination remains in all areas of existence.
I’m working on some edits. For someone else. I have a short deadline. Working on it away from home seems like the best approach because my house looks like the storm snuck inside, then, continued to create further havoc.
Moreover, Thanksgiving celebrations continue before and after the official Thursday. I enjoy cooking with fresh vegetables as well as baking without mixes. However, instant-prepare has an appeal for good reason. Packages take less time. Less clean-up.
So, why don’t I use them? I can’t fit as much love into ready-made. So, why can’t I take this time and put a little bit of me into the pages in front of me? If I didn’t care about this project, I wouldn’t help.
I take off my shoes and climb into a comfy chair. My husband is taking a class in another room. I make use of the time and work as I wait.
A tree sways in the wind outside the front window. Golden leaves sparkle against the blue sky.
One more revision begins. In expectation, copy-editing, and perspective.