Messes with my head when I’m up so much earlier than everyone. Kiddo got leapt upon by 3 lbs of black fur at around 3:30 – now kid, dad and aforementioned ball of fur are all nicely settled together in the big bed. Me? Im wider than a stick of gum and had to slip away.
My toenails look fabulous, I want to photograph them, but that’s the same part of me that just spent too long looking for a plastic batman ring I saw shoved on the cat’s ear last evening.
Lets see. What, what? Fourth of july weekend was all the stuff it is supposed to be, more “classic” than any we’ve had so far – kid games at the park, dunk tank with the mayor, swimming, grilling, sparklers, fireworks. Maybe adam’s best holiday to date; Lily really brings out the satyr in him. (Photos in a later post)
There’s a lot of fog.
My stories are getting more compact – working on this thing, thought it was about a whole night, got interrupted, back to it later and I realized it needed two more lines. What, maybe 400 words? But sometimes you WANT something to be sex but instead it’s about moths and alcoholism. It’s voice work, I think. Anais Nin crisis – I go back and forth between Henry & June and her erotica, and try to figure out what she was trying to figure out – the journal voice turning to the writer voice. Henry figured it out, or maybe he just said fuck it. Maybe this is about form. Don’t know. Just know that things that come from scribbles and journal scraps and bundled thoughts fallen from the sky (tied together with cigarette string and stored near the X-files trivia but not too close to the D’inofrio box) shine up into a lot more like my voice than my “this is the story” planned tales. It’s like I put on my fancy writing hat – I dont write anything fancy, but the voices are distinctly different… bridget’s voice is the only narrative voice I like, and its just (to paraphrase andrea speaking of something different) the out loud version of me. We’ll see how all that pans out.
these are good thoughts to have while it becomes daylight and the fog refuses to burn off.
If i had the batman ring, perhaps the answers would feel closer.
Too many books on the side table, but I guess it’s good – I can say Fuck it to the voice earwhig and listen to other voices for the moment. Ahem, allow me to catalog : Knockemstiff, By the Time We Leave Here We’ll Be Friends, Clown Girl, Henry & June, Sexus, Erotica by Anais Nin. Thats an impressive table. If the PBS schedule and One Fish Two Fish weren’t amongst the pile it would be downrigh hip – and no doubt a calculated lie of a pile.
But this is not about the table. This is about the Warmed & Bound Release Party, isn’t it? No, maybe it’s about the Booked podcast that terrifies me to no end. I shall ramble in new and horrifying ways, and I am AFRAID. Big mouth, more nervous = more talking.
But the release party is exciting shit. Why? Shoes. Shoes and the 1920s and meeting all these people – I want to know what these typed voices sound like out loud, I want to match faces to stories, I want to hit on waitresses dressed as flappers.
I want a pink bandanna for my pirate costume, and to FIND THAT BATMAN RING!!!