Tricyclick.
I’m stuck on the hand, which makes no sense, I mean, except for the fact that it came out of nowhere. But it gets me where I need to be to set out for where I’m going, or so I’d think, and yet here I am, staring at the dam’ hand, unable to move past it.
Usually at this point I rip out what’s stuck, down to the studs, and rebuild it, but the whole edifice of this one is already terminally shaky; my hands have been writing one fix-it-in-post check after another that my fundament may well not be able to cash.
And I still have no idea how it exactly ends.
It’s possible, maybe—this volume has been the one I’ve most, I don’t want to say tightly, but, that I’ve outlined in the most detail, and maybe writing to the structure has distracted me from writing to, y’know, the story—that ol’ thing—but even as I set the thought down in words it clunks all hollow. I’m telling myself a story. This isn’t the problem, either.
Ah, don’t worry. I’ll figure it out. I always do. Right?
Here. Have a cover shot.
—posted 512 days ago
