Just a tidbit for today. I think my characters are trying to kill me.
Last night, no less than five character and plot points resolved themselves in my head. While I was driving.
My fellow authors might know the “grab your notebook” impulse that took hold of me, but I was good! No writing while driving. I kept my hands on the wheel. On a good day, my brain has a hard time holding onto three ideas for more than a few minutes. I reduced the thoughts to their essentials and repeated them to myself.
When I reached my destination, the first thing I did was open my notebook and pen. By that time I only remembered four of the points.
In the wee hours of this morning I woke to a tornado warning. In the distance, I could faintly hear the sirens. I dragged my quilt into the closet and sat with my dog. Asher, my gray cat, was cool and calm, so I wasn’t greatly concerned.
And there, in the closet, in the middle of a tornado warning with wind and rain driving against the house, I remembered the fifth point.
Maybe I am too blasé about tornadoes. I left my refuge and got my notebook.
Today was strangely mild and the wind smelled like something from my childhood; a wind that had not blown for fifteen years, at least.
And today I said goodbye to my cat of nearly eighteen years. Tabasco, true to her name from beginning to end, came to me orphaned and only a few days old. I raised her and loved her more than I have ever loved an animal. I will probably miss her for the rest of my life.
I want to share some images and thoughts to express the joy I feel for having known her.
Tabasco, you were fierce and affectionate, neurotic and regal. Your hunting skills never failed to impress and dismay. You were born to catch your meat, with your camouflage-coat and razor-feet. When Sunshine died you had a fresh chipmunk to offer so that we could send her on with cat-treasure to the afterlife. You put Bastet to shame with the exotic shape of your ears and erect, queenly way of sitting. To the end, your eyes were as clear as topazes and your nature independent. And yet you purred at the sight of me. It was a privilege to be your human and I will miss your weight on my shoulder. I hope that you found Gizmo and curled up against the old dog’s belly as you used to when she lived. Give her my love, as I miss her too. We send you off, our house now queenless. Happy Hunting.