I kneaded bread dough, my flour-covered hand pushing hard into the eleven-grain mound. The dull ache in my shoulder intensified. This sourdough mixture was as stiff as adobe soil in summer. Probably due to the extra graham flour I’d added this time. Would the stuff ever loosen up?
Last week, my cobweb-covered brain had performed another sort of pushing--preparation for a tag-team presentation with fellow author Alice Wilson-Fried. Alice had taken seven years to write her novel, “Outside Child.” I’d taken seven months to write “Heroes Arise.” We had titled our joint presentation, given at a California Writers Club meeting in San Ramon, “the long and the short of writing an award-winning novel.” Oh, how I’d sprinkled details before my eyes for weeks, trying to fold them into my memory. Finally I’d loosened up and absorbed them all. Our presentation to 85 writers had been a hit and fun as well.
Another five minutes of kneading passed. The mixture was workable now, ready to shape into a round loaf. Warm fresh sourdough bread for dinner. I could almost smell the tangy aroma in my kitchen, almost feel the crust crunch between my teeth. My shoulder hurt but I didn’t mind. Effort and a little pain sweetened success.
Causes Laurel Hill Supports
Winter Nights Shelter and Shelter, Inc.