Okay, I thought of one thing: put together the pitch letter for use when seeking an agent. That’s done. Now what? I thought fleetingly about getting a job or becoming so heavily committed to volunteer activities I won’t have time to fret. But no. Also no time to think, read and, eventually, tackle the next book.

That leaves household chores—the kind that are so bone numbing they have been put off for years. I have now tackled them with—not gusto but the kind of energy that comes from fleeing a pack of demons on your tail.

But wait—I forgot the good part. The basking in the fact that I actually accomplished a large something I have wanted to do for years. I’m actually quite proud of it. Maybe I can coast on that for a while.

I wrote my master’s thesis on The Sound and the Fury and have always loved the opening of part 2 which is narrated by Quentin Compson. It is the day of his suicide and he awakes thinking of his father’s presentation to him of his grandfather’s watch. “I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire,” Mr. Compson said. Long for a title but exactly right for this novel. To locate the passage quickly I googled it and found a very charming blog written by Mehnaz Turner. She, too, was struck by the passage and translated it into poetry.

Sound strange? It’s not at all. See for yourself at http://mehnazturner.blogspot.com/2009/08/38-mausoleum-of-all-hope-and-desire.html#comment-form

One of the things I love most about living the life of a full-time writer is moments like this. One never knows where the day will take you.

Now, for some this would be the kind of foolish consumerism that plastered suburbia with Macmansions. Not so for Robin. She and Glenn have recreated Shangri-La near Montague, MA (where I had the great pleasure of spending five days recently) and a teahouse will be the perfect touch. Robin is a scholar of tea (seriously) and Buddhism, among many other things, and I can just picture her in a charming little room sipping tea and meditating (if the two aren’t mutually exclusive).

It seems to me that there’s a difference between crass materialism and indulging our passions or purchasing something that will make a true difference in the quality of our lives. My tiny pond fills that role for me. I look out at it as I write, I sit by it when I read, weather permitting, and it buoys my spirits.

Do others have similar symbols that enhance their being?

As it happens, I have the best excuse in the world for not posting. I’ve been writing, writing, writing. The book that I declared finished several times is still a long way from complete. It has a new title and I’m working on a second section. It could be that I’m just trying to avoid the seeking an agent hassle, but I’m getting good feedback from readers and having a wonderful time.

On the reading front, I now have a Kindle and LOVE it. Still reading lots of “real” books, but read on the Kindle whenever possible because, to my surprise, it is more legible and my eyes do get tired. For fun I’m reading Ann Patchett’s State of Wonder and Per Peterson’s I Curse the River of Time. Book research entails a lot of books about the historical Jesus because the narrator of Book 2 is on a religious pilgrimage.

As for thoughts and ideas, I’m getting plenty from the course I’m auditing at Rhodes, Prejudice and the Human Condition taught by sociology professor Tom McGowan. We are reading Emile Durkheim’s The Elementary Forms of Religious Life. Heavy going but fascinating.

Life is good. Who knew retirement could be so stimulating?

For years I have been stockpiling books about Mississippi and the state’s ugly past. I know I began doing that long before I began to formulate the idea of a series of novels with famous civil rights events in the background. Let me tell you, though, they have come in handy since I began to work on making that dream come true.

At one point in Another Way to Live a Life, I needed information about Parchman, the state prison farm. Lo and behold, right on my bookshelf I found WORSE THAN SLAVERY: Parchman Farm and the Ordeal of Jim Crow Justice.Last semester when I audited History of the Civil Rights Movement my professor mentioned that by the end of the Sixties there were an increasing number of white people involved with the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee. I’m taking another course from him now and I asked him yesterday how I could research that further. He said, “There’s a book called Deep in Their Hearts.” I pictured it on my bookshelf.

Reading it now and it’s riveting. And there are many more waiting for me! Life is good.

