Except for an occasional flitting of the Magpie's wings and Pickett's warm dropby's (thanks, Sheila and Dorothy), I rarely have anyone reading this blog, so I think I'll just warm up my fingers a bit from the current fluff in my brain which is bread. Bread! Flour, salt, yeast, shortening or butter, and a little water--what could be easier, right?
Usually January is a cooking month for me. What normally starts in November at Thanksgiving and gathers full steam through Christmas and New Year's Day was thwarted somewhat during these holidays by coughing/sneezing/sniffling and the general malaise of colds/viruses. So my cooking buzz has now hit. My time, too, has also been truncated by a little bundle of smiles with one new tooth named Will, our newest grandson. Nonetheless, on Monday morning I made banana bread (three overripe bananas = one pan of banana bread in this household) and yesterday, a whole wheat loaf.
This morning I read through a few old bread recipes--oatmeal banana bread, whole wheat biscuits, light brown brown, spicy gingerbread, brown bread: don't those sound luscious? Only if you're addicted to carbs, I suppose, as I seem to be.
But thinking of bread making right now is a bit backwards. lol Most normal people are thinking about the omnipresent resolution that has to do with weight. I've figured out how to make this work for me: I keep one-third of the loaf and I deliver the rest to my children.
One of my resolutions (right behind my top one which is to quit worrying--I'm not in charge of the world; consider the lilies they neither toil nor spin; today's troubles are enough for today) is to finish the Mother and Child short story series that was conceived in 2008. Three stories are completed. Two have been published. The third has been submitted to the Crazyhorse competition. About ten have been drafted. That's a lot of writing. No, that's a lot of re-writing which is a whole lot easier than writing drafts.
"Looking for the Lord" which was published in Christmas is a Season! 2009 had some parts edited out--parts that will be essential if the stories are linked--so I'm working on keeping the good editing that was done for that anthology and adding back in the things, such as Lajune, an important character, I want to keep.
With this story I had an epiphany about the whole series: it has to do with our free will and how we often aren't as free in our choices as we think we are. In this case addiction has limited Clyde's choices. Paul Zahl, a theologian who previously lived in Birmingham, has written about some things that do place limitations on our free will such as addiction, grief, depression, etc. In this story I've returned to what seems to be a recurring theme in my writing which is the rippling effect a single incident can have on changing lives--a letter that never arrives, or arrives too late, an accident, or in Clyde's case, meeting Preacherman. This, of course, is not a new idea in literature. What is, actually?
So now I need to decide where to start: Clyde or bread? Bread or Clyde? Let you know later what passion wins out.