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