A very close friend agreed to read and comment on the manuscript of Another Way to Live a Life. It took her longer than usual so I knew something was amiss. Finally we went to lunch to discuss it. Bless her, she opened with lots of compliments before getting to the heart of the matter–she couldn’t stand the protagonist/narrator. And she kept saying, “She’s nothing like Liz Beth.” Liz Beth/Liza plays the same role in an earlier novel attempt.

Then another friend and I read the work aloud. She had a similar reaction and several specific reasons for her reactions. The first reader did, too. I just didn’t hear them.

Taking both friends’ comments and suggestions into account, I spent a week rewriting. The third reader was MUCH more complimentary.

It seems to me that there are several morals to this tale, beginning with Don’t get defensive. Listen! It’s also a good reminder of the value of honest feedback, not to mention friendship. I’m guessing it took no small amount of courage to tell me my “child” was a brat.

I plan to have lots more input before pitching the book to an editor. Volunteers are most welcome. Meanwhile, thanks, Jackie and Becky, for slogging through a flawed mess and helping me fix it.

Many times along the way I thought the end was near when it was not. There were days of confusion over how to reconcile plot needs and historical events. There were hours of wondering how a character would or should react. Now I wish I had kept a journal of those issues and how they were reconciled. I believe it would be a comfort to me, and perhaps to others who find themselves in similar dilemmas. So I am resolved to do so with the next book.

Here’s what I know about it so far: it will be a drastic revision of an earlier effort titled Scott’s Notes. I have no idea if that title will remain but am pretty sure that the four major characters will. True to the idea of the series, it will take place against the backdrop of a major civil rights event–the Ole Miss riots of 1962.

So far I have read MISSISSIPPI: A CLOSED SOCIETY by James Silver and am currently reading his memoir, RUNNING SCARED. Next up is a biography of James Meredith and I’m sure to log some time in the Ole Miss library in January. Then we’ll see.

Walking back to my car, feeling at loose ends, I decided to go to the library and check out the episodes of Eyes on the Prize I hadn’t already seen. Then I thought, “Gee, even on a glorious October afternoon I can’t think of anything that doesn’t have to do with the book I’m writing! I’d better get a life.” But I did go to the library and check out the CDs.

After watching “Power!” I read awhile and went to bed. That resulted in a fair amount of tossing and turning. It finally occurred to me that I was sorting through volunteer options. Suddenly I had a revelation: that’s what you’ve always done when you have carved out a chance to immerse yourself in writing. Don’t do it this time.

I got up and had a glass of wine. Thus fortified, I determined to stay the course. My good friend Dan Mayfield used to say that he gave up writing because it made him crazy. So be it. I doubt if people will notice much change if I become even more peculiar. Maybe that’s what the term, “in the zone” means. At any rate, I’m committed. Full steam ahead.

Since most of this book is set in Sewanee and the Mississippi Delta, I can write the place descriptions from memory, kind of like Wordsworth’s “emotion recollected in tranquility.” Jackson, however, is a place almost unknown to me.

Does it seem odd that I grew up in Mississippi and hardly ever visited the state capital? My friend Becky, who served as guide and fellow pilgrim, and I discussed that during the day. It was farther away than Memphis but Birmingham is almost the same distance and we never went there.

My theory is that my mother was familiar with Memphis because her father had business interests here. And my father, who grew up in the Delta, probably was, too. At any rate, this is where we headed when a trip to a city was in order.

We spent most of our time downtown since that’s where Ben and Camille have to travel to see Camille’s supervisor. The trip worked. This morning before eight o’clock I had written that chapter and revised another one. This afternoon I’lll work on a timeline. It feels like I’m back in the groove.

Yesterday I spent an hour with the January 3, 1955 issue of the Memphis World and there’s a lot more of that in my future. Later this week I’m going to Jackson to remind myself what it’s like and take a peek at the documents of the Mississippi State Sovereignty Commission. What a life!

Along the way I’m hoping to discover the ending of this story and it’s really fun to find clues along the way. Currently I’m obsessed with the fate of one character. Will Ben live or die? Stay tuned…