I have always LOVED Fridays the 13ths. They’ve always been special and something wonderful (or significant) never fails to happen. I often get an unexpected paycheck, or a nice reader letter, or some affirming something or other on Fridays the 13th.
And the 13ths in general are special. For instance–
I got married on a 13th.
We decided to adopt kids on the 13th.
My son came home on the 13th (from Korea).
And I just handed in my book on the 13th.
And, BTW, I changed the first paragraph because of your feedback. And I knew it wasn’t the best first sentence. It was okay, but I had a much better one at the start of chapter 26 (I never knew Levina Gifford, but she had the smoothest skin I’ve ever felt on a dead woman). Trouble was, I couldn’t move Levina into chapter one.
So I sat and thought and thought and thought some more. I thought about starting at a different place, but incorporating unnecessary material simply for the sake of one sentence seemed like overkill. And backstory was out. So then I thought about the book’s theme and hit the jackpot.
So here’s the new beginning:
The nameless cadaver on the cover of my anatomy textbook—a middle-aged man who is no longer black, white, or brown—would be counted among the orange in a census of the embalmed.
Someone should have adjusted the tint before they juiced him.
I flip the book open and study the color photographs of the cadaver’s aortic arch and brachiocephalic veins, then close my eyes and try to commit the multi-syllable words to memory. Here I am, near the end of my first semester of mortuary school, and I’m still having trouble keeping my veins and arteries straight.
And that’s it. New beginning, book gone, desk cleared. Now, onto the next project, but after a nice Sabbath rest tomorrow.