I finished rewriting one chapter of the newly rechristened Saintree. I had good intentions of getting more done, but was ambushed by a cold. It was yesterday before I managed to get back at it and even then about all I could do was re-read what I'd done
Oh, I cut a few words here and there. I suppose I can be generous and call it work.
I'm throwing in a few extra sentences this week to help with the atmosphere of the selection.
The evening grew still. Even the coach driver was quiet. Volga listened to the clopping of the horse's hooves and felt compelled to count them. It helped him think.
Reading didn't fare much better as the cold's accompanying headache muffed up my concentration. I did get some done so here's a bit from The Sun Also Rises, by Ernest Hemingway (Scribner, 2006)
"Finally we went up to Monmarte. Inside Zelli's it was crowded, smoky, and noisy."
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