I know I’ve been stumbling through much of the last few weeks of writing. Bad timing and schedule interuptions have eroded my morning habit so much that I’m finding I struggle to to write when I formerly I did not. In part, I believe I need a serious planning session for each of my recent discoveries, but I won’t have the time for that till after Christmas. Until then I’m mucking around in a near empty jelly jar. What you’ve been reading lately is the sound of the knife rattling around in those corners.
I’ve also been reading more than usual.
Some two-sentence maquettes ought to grease the skids a bit…
John wore all his weight in his reddened face. His belly stretched the holes of a new belt every six months, but his cheeks and his jowls and his neck and even his forehead and ears summarized who he was and how much he weighed.
Aunt Jane cooked to make people happy. She wore her blonde hair up and out of the way, and a smudge of flour always decorated her chin and apron.
John looked up to most men, but what he lacked in physical stature he made up for in productive energy—painting portraits and scenes not Napolianic complexity. Men who couldn’t care less of another’s appearance often noted how neatly trimmed he kept his light brown hair.
I’m worried I have a thing for hair. Maybe I should do eyes?
Jane’s large brown eyes centered her soul for most women, but John found them glassy and uncommunicative. Her tits and low-cut blouses should have had him fumbling to help her at every opportunity; instead her cow-like eyes insisted she thought only of herself and turned him away.
299 words on day 620