A one-inch sculpture of 3-legged Lucy.  Thanks, Lyra.
A one-inch sculpture of 3-legged Lucy. Thanks, Lyra.

I started a new essay today.  It has nothing to do with my manuscript; nothing to do with mothers or grandmothers or daughters or families; nothing to do with being in college when you’re too old to be in college; nothing to do with …………. well, I was going to say “nothing to do with death,” but you all know me better than that, right?

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I started a new essay today.  The first lines showed up about a month ago, and they keep building, looking for a structure and an arc.  As much as I hate the word “arc” because nothing, not a single fucking thing in real life, happens in an perfectly shaped arc.  Why do arcs always remind me of bell-curve grading scales?

I started a new essay today because I need a break from writing about what I’m writing about in my book.  I need a fresh look at looking.

I started a new essay today, an essay I do not, under any circumstances, want to write.  It’s about what happened before and during and after I received a letter in the mail, a long letter from a stranger with a photograph of bruises and no return address.

I even have a non-negotiable title.

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What are you working on these days, and how goes it?

 

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