what i’m doing

sorting piles.  this entire book is being collaged and you take collage and add it to my obsession with order and you get the most inefficient method of writing a novel ever invented.

I’ve sometimes wondered, when someone says the one about authors who spend eight hours in their rooms to come up with one sentence— I’ve imagined people imagining the authors just pacing all day— jotting something down and then scratching it out — hour after hour— is that really what some people do in their studies? For me it’s some days write a bunch of stuff that all gets cut — maybe six months later it gets cut— except maybe that one line that stays. Or it’s hours of moving notes around in relation to each other before finding some combo that makes me think of the sentence that then ends up in the book. Or writing about things in the book, wondering to myself in writing what I’m writing about or what people might do later in the book and eventually I think of a line that actually goes in the book.

a note about narrating this protag. that I don’t have a place for in my own hundred files: She doesn’t notice the specificity of landscape/place—she is myopic – sees only interiors – after the hospital anyhow—how do I find and execute MY form of certainty? If I let myself have a first person undrmatized narrator even from ch 1 I can set up for later moves… defining myself via deficits… confessions as a third person narrator. I have to care a lot in my very specific way. But not be explainy…so many things I don’t know. So many simple facts I forget. Simple math that stumps me. Seeing the birth and death of that guy and not registering his age, moment in historical time not registering skipping names and dates when I read. Never imagining the pronounciation of names I don’t know just taking it in visually as letter shapes. This is your narrator. Still can show some things. As if intuitively, getting to the same place others get with all their good info and training. Politics that comes from some sense of what’s right. My vs D’s interpretation tactics when we visited the coral castle for example. She sees him in context of Lavia—and his his age—the cold dark place vs florida, the post ww2, I just see the psychological shape of him in the architectural exoskelton. How is the mother in the book like this and not—she’s on the edge. —these are not unlike serial killer narratives of expression. Self-espression, self etc. I don’t know how to accept, justify, understand, or undermine my fear. It is there, I just try to banish it ad this is what happens. I don’t see the fear. I see it as eradication of personality.

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