In 2009, I started work on a book of nonfiction. I wrote it all one way, but it was the wrong way, so I put it aside. Put every last tidbit of the thing aside. In big plastic bins, in multiple desktop files, in corners of my mind, it was gone—whoosh. Gone. I waited a year. (Scars have to heal.) And then I began again.
I now have a 50-page proposal on my desktop, along with dozens of books, hundreds of clothespinned pages, many flowery file folders, and a glass of two-day-old water. It looks like the wind blew through. It looks like something's cooking. It looks like it's time to call this day an actual day.
Tomorrow I will wade in here and see what damage I have done.
Published on March 03, 2012 15:35