cycles

I am not quite sure how to begin.  A draft is finished.  It's already being revised.  I love it and I hate it.  I think it might a tragic waste of time and also a kick-ass book.  I stand in the shower and try to think about what different people would have to say about it.  I imagine the coolest guy from high school, the doctor who is planning two son's weddings, my father, my mother, the exterminator.  None of these images reassures me.  Will anyone like it?

A word on perspective...

I was having a culinary day, roasting a chicken in the dutch oven.  Often enough when I do this, I make stock.  The jars occupy the freezer until needed.  This act feels so utilitarian, so resourceful.  I am wasting nothing!  But last night, long after dinner while the stock is still simmering, E--still in the throes of homework--says, as only a thirteen year old girl can, "Ew.  What is that?  Are you making dead chicken juice?"

Voila.  To some, an artful, resourceful use of a roasted chicken.  To some, dead chicken juice.