I turned my attention to final copyedits for the apocalypses, and to some readings from it, and some interviews and stuff about it, and to visiting my home, and hosting my father here, and I feel so good about the book coming out.  I feel especially good because it is funny, and I believe in funny, funny and longing, funny and mournful, serious and then unable to take itself too seriously.  Then I return to this draft of the novel.  I m grateful to my friend D. for reading it and telling me that I have a book here, a draft, and that means I don’t have to worry about that anymore, I just have to work on pieces.  It’s so good to have a person tell you something you have told yourself because of the corroboration effect, believability.  But this book, if it is ever funny, is never funny like the apocalypses, or like so many books I like for the ways they are funny.  I am afraid of writing a book that is not ever actually funny, that is only weird.  But when I think I locate a layer or character or moment who I think can lighten up, and then I go into the book in that place, I don’t feel funny, I feel I’m trying to lighten something up that I don’t feel light about.  So maybe this is just another sort of book, or maybe I’m not yet in a place with the material where I can find the ways it is light.  Calvino:  lightness, quickness.  I have some moments with that quality I think but not so many as I think I think books should have.  And then I think of books I love that do not…

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