It seems one of my favorite phrases, “slogging through the porridge,” belongs only to me. I have used it only once in my blog (that I can find), but it escapes my lips in conversation not infrequently and it has found its way into my fiction on more than one occasion. This morning, for reasons too convoluted to explain here, I searched Google for the phrase, typing the words between quotation marks. The search yielded only two results, both from my blog; I expected to find many more, inasmuch as I assumed I must have borrowed it from someone else. Maybe. Maybe not.
To me, the phrase makes perfectly good sense. It means “coping with the day-to-day struggles of life with resigned determination.” I wonder whether it would make sense to readers who encounter it in my fiction. I suspect readers would be able to figure it out from context, but perhaps it would require a diversion from the reader’s attention to the story, which could break the rhythm of reading. I suppose I should leave it to a good editor to make that determination.
And on other matters, I spent quite a while earlier this morning looking at photos of women welders and the products off their efforts. I have a Pinterest board dedicated to welding (I took a course once and loved it; would like to take another one some day). A woman who goes by “Big Mamma” repinned my “more welding basics” pin. I looked at her welding-related pins, almost all of which were of women welding, women who are welders, and/or their work. I am easily distracted.
Speaking of butterflies…
