greygirlbeast (greygirlbeast) wrote,

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wrap your heel in bones of steel, turn the leg, a twist of color

I think it's a quasi-paradoxical intent, thinking that maybe I can write about these times when I am unable to write. It's hard to miss the contradiction. Never mind that I mostly hate writing about writing, which means I must probably loathe writing about not-writing. But. When it happens, the not-writing, the weather within these walls seems to change, growing increasingly inhospitable, tensed as if it means to spring and disembowel something that cannot run fast enough to escape, angry and desperate, and poised always at the unsatisfied edge of need and reason. The air becomes laced with unseen piano wires. The sensation of waiting comes to define the days. Not expectation, which can often be more pleasant than the thing which one is waiting for. Not expectation, but something else. Another kind of waiting. But not dread, either. If it had a sound, this waiting, it might resemble the spinning of wheels that cannot find traction, the scrabbling of claws that cannot find purchase. And the discomfort it brings me (and anyone near me) is ironic, of course, as I virtually never enjoy writing. I do not feel driven to write, as so many writers claim. I write, because it's what I do. Except for these times when I don't. And then I discover that not-writing is even worse than writing. And yet, quasi-paradoxically, here I am writing about not writing, and it's the best thing I've written in more than a goddamn month.

A storm is coming, and tonight's low will be but one degree Fahrenheit warmer than tomorrow's high. Happy thoughts.

There was work yesterday, and that's better than nothing at all. All the last-minute details that needed my attention before the page proofs for the new Silk mmp (April '08) went back to Penguin. Minutiae. Being certain that hourglass was spelled hourglass throughout and not hour-glass, and that goose bumps was spelled goose bumps and not goosebumps (this confuses me, because gooseflesh — a much older word — is, indeed, gooseflesh). I needed to expand the author's note at the beginning, and write a new author's biography. And find a surname for Walter, who never had one before, something that bugged me endlessly. Also, through three editions of the novel, Byron Langly was sometimes spelled Byron Langley. These are the sorts of things that consumed my yesterday. Before I knew it, the clock had reached 4:30 p.m. and I had to called it as finished as it would ever be so Spooky could get it to the post office before they closed, as the ms. needed to be back in NYC next week. So, yes, there was at least work yesterday, which helped things feel less wrong. Also, I loaded Photoshop onto the still unnamed iMac, so I can hopefully get some work done on the website.

We walked to Videodrome, and the unseasonal nip was mostly gone from the air. Spooky made dinner. I uploaded more photos onto my MySpace page. It has become an odd obsession.

Two movies last night, the worst excuse for a double feature ever. First, Edward Zwick's Blood Diamond (2006), which I thought was very, very good. I've admired Djimon Hounsou since Ridley Scott's Gladiator (2000), and it was good to see him in such a substantial role. But we followed Blood Diamond with William Girdler and David Sheldon's Grizzly (1976). While more typical of our usual Friday Night fare, it was not nearly so much fun as I remembered. Of all the awful Jaws rip-offs, surely this was one of the least excusable and most blatant. A movie which hardly ever permits a break in the dullness. It's not even bad enough to be funny. It's just bad. But now it's out on DVD. After the movies, we worked on Spooky's MySpace page, which is slowly coming together. She wants to get more doll photos loaded this evening. I was in bed before three, but lay awake a long time. I think I was asleep before four. That was yesterday.

Yesterday was a day of eating Tums EX (assorted tropical fruit flavours, or so they do claim).

Anyway, now it is today, and it's time to kick the platypus some more.
Tags: movies, myspace, not-writing, silk, writing

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