“On November the twenty-first, the day of her forty-seventh birthday, and three weeks and two days before she was murdered, Rhoda Gradwyn went to Harley Street to keep a first appointment with her plastic surgeon, and there in a consulting room designed, so it appeared, to inspire confidence and allay apprehension, made the decision which would lead inexorably to her death.” ~ P. D. James, The Private Patient
On Sunday, I wrote on assignment: 100 words.
The assignment was extraordinary because someone asked me to write it.
People don’t often ask me to write. I usually ask myself, and then I either grant or refuse my own request.
If I want me to write a blog post, I write it.
If I want me to write something requiring effort, I make a list of all the housework I need to do, and then I sit down and start an old P. D. James mystery on Netflix and immerse myself in e-mail.
Or I take Ernest to the vet.
Never mind. That was last week. Monday has arrived, and with it new resolve.
Today: Draft new Molly scenes and send to critique group.
I’d like to add a sunny little punch line here. If one occurs to me later, I’ll add it.
Image by Dmgerman at en.wikipedia [Public domain], from Wikimedia Commons