So, why am I not editing faster?
Stuff. It is just that simple.
The Tesla had a loud rattle in the left rear that seemed to be the shield for the disk brake. I want to write because Thursdays are dedicated to “George getting to write.” So, I pull the wheel off and find there is something trapped between the disk and shield. It is a piece of metal, which is not good. It is pretty rusty, so apparently, it isn’t keeping the car from stopping quickly with no odd sound. I pry the piece out and think; I should figure out what this thing is a piece of. (Never dangle a preposition.)
I hurried in for breakfast because friends were cleaning the church office, and it seemed like an “I Ought.” I Oughts have plagued me all my life. My mother called it her Methodist conscience. I think it is just my hyper sense of duty—or something. Who knows?
I have done many I Oughts in my day, and I wonder how much further along I would be if I did more, “This’s for mes.” (That’s the plural of me.) I ought to look up how to do that, but stopping a blog about I Oughts to investigate seems counterproductive.) So, we got home at 11:20 am.
After lunch, I will get with the editing of a book called Airships from the North. I really ought to settle on a title. Nevertheless, I am at the computer when I hear planes. I don’t live near an airport, and fire planes have a “sound.” Two and a half hours later, the fire (less than a mile away) seems squelched. Much thanks to first responders and pilots. I go back to my computer.
Ruth comes home and wants the particulars about the fire, and I am happy to say I can give a succinct, blow-by-blow account, complete with maps. Then, being a true dear, Ruth says, “You want to go over my edits?”
I am a happy guy. The one I love has made notes, and our technique is to have our computers open, and she gives me keywords so “Find” can locate the passage with which she takes issue. Then she makes her case. Many times I have omitted a word or missed and quotation. Other times I have a scene with problems. I may give a weak explanation of why I wrote what I wrote, but most of the time, she is spot on, and I correct. We are one-third of the way through the book. Yay.
Empathizing with my progress, writers reading this may think, “He is on a roll.” No. Our friend Lisa called and said she dropped a letter down inside the church sign and wondered if I had a magnet that could reach into the bowels of the marquee. Say it with me: “I ought to help with that.” And I have just the tool.
After supper, I spent an hour looking for the telescoping magnet I saw just the other day. Ruth was supportive, saying that she thought she saw it as well. I conclude this nonsense with this: I never found it. I ought to get up early and tape a cow magnet to a string.
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