I am forgoing writing tonight, the night before the next Hypergraphic meeting. Delany’s About Writing compels me. It must be finished. Afterwards, I will raise my head up and wonder at the passage of time, curious but not distressed, because I know I have spent the time well.
That was weird and cryptic and pompous.
And that’s okay.
I will be late tomorrow for the meeting and I’m trying to figure out exactly how I am going to manage both getting to work and getting my laptop there without either being there an hour before my shift starts or breaking my shoulder on all the gear I’ll end up walking to work with.
This has turned out to be a very boring entry. Well, I suppose I’ve been a rather boring person recently. When I said a reading glut the other day, I wasn’t kidding but perhaps I was being too soft, too timid with my description. Not a glut but a surfeit, a deluge, an avalanche, a belly-full (mind-full?) of reading this last week.
I like it.
On a total aside, I started out very annoyed with the season finale of Bones tonight. They opened with a horrible cheat – showing Bones and Booth in some sort of romantic relationship that is the promise of the series but has yet to materialize in any real way. Turns out it’s a re-imagining, a cast reshuffle, new characters with old faces in what seemed like a sort of dream sequence, but now I think I’ve figured it out. It’s Bones working on her next novel, imagining her friends in the roles of her characters. Heh. That’s not confirmed yet, just my guess because suddenly a new character’s been introduced who happens to be a writer.
Why do writers write about writers so much? It seems a peculiar sort of self-obsession, a “Does this plot make my butt look big?” in the literary mirror. It’s the only frame I can imagine for the story so far tonight, though hopefully I will be surprised in the next thirty minutes.
Then again, I suppose it’s no different from cooks thinking deeply about other cooks, miners thinking deeply about other miners, politicians thinking deeply about other politicians. We follow our obsessions down the rabbit’s own rabbit hole.
I will be disappointed if it’s only a dream. We’ve seen that bit of process cheese, fool’s gold, campaign promise before.