I’ve been searching for the rhythm of this website for a while–well, maybe not searching but more so avoiding. What kind of ‘Writer’s Blog’ to have? Yes, I know the entire concept is as trite as getting your panties in a wad. I am not new. Anyway, figuring out what would work best takes time, effort, and a good deal of thinking. So, priorities. Please, bear with me, this does relate to the previous post, though not in a ‘finishing the job’ sort of way, because if it did completely wrap up the previously posited ideas then I wouldn’t be who I am.
The new NOVEL, right? There’s no getting around that. The fact that I need to go visit Martha’s Vineyard in the winter, sleep in a creepy New England mansion for a few nights, sleep by the ocean, research late 1800s New England architecture and furniture trends, immerse myself in 1988 style and pretense, discover more about the 1980s music and recording industry, besides all of these oh-so-arduous tasks, I should be cracking the whip. On what?–what is the object of that sentence? That is the question, how to prod myself into GO mode and crank out more pages.
Lacking the time to titillate you otherwise, perhaps this repository will be that of a writing journal. The journal of the new NOVEL. As odious as the journal concept is, and believe me I am aware of the sprawling stinkage, it might be just the thing. I know I have some secret readers–those who lurk; perhaps focusing on the progress, or lack thereof, of the new NOVEL, will help…me. Yes, me. If you are close to me you know it is not going away. It is more insidious than the gym. I abandoned the gym and feel guilt, but it is an easy-to-push-aside guilt. The gym is not the third thing I am most in love with. The gym is not my future. Sure, the ten pounds gained sucks, and I wish I had that line in my triceps back. Whatever. The NOVEL cannot be pushed aside. I am living a life with imaginary people and I must figure out how to set them free.
I have read exactly 100 pages of Geronimo Rex and am feeling a distinct desperation. My god. What am I going to do? Things seem completely impossible and hopeful at once.