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When you finish a first draft of a book, do a word count, and learn that the manuscript is 99,430 words long.
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March 29, 2023
March 17, 2023
How many times have I gone online and posted a paragraph entitled “possible opening for a new novel?”
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How many times have I gone online and posted a paragraph entitled “possible opening for a new novel?” That feeling of starting something new, starting over. The feeling or idea that it’s possible to start from scratch, a feeling most easily obtained in the land of fiction. The fiction that it’s possible to start again. Everything comes from somewhere, nothing is pure invention. The beginning of a new work is the beginning of a new day. And yesterday was also once a new day. Wondering if I should leave but no idea where to go.
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How many times have I gone online and posted a paragraph entitled “possible opening for a new novel?” That feeling of starting something new, starting over. The feeling or idea that it’s possible to start from scratch, a feeling most easily obtained in the land of fiction. The fiction that it’s possible to start again. Everything comes from somewhere, nothing is pure invention. The beginning of a new work is the beginning of a new day. And yesterday was also once a new day. Wondering if I should leave but no idea where to go.
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March 15, 2023
Can an art of collective struggle really be made by an individual artist?
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Can an art of collective struggle really be made by an individual artist? My secret, if I have one, is that I honestly hate being alive. What is your secret? What is the secret of some larger collectivity? A secret shared by everyone, a secret that everyone can work toward together? But of course not exactly everyone, just those within a certain specific circle of solidarity. What secret might be large enough to hold this solidarity together? My secret, if I have one, is that I can endlessly write about how miserable I am, but most often choose not to. Some other people are as miserable but, for the most part, most other people don’t seem to be. Illusions.
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Can an art of collective struggle really be made by an individual artist? My secret, if I have one, is that I honestly hate being alive. What is your secret? What is the secret of some larger collectivity? A secret shared by everyone, a secret that everyone can work toward together? But of course not exactly everyone, just those within a certain specific circle of solidarity. What secret might be large enough to hold this solidarity together? My secret, if I have one, is that I can endlessly write about how miserable I am, but most often choose not to. Some other people are as miserable but, for the most part, most other people don’t seem to be. Illusions.
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