Reaching In The Lost And Found...

 

I’ve stepped away from “Twist” for a week or two to finish writing a lighter MS that I’d promised a friend as a gift in 2007 but stopped writing because I felt the topic(A disabled woman writer using a blocked, rugged-type writer—with at least some of the roguish, dog-like qualities that might imply to be the face of her book) had been covered, in a sense by real life with the JT LeRoy and James Frey scandals.   And it’s true that I don’t really feel that John’s book really being Carla’s can be a Major Reveal anymore as it might have been two or three operating systems ago when I started pecking out “CHAPTER ONE” but as much as I’d like to claim some kind of rigorous adoption of the crime-novel ethos over froth, I plainly and simply had lost eighty pages of my work. Which  I might never have found again if an epistolary relationship hadn’t covered fifteen years of ground. Which is why I wanted him to have a novel in the first place.
It feels weird to go over my old stuff after so long…in some ways I’m not even sure I could recapture  my old “reaching hard to be hopeful” tone, although I guess things aren’t yet bad enough that I’m feeling 2007 as some halcyon period or anything, but the words are kind of pouring out anyway…that feels good, even just as a break from the talking heads on the TV(Still love you, Chris Hayes)

Sometimes I remember the moment an idea came in my head and even what that day was like, and other things are more like “Wow, that chick’s funny,” before I remember that I am she and we are we together…sometimes it’s like fanfiction of myself(but let’s not focus on my social life)