In November, I began experimenting with scent memory and the effects of different musical styles to get me in the mood. Then there was a great and heavy sigh from my inner critic when I finally told her off, that I was a grown woman perfectly capable of making writing decisions on my own and I’d ask for her opinion when I damn well needed it. My hands were shaking and my face was bright red, but she got the hint. I make people a little nervous when I get huffy, even imaginary ones get a little prickly behind the ears.
A few weeks ago, I went off to a whole different writing place with thoughts of avocados and antique stores and Leela. I really like these places. They’re real enough to me, like rooms with doors unhinging, and when you come with, it’s like we’re 9 years old and spying through yellowed lace curtains.
It’s like circus tents and calliope music.
Like Punch and Judy.
And I’ve heard and read there’s so much to gain by staggering writing projects, keeping flames burning under different pots, stirring one while the other simmers.
This memoir is going to take years and guts. I get that.
This blog is keeping you close to me which in turn is keeping me peddling up a hill with a low grade. I need you more than you know.
This new idea, one I’ve been considering for only a few weeks, is getting me excited. It is writing only for writing, a book of experiential sensory detail.
Imagine a slow collection, each item chosen individually from scads of cast off flea market remnants. Each item has its own voice, its own memory, its own song or scent or color or taste. Each item gets its story written until the stories themselves become a collection.
Now for the hard part, I’d like to find an artist to work with who can also capture the feel of the piece, the music, the writing. I don’t know how this will happen, I certainly don’t want anyone illustrating a bottle of Pepto-Bismol.
What I’m looking for is someone who can feel it out and step in, someone I can jive with artistically, someone who sees the gorgeous in the broken and stained.
Anyway. That’s what I’ve been thinking.
What about you?