But this changes the further along I get, like a hallway stretching further into infinity while in a running dream, where the end of the hall is just out of reach. The more pages pass beneath me it seems, the more get added. I'll have to mind this.
Gonna paint a picture here: I have a desk just outside of my living room that faces diagonally the living room and the TV, and I'm leaning back now and watching the news from behind this desk after declaring myself done with the book for the night. And damn, do we live in strange times. And I'm beginning to wonder if aesthetics will survive this shift in America, if the literal will now gradually consume the conceptual as the norm when it comes to "art."
Everything has become so ... simplified.
I hope that reading and writing will still be a thing after this version of America runs its course.
Said this a few times in the bathroom mirror tonight with the lights out, and when I turned the lights back on, I saw only myself standing there holding a Bloody Mary, the same Bloody Mary that I'd been holding when I walked in.
Such has been the last few days, lost in my birthday weekend with a few days to myself as a head start. Much progress on the book and lots of time to catch-up with people and places. Only one gig and then I was off to nothing more than being a writer, a lost weekend in every sense of the word.
Still a few days left of this sabbatical, and lots of Zing Zang Bloody Mary mix left in the fridge = Productivity.
Just getting back to the grind here after some distractions to do with The Music Half, which means I had gigs during most of the weekends that I'd otherwise be working on the book. I did get some positive reactions from a friend of mine to The Petrified Christ, and then I would later find out that she may have some bookstore connections (and if you do, too, let's start a phenomenon). Then while getting to some key plot points as I trudge towards the end of Darker Prometheus, I noticed that there are interactions that I didn't account for in previous chapters, good stuff, the result of some significant slicing and dicing. It's okay. "My old man is a television repairman, he's got this ultimate set of tools. I can fix it."
Taking a break from writing on this Mardi Gras to watch a little New Orleans royalty.
Always so mysterious to me, even as an adult. The vast, polished white floor and dim lighting, images that were burned into my mind as a child while watching it on late-night PBS on Mardi Gras eve with my parents. This is what the rest of the country needs to see when we boast proudly about our special Tuesdays once a year.
Had a blast last night with the Not Real Radio gang, and thanks to everyone who tuned in. If you missed it, click here to be launched right into it. I can't say how much their support of me as a writer means to me.
Tomorrow is Mardi Gras here in New Orleans, but for me it will be a day of immersion into my fictional world.
Much more fun.
A rainy Sunday in New Orleans during this the final weekend before Mardi Gras. Had a bit of a late start this weekend as a result, having spent most of the day yesterday up on blocks due to a bit too much reveling on Friday night. But today more work has been completed on III and tonight I'll be a guest alongside my buddy Scotty Elstrott on the Not Real Radio podcast. Click on over at 8PM CST to hear what's happening in pop culture, local entertainment and news from five people who will be avoiding the rest of Mardi Gras at all costs.