Four days back into my normal existence, and I’m feeling clear-headed and perhaps a little manic. I’ve been working through a lot of stuff in the past few blog posts, clearing out my personal history, making way for something new. Also I’ve been reading a lot of Deborah Eisenberg. She is perfection, and now all I want to do is write like her.
I woke up at 6 and did some big thinking, some seriously interesting visualization, and then I wrote it all down. I sent what I wrote to a couple of people this morning, and then I realized I probably should just post it already:
I was thinking about all the random chapters I have scribbled in my notebook of this new project that’s kind of hovering around me right now. I had this visual of each chapter being shaped basically the same – a rectangle shape – and they were hanging from a wire or a piece of string in a line, but they were uneven, as if some were heavier than the other, or perhaps that I was just incapable of putting things in a truly straight line. I took a step back in my brain and realized they were all photographs and I was in a dark room, and every chapter of this book was just a captured moment, as if I were a private detective, and I had been on surveillance of all these people, where they went, and what they were doing. There needs to be a feeling of being caught in action in this new book. Everyone should be in the moment. Everything should feel like a surprise.
Then I got out of bed and sketched what that would look like. (I do not know how to draw, but just know that it exists.)
Also I had a dream that I was going on the road and I had to find a place to store all my old books, and I thought maybe I would just give them to my parents.
I’m going to stop thinking about making this new book big and just think about making art instead.
