As my summer wanes and the dreaded paperwork again rears its head like a country of a thousand whispering deaths. As Russia asserts its world power by overrunning its neighbor. As unusual August rain comes and goes over the last two days giving way to a little summer now and then. I am feeling like I must get to work on writing again.
I realize that writing stabilizes me and forces me to look closely at my life. It makes me put my disjointed, chaotic world in order so that it will fit into words which are like rooms you build around ideas. They aren’t the actual ideas, but they hold the idea like a dolphin in a huge tank. The idea may leap free every now and then, but it will most likely end up in the water again. Words are my flooded rooms that thoughts leap in and out of. Putting them in the room with a nice big window so I can look in and see how they play together gives me ideas for new and better rooms, maybe for butterfly thoughts or lizard thoughts or maybe rabbits all soft and warm.
I will begin building a few houses and then maybe arrange these into a village, I guess a novel would be like a city or a Charles Dickens novel would be like London, large and English. I think I’ve gone about as far as I can with this. If you check in every now and then your likely to see some huddled village along a quiet stream not New York or Paris.