Tuesday!

This is my usual Tuesday spot -- booth at Morseland, awaiting liquor deliveries. I think somehow I took myself by surprise with this photo though, and I'm not quite sure how that works.

Writing Dewey's mother is strange. First of all, it makes me realize just how much my own mother -- well, no, how some character's mother -- appears in my writing. And the father is mysteriously absent or overlooked. But Eliza Dewey is nothing like my mother was, save for her previously mentioned predilection towards organization....

Days later, he found himself visiting his mother and father at their home in Adams Center. They ate supper, and afterwards when the dishes had been done, and Joel Dewey had retired for the night, Dew-E followed his mother around the house as she adjusted out of place objects, setting things right again, organizing the universe.

"Was I a happy child, mother?" Dew-E asked.

She did not immediately respond, focusing instead upon straightening a picture that, to Dew-E's eye, had not been askew. She ran her finger along the top edge of the frame, checking for dust, and only when she was satisfied that there was none, did she reply.

"What does it matter? Were you a happy child? What a question." She moved on to the next photograph. "Are you happy now? And what does that matter? Do you honor God? Do you contribute to society? Happiness," she scoffed, shook her head. "He speaks of happiness!"

NaNo tip of the day: Never say "her fingertips" when you could use "the tips of her fingers." That's three bonus words!