Got up early and wrote down a really rough chapter outline for the next book I’m going to write. I have been thinking there will be footnotes and I have an idea for at least one illustration I may have to ask a friend for some help with. (Ahem, Emily Flake.) Basically I’m going to write this big, and hopefully beautiful mess and then we’ll see how it all plays out when I’m done.
I have experienced a lot of discomfort about the book the past few weeks. Last night I saw Stephen Elliott at a party at one of those fancy condos on the waterfront and I told him I was thinking about writing a memoir but that it was making me feel nauseous. He told me that was bad because that meant I might feel uncomfortable being completely honest, and I needed to do so in order for the book to truly work.
I actually think that nervous feeling is a good sign for me. I always feel agitated right before a breakthrough. And it also means I’m about to take a risk.
But I took his main point though. Don’t bother writing it unless you’re going to tell the truth, or in my case, at the very least, the emotional truth, because I won’t remember all the details or what people said exactly due to: drugs, time, and the impact of daily internet usage for more than a decade on my brain.
I think I’m ready though. I’m ready to throw in and figure some shit out.
Happy New Year, imaginary internet friends. Here’s to telling the truth in 2011.
Imaginary – feh!
To a great new year