“Turner Adam Madison.” The words flap over them like clothes on a line.
i read the line above while editing

just now, and an image immediately popped into my mind. So I stopped to write this. It may not mean much, but the implication of saying a name crisply does. To me, it does. Had copied most of the conversation before realizing that I would be giving away too much, and since this one sentence is the one that made me stop,

it’s the only one I’ll keep

No one but me can read this novel today, but my aim is to publish it soon. I’ve been saying that for years and posting about it since last, but it’s on its way. Toying with the idea of posting it here. Not sure about that. Will see.

Forgive also that there are no clothes on a line but a sheet on a fence (I could digress but won’t, you’re welcome), but that is the image that appeared. Probably because … hmm, don’t know why, but I’ve had it for a while, and maybe it’s time to shooo! But why remember it so suddenly?

i will add the first chapter sentence

so that there’s at least a little more than someone’s name and a visual.

The smell of food mingles with that of flowers and sand and rocks below the garden where the Atlantic tumbles, its mist spraying the lower tier as Tomasa pulls cilantro.

LIKE A BLUE THREAD
Capricious Air
The chapter name is an out-of-context fragment of a Robert Frost poem, something gleaned. It is one of my faves and one of the first I learned, so I can recite it whenever the spirit moves me.
The Silken Tent
and only by one’s going slightly taut
in the capriciousness of summer air
is of the slightest bondage made aware