Yesterday I wrote all day. This is unprecedented for me, but I was finishing the first draft of Among the Departed and was getting the scenes sorted out and polished off. I always work in the morning, over a pot of coffee, for three to four hours. But yesterday I went almost all day, with just a break for a walk and a bit of necessary housework. Instead of taking a glass of wine out to the deck to read in the evening, I brought it to my desk and kept on writing.
This morning I read over what I did yesterday. Generally, I was pleased with it. However I found this, at the very end.
He waited outside the bakery. In one hand he held a bag bulging with chocolate croissants, almond pastries, raspberry tarts. In the other, a bottle of wine.
He shifted his big feet, feeling exposed, awkward.
I do not have a single clue as to who ‘he’ is or why he’s waiting outside the bakery, and why he would feel exposed on the street. I must have meant something by this.
I bet it’s brilliant.
I only wish I knew what.