Yesterday I gave the retired professor a call. He’s involved with project research that’s proceeding slower than plan, and he won’t be able to read Half Italian until May. What kind of feedback do I want, he asked. Good question and I knew my answer: does he think Half Italian is any good, quite frankly, is what I want to know. Good, meaning interesting to read. Does it capture and hold? Is it boring, of interest only to me? In the non-regulated arena of writing, everyone’s opinion is just that, subjective. But I do want the opinion of a published professional.
Dallas is done until next season; I’m still at 4/8. I’m PERSEVERING* and usually that feels good, sometimes disheartening. I don’t know where all this will end up, a waste of time, maybe, but simply moving forward feels healthy. Nice to breathe.
The retired professor looks forward to learning about my family, and, he said, more about me.
The leftover pasta bolognese is heating in the oven. I sip a whiskey, and write.