I love feeling hungry to write. Coming off of a second draft of one project that needs a lot of work, getting ready to dive back in and finish another project’s first draft, I’ve been poised on a pleasant precipice of expectation.
However, I’ve held back from beginning, letting the urge to create build and ripen, becoming something tantalizing and sweet instead of something that is work. I’ve read a lot this week, most notably Farewell My Lovely, which has now become my second favorite Chandler, just behind The Long Goodbye.
For the last hundred pages, I could feel my brain, like tender seeking fingers, reaching out to blend Chandler’s dialogue with the themes of the music on my stereo. Moose Malloy twists his doomed giant’s body into the landscape of the Hold Steady’s “Both Crosses.” Chandler’s Bay City becomes the Santa Cruz that Lucero sings about in “San Francisco.” Two California cities separated by miles and time are now one in my imagination with the road trip Shelle and I took along the 1.
In this state, I notice details, and everything is a seeding looking for soil in which to root.
So now, quick blog post done, there are dishes in my sink, but I’m not going to wash them. I haven’t showered yet, but there’s plenty of time–I don’t have to leave the house till 8:00 tonight. In this state, the order of the world matters, not at all.
There is only me, and this screen, and the door–open and waiting to the place that only I can see.
Shullamuth Ballinger 