I have a reading dry spell. I get overwhelmed, there's too much to read, and I'm not going to find what I'm really looking for because what I'm really looking for is what I'm writing.
But fifty percent of writing is reading yadayada. I know I need to get back in the game etc.
So, moons. My beta muse is moon complete, he wakes the night in the night. He shrieks flood, the flood is coming, and I learn it's meaning. Tides under moons.
I can tell you about the writing process, sure. But I can't tell you about the creative process. No matter how many years I spend trying to fight the mysticism, it will always win.
I don't shy from techinicalities, though. I don't gloss over. I suppose that, in the future, when I am asked how I write, I will give the technicalities as far as I am able. I am unafraid to expose bones, expose bones as many. But how did the bones get there? Don't think to ask.
Today is Mickey Willard's birthday. My favorite artist, I'm waiting to see her everywhere. And working to see me everywhere. Maybe we'll be everywhere; contrast and sihlouette. Waiting working, what was this? OH YES. TIDES MAKE. A place of our own.
Alan Cope and I are moving soon. There will be a room for me and a room for him, other words made, I'll have space for my own office! I build simple furniture and make fresh food and live in the middle of nowhere. We'll get to a city soon. When money happens lush. Excitement abounds.
As a side note: thank you Bob Ross, from every person with ASMR. THANK YOU.
Fun find: Target now carries SMASH products. I had a coniption. I bought a stamp. My journal yearns for me handsome. Mymymy. I'm grateful for this world. I'm grateful for Edward Norton's voice.
I know, bits and bits. It's hard to update of late.