Revising the first draft.
I feel like I'm making it worse. "It's going to get worse before it gets better," my grandparents used to say. About everything.
I hope they were right.
Outside the sun is pouring down. It's too hot to walk in the vineyards, but I walk anyway. Under a walnut tree I meet a woman from the neighbourhood, Phyllida, walking her two small dogs. She tells me the shade of the walnut is said to be deadly on very hot days. "They say it affects your lungs," she says. "The cool air can give you an awful cold."
Save-This Sirens are going off in my head. Who in my novel can be killed off by the cool shade of the walnut tree? Must discuss with my friend Google.
Google says that walnut trees emit something called juglone, which suppresses respiratory functions...in certain plants.
Damn! None of my characters are plants.
Still. I am going to use this. I'm in Switzerland! There are Jungians everywhere! It's synchronicity! (Or else I'm making it worse.)
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