Offerings

Friends bring me little virtual tidbits to include: flummery, a (human) knee bone found at Fort Funston, man overboard on the bay, galette. I like it. They are things outside this growing tumoristic novel that is taking over my imagination. It's fun to try and see where they might fit.

Right now, everything feels like fodder for the novel. And that's not just because the shear volume encourages me to stick just about anything I can think of onto the page. I come out of my apartment after writing for hours and am shocked to see some of my characters out and about, the corner where the body lay undiscovered perfectly calm and clean. And when I go back to the keyboard, coffee in hand, words roll out from where I do not know. Today, 1473 words appeared from nowhere. I felt like I was daydreaming on the page.

The boundary blurs between fantasy and reality. The novel is everywhere and everything is (potentially) in the novel. Is this a good thing? We shall see.