I've been deep in writing but not on the blog. This is the second attempt at a youth novel in which I try to apply the criticisms my first effort earned.
Once again, I'm going with something I know well. A grandfather invites his grandson to sail with him on his Westsail 32 on the return leg from Bermuda. Since I'm personally familiar with some of the adventures such a voyage could offer, and since I'm a grandfather eight times over, I should be able to handle the factual part. The writing? We'll see.
Once in a while, I glance out the window. Today it is partly cloudy, but the clouds are large and sooty gray and take up most of the sky as they race to the east. The sun has an easy time of it today.
The leaves on the walnut and the cherry, the black locust and the holly and the red maple are excited as a mob of twelve-year-old girls, giddy with the swaying and tossing of the individual limbs on which they ride.
Thelma and I didn't make it to the river on our first walk at 6:30. The wind in the 44-degree air drove us back. Now it's over 50 degrees, and when we get to the river bank, I expect we'll find the water stirred to a a froth.
I'm writing this now and thinking about the scene outside because, after getting through the drama yesterday of the scenes when the boat capsizes and "Grandpa" gets seriously hurt, I'm struggling with "Michael" to find a way to deal with all the carnage he and I have created.
A few minutes ago, I was reading a description of the French countryside by Jack Kerouac and I was moved and thought perhaps I could do the same for the banks of the Delaware. Something is lacking, though, so I'll just take Thelma for a walk and then get back to work.