links/2023w07.1

"give it all..." (maybe, probably)

Next newsletter taking shape – thought I still have to decide on the main essay/ramble, but it'll come to me, probably.

For some reason – idiocy / punishment gluttony? – I decided it would be a good idea to resurrect three abandoned projects as my sides (I take Wednesdays and the weekend to work on these side things, with the goal that they be as different from the MainFictionThing as humanly possible). Still have to decide on a final form, but I do want to have some kind of "mainstream" (read: not my usual weird shit though still, probably weird shit – just written in mostly complete sentences) series / world to revisit over and again. This trio might be it, them, maybe.

Balancing a desire to write something in this space every day (these do, if nothing else, provide me a way to work on something else when I'm stuck in the main something) and to save it for Sunday but I keep coming back to Annie Dillard's words in THE WRITING LIFE:

"One of the few things I know about writing is this: spend it all, shoot it, play it, lose it, all, right away, every time. Do not hoard what seems good for a later place in the book, or for another book; give it, give it all, give it now. The impulse to save something good for a better place later is the signal to spend it now."

Consider these words to be thus given, spent.

HEAVY HEAVY – Young Fathers

A surefire sign that an album will end up among the EarBliss: I turn it up. I wanted to turn HEAVY HEAVY up even louder than the Apple-allowed: this thing rips out of the speakers, grabs your throat and your heart and doesn't let go. Vinyl ordered and I'll be checking out more of their work (wish I'd found them sooner). Turn it up.

nothing is sacred (until all the words are written and even then)

Lesson of the workweek thus far being that no component is sacred until the whole story/project/whatever is done (and, as the title would suggest, even then): I've (again) committed the cardinal sin of letting a passage languish in Mississippi a day too long (as Bob Dylan would say) and attached to it too permanent a responsibility before the whole was even close to revealing the totality of its narrative and rhythmic needs / permutations. Answer to problem of lack of forward motion lay, of course, in the spaces between the passage I was treating as holy and, as such, the scalpel has come out, the delete key (or copy/paste into a "Cut" file, as is my usual method) is working at full functionality and the words are flowing again – at least until the next time I decide to ignore my own advice which will probably be sooner rather than later.