Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Way back when, whenever that was, I'd signed up for the 3-day novel writing contest, stocked my fridge with toaster streudels (pavlovian writer's technique to increase productivity), and created this blog so friends could check in on my progress. It was a fascinating process -- coffee-fueled, sleep-deprived, I ended up writing straight Id for two of the three days. It doesn't take much to get me in that state. An extra cup, a missed hour.
I'm half-way there now. Missed hours of sleep? Check. Coffee? On its way, post-gym. The hours last night were wiled away on the phone with the young lad, who's currently in Winnipeg facing down vices, skeletons, genetics, mosquitoes. The wide expanse of how his life could have kept circling the drain had he not made certain choices. That much sky is oppressive. That much horizon, paralyzing. There's nothing better than the cradle of here, tucked in on all sides by that which holds us. Mountains. Water. A grossly high cost of living. The stuff that keeps nose to grindstone, hands out of pockets, one foot continuously being placed in front of the other. Right, the gym. But first this:
Another life that circled the drain and clogged that fucker right up. This reminds me of a short film I saw once...a girl went to pull a hair clog from her bathtub drain and pulled out a golem instead. The golem in this case is my friend Mark, and the girl is his muse. He's set to do the 3-day novel this year from the comfort of his own giant mega-book-store, and you can watch from your couch.
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