Tuesday, May 25, 2010
I have been finishing corporate projects. Dumping old files from cabinets. Taking books to libraries. Fixing a split roof. Renovating a laundry room. Painting doors. Taking clothes to Good Will. Mailing gently used textbooks to Amazon.com. Rearranging my son's room so that it actually accommodates my son (he may be a lot like me, in many ways, but my minimalism flares against his I-may-need-that-laterism).
I have been preparing to teach high school writers all day tomorrow, within the shade of Chanticleer. I have finalized my course description for Creative Nonfiction 135 at the University of Pennsylvania, next spring. I have been creating two piles of things—one to take to New York on Thursday for the BEA (table 29, 3:30, among so many other wonderful scheduled interludes), and one to take on Friday, for the Book Blogger Convention.
I have been dreaming of horses.
Next week, in the quiet of a clean, swept-through house, in the reprieve of just two remaining corporate projects, I will begin again my work on Small Damages, the novel inspired by southern Spain. It is infinitely close, two months or so away from being right. I will not try to write it in snatches. Not this time. I know what it must be now. I won't be afraid of its own emerging will. I will write it quietly through.