First day of Wimbledon, and my favourite tennis player is out. I suppose, seeking for the bright side, it means I'll be watching the box a lot less than I expected, which in turn means I'll be writing (or rather editing) a lot more. I may even get to do my blog posts on the correct day! But how sad for Rafa to be in such pain that he can't play his "normal" game. and how unfeeling of the Wimbledon crowd, who cheered and clapped for the unknown player rated 135th in the world. Maybe he was playing the match of his life, but did they have no sympathy for Rafa? It was plain to see he was limping, and pulling up when he tried to run. People are so fickle.
Tomorrow is earmarked for grocery shopping, and we'll do that early in the morning. Then it's a relax into writing day except for walkies with Tim. I'm up to Chapter Fourteen and spotting a need to sharpen up the motivation for certain characters. All the time I'm seeking better verbs, a more appropriate adjective and combining sentences still. It's an interesting exercise, especially since I thought I had finished with this story months ago. Unhappily, I've come to a halt with the critique groups to which I belong. I need to really concentrate and not muddle my mind by writing or critiquing other stories. Probably they won't miss me, may even be glad to see the back of me, as I suspect I'm far to honest with my comments. But you know, they don't have to agree with me. They can always stick to their version of their story. On the other hand, sometimes, I'm blunter than I should be. My excuse is that I'm usually doing these comments quickly and don't stop to make my comments sweeter.
But hey - writers need to be thick skinned when it comes to receiving rejections and comments that don't say how terrific every word is - and don't alter a thing. No first draft is that perfect. Not even my sixth - groan!