Rainy day.

Spent a couple hours writing a brief book review for GR.

Am trying out a new to me recipe in the slow cooker--chicken thighs in a dijon mustard and fresh tarragon cream sauce. Red wine vinegar, salt and pepper, garlic, parsley and chicken broth also figure in the mix. The aroma is "wicked good" as my friend Allen Bramhall might say.  Looking forward to springing it on the spouse.  Am thinking to serve it with sauteed greens and a crusty bread.  I like all kinds of foods and cooking; but I'm particularly fond of slow cooking.  It's a way of building memorable depths of flavor.

Working slowly and patiently on a long term writing project can have its pitfalls.  Doubts and frustrations can certainly hold sway at points along the way, even be crippling in their intensities at times.  One might be derailed by one's unfunded ambition, one's overoptimistic beginning of the project.  But if one persists, depths of meaning can be discovered in spite of oneself.

Appearances is making me a little crazy.  I'm trying to be patient and persist with it.  I really fucking am.  I've never attempted a project of this size before.  I write, re-write, agonize and wait.  It's hard to explain to loved ones that when I'm staring vacantly at a screen for hours I am actually working.  And that this mess of papers and books taking up the dining room table is a mess of a different color than what they are used to.

Sigh.