I’ve been writing a book, a book that has been absorbing/demolishing me.
BIGGER THAN A BREADBOX
It begins with a line from a song:
Is a dream a lie if it don’t come true, or is it something worse?
Actually, it begins with two lines from two songs. The other one is:
Everybody’s got a hu-u-ngry heart…
The book opens with these words:
The first thing I missed when we got to Atlanta was gulls.
And now, for the moment anyway, I think that I have figured out the words at THE END:
I guess maybe some people do leave. Some people let go and forget. Some people rip things apart.
But some people don’t.
All this to say, I’ve got something that looks like a draft. And whether the book is unpublishable, or whether it is the best thing I’ve ever written in my life… I can’t possibly guess. Right now it feels like both.
It’s a mess. It’s a disaster. But also–it feels truer and more honest and MINE than anything I’ve written.
I wonder how I’ll feel about it tomorrow.