There’ve been two developments in my professional life recently.
The first is that I’ve started anchoring the business news on TV. I’ll devote a whole post to that curious world soon.
The second is that I’m still working on my novel and that I’m really hoping to complete the first draft this year. I have 50,000 words. I still have a long way to go to make sure they’re the right 50,000 words, in the right order. Writing a book is the hardest thing I’ve ever tried to do, but also one of the most meaningful.
A long time ago, some very kind readers from different parts of the world volunteered to take a look at my first 20,000 words. Their feedback was invaluable. So, if any of you are still reading, or if anyone – preferably someone I don’t know too well personally – wants to read the entire manuscript when it’s done, drop me a line!
I write from the library, where I have come to know a homeless man in a hat who comes here every day to sit and eat a croissant, which he extracts from a sealed Cellophane bag. He plugs his phone into the socket in the wall and watches videos on the free wifi. Today, he was smiling and drunk. Other times, he seems subdued.
Earlier, I called LSH to tell him about a pigeons’ nest I saw. It was ingeniously crafted under a stairwell leading to a mosque, where rows of spikes had been erected to keep birds out. But this pigeon family had prevailed, laying a dirty tissue over a bent spike to protect their feet. A perfect entrance mat. The babies were learning to fly by launching themselves from between the spikes.
“That’s nice, Katzi,” LSH had said. I had interrupted him vacuuming.
“Thanks for telling me.”