Monday, September 13, 2010

at the mind's eye café.



Already I’m looking forward to November.


(If I can pull it off again this year - with the juggling act I’m in these days.)


Lovely November when I write 50,000 words of a novel's first draft.


(I will pull it off. I’ll just write faster and more furious. And fierce. Juggling fiercely and fast. And writing with the other hand the whole time.)




(Or maybe, juggling with toes and soles of the feet – since one-handed on the keyboard – which I could cover with my piano-octave finger-reach – but the typos incurred would be nightmare. Or mare’s nest. Either way, none too sightly. Nor readable.)


Embarrassing how much I’m looking forward to it.


(Middlest tells me she’s already planning to carry the cooking. Actually she says, “. . . looking forward to it . . . already have ideas . . . plus cross-country will be over then . . . ”)


Will a dedication in her honor at the front of the book ever be enough? 

(I’m thinking a whole page in the manner of NeoClassic poet to royal patron – lots of caps and italics and euphony.)

*   *   *

And I think I know what my November novel will be about this year – it just grabbed me with that gut-deep excitement that’s like . . . the smell of poplars, spring and fall, when the sap moves up into the leaves and when the leaves dry, dying.

Like the first snowfall.  When you're seven. And school's just been cancelled.

Like the first returned glance, significant and full of future tense.

*   *   *

As for last November’s novel, I vow here in this public plaza, here at the Mind’s Eye sidewalk café, my cloud-cycle leaning against the table, beneath the striped awning, basket full of flowers and curious packages tied up with string ~

Yea, verily, will I give to you, abandoned manuscript, September's balance, October's whole: a daily vising/revising.  Because life is not going to get any more freed up and imagination’s masked racoon has been treed up long enough by the baying hounds of responsibility.
Yea.

And also verily.

8 comments:

Mrs. Organic said...

And another yay. The kind to cheer you on.

Lisa B. said...

This is all very very exciting. I can't wait. For your NaNoWriMo. As for myself, I'm hoping to ferret out a poem here or there, but you! You go!

Neighbor Jane Payne said...

". . . imagination’s masked racoon has been treed up long enough by the baying hounds of responsibility." Now THAT is a visual.

Fresca said...

What a great picture! She's going to have to hit those keys harder than that though--that's no electric typewriter! : )

Clowncar said...

you are right, life never frees up. gotta carve writing into the unyielding rock of the day.

good luck with the november novel.

Melody said...

I visit your blog and I feel hopeful and renewed . . . just by reading you . . .like when I visit a museum or hike in the mountains alone.

Art, nature, meditation, an imaginary bicycle.

Write.

Thank you.

Emma J said...

Wow, thanks, Melody. That is the most encouraging thing that could be said.

And Clowncar - ain't it the truth? I gather you know whereof you speak - luck to you, too.

suzanne said...

How cool are you?
Just write a novel. Just go.
After all, it's November.
Of course.

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