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I work from sentence to sentence. The first sentence of a chapter sets the tone and tells me where to go. I’m lost until that first sentence is hammered out.

The clean smell of Nolfetul floated across the water. The breeze carried the scents of spices and fruits neglected in Bafguva, and of creature wastes untainted by flesh products. Jazlin luxuriated in the

The scent of Nolfetul floated across the water. For so long Jazlin had missed these smells, the spices and fruits not cultivated in Bafguva, creature wastes untainted by flesh products

The scent of Nolfetul floated across the water. Jazlin luxuriated in the smells of spices and fruits unknown in Bafguva, of creature wastes untainted by flesh products.

The crisp scent of Nolfetul — long-missed spices and fruits, untainted creature wastes–floated across the water. Jazlin would know that smell had

Okay, that wasn’t the right starting place.

The river tugged them downstream. Jazlin worked the footcrank, as Helfijek commanded, while at the tiller Helfijek guided the boat toward the riverbank.

The river tugged them downstream. Jazlin worked the footcrank steadily while Helfijek guided the tiller, and they

Jazlin worked the footcrank steadily, yet still the river tugged them downstream.

You know, we’ve already done enough water stuff in this manuscript — let’s start even later. (Us = the characters and me.)

Jazlin slipped over the boat’s side into the chest-deep water and caught the painter that Helfijek tossed

Now I think I’ve got a handle on it.

I signed up for the Sacramento Bee’s Breaking News Alerts.

What an amazing service. They send me junk like “Spears loses visitation rights” and yet don’t think the assassination of Benazir Bhutto deserves an alert.

Truly amazing.

Foodar was a stray cat that was sneaking into our garage to eat the cat food. He’d been out in the wild for awhile, and it took several months before I could be reasonably sure I wouldn’t get bit if I touched him.

He was one of the smallest adult cats I’d ever seen. He’d pick his way around the other cats with his little tough-guy swagger, keeping at least a foot of space, and hiss when any of them got too close. Even before I started petting him he would roll around on the ground with his belly up.

He didn’t come every day to eat. He’d visit four or five days in a row and then skip a couple. After he got his own food dish he wouldn’t eat out of any of the others. He’d empty it then wait for me to refill it. He could eat a good two cups without pausing. Then he’d head outside like he had a chore to take care of right away.

He wasn’t so tiny and delicate when we took him to the vet for his first shots. But he was sick, with both feline immunodeficiency virus (FIV) and feline leukemia virus (FeLV). We already had an indoor cat, Sydney, and couldn’t risk her getting infected too.

He’d belonged to someone before he became wild. He didn’t struggle at all when I picked him up, and he trusted us. I feel like I betrayed him.

We buried Blackie this morning, out in the rose garden where we found him, next to Thevenin. Continue reading “Blackie”