The wind drops, the rustling of the leaves stops as a feeling of déjà vu washes over me. I've felt this rigid iciness beneath my fingertips before. Thirty-five years ago. I remember.
More recently I was lucky enough to have the first few thousand words of my second re-write critiqued by Lorna Fergusson of Fictionfire. It was a detailed evaluation and one that I benefitted from enormously. I am sure she sensed my plot was leading up to a saggy middle but, thanks to her fiery suggestions as to how the plot might go, I am confident that my middle is much less flabby.