Monday, Monday
I hate Sundays because they give birth to Mondays. ― Chris Southwave
As is usual on Monday mornings, I am running a bit late – from my perspective, since I don’t work at an office or other worksite with a set schedule – with my writing endeavors. I slept well, and I didn’t wake up at an ungodly hour like four or five in the morning. Instead, I got up close to 8 AM, a far more decent hour.
My Sunday afternoon and evening were fine, for the most part. I divided my Outback Steakhouse order leftovers so that I’d have something to eat at lunch in the afternoon and something to eat for dinner – my MO when I order a Big New Yorker pizza as well – so I ate well enough yesterday. I also brewed coffee twice – once in the morning, then again in the afternoon – cos I tend to suffer from hypotension and tire easily unless I drink either one can of Coke or two cups of coffee. I prefer Coca-Cola; I like the taste better, plus it has more caffeine than coffee, but we’re fresh out, so I had to use what I had on hand. (I should order some from Amazon, but I’ve had bad experiences with cans that have been shaken during the delivery process, so I’m hesitant about that.)
I did try to enjoy my day off and abstain from working on The New Story; the only non-blog-related writing I did yesterday was to change part of a scene from the story’s first chapter to avoid making my “I-guy” overbearing and incapable of respecting his female counterpart’s decision-making abilities. (I’d shown the original version of the scene to one of my writing friends, and she was the one who pointed out that an intelligent and independent woman would not tolerate how my protagonist ordered a drink for her at the Moonglow nightclub.)
I promised myself that I would not do too many “sneak peek” posts about The New Story here, but here’s the revised version of that scene. (For context, the two characters have not introduced themselves yet, although she knows who he is…)
I like the way the revised version reads, so here it is, without any context whatsoever (lest I give too much of the story away!)
I scan the room for a waitress, feeling a bit thirsty. I spot one carrying a tray of drinks and wave her over. She comes to our table and smiles politely.
“Can I get you anything?” she asks.
“Yes, please. I’ll have another Heineken,” I say. Then I turn to the woman in the sky-blue dress across the table from me and say, “What about you? Do you want something to drink?”
She looks at the menu and says, “I’m not sure. It’s my first time here at the Moonglow. What do you recommend?”
I shrug and say, “Why don’t you ask the waitress? She probably knows the best cocktails here.”
She nods and says to the waitress, “What’s your favorite cocktail here?”
The waitress thinks for a moment and says, “Well, I really like the Sidecar. It’s a great cocktail. It has cognac, orange liqueur and lemon juice. It’s sweet and tangy and very refreshing.”
She smiles and says, “That sounds good. I’ll have a Sidecar then.”
The waitress says, “Okay, one Heineken and one Sidecar coming right up.” She takes my empty bottle and walks away.
I lean in and say to the woman, “The drink is on me, by the way.”
She looks at me with gratitude and says, “Thank you for the drink. That’s very kind of you.”
Promises, Promises (That Go Unkept)
I was able to resist the urge to write new material and start a new scene in the story’s first chapter. Sure, there were a few moments yesterday when I thought, Should I go ahead and add 100 words to the story today? I know I should take time off and chill, but I’m not getting any younger, and I would like to publish this in 2023. And trust me, Dear Reader, the siren call of the manuscript was strong and oh-so-tempting, especially after I ate lunch and had my two extra cups of coffee after 2 PM.
Now, I’m not the sharpest tack in the pack – or else I’d be in a far different (not necessarily better, mind) situation regarding my writing career – but I am smart enough to understand that writers need downtime, too. Stephen King has a set schedule for writing, and it is not a “write from dawn to dusk” one, either. He writes in the morning, reads, replies to his correspondence, and does other, non-writing things in the afternoon, then hangs out with his wife, Tabitha, at night. If his now-adult children, including King’s son Owen (who also writes fiction as Joe Hill), are visiting, it’s family time for the active and prolific best-selling author of Carrie, The Shining, IT, the Dark Tower series, and 11/22/63. After all, all work and no play, right…?
I did not, sadly, get much reading done yesterday. I suspected that I wouldn’t, just as I intuited that I’d end up playing either Regiments or FreshWomen – Season 1 instead of cracking open any of the books on my TBR stack. (Okay, I did read a few pages from different books that are not on my “official” TBR list, but not enough to say I carved out enough time to sit back and enjoy the material.)
I did watch a few episodes of Star Wars: The Bad Batch on the big TV set out in the family room after I polished off the Outback Steakhouse leftovers, so at least it wasn’t all gaming or YouTube video watching for Your Humble Correspondent.
I must close this post here, Dear Reader. It’s almost noon now, and I do need to publish this, take a short break, and return to the Moonglow club and the world of The New Story. So, till next time, stay safe and healthy, and I’ll catch you on the sunny side of things.
A Certain Point of View, Too 
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