The Indigestion Of A New Book

It’s time to start writing a new book. Which means, really, that it’s time to start staring into space and thinking about it, because I have several more things to finish before I can really dig into it.  This could be weeks.  Right now, it’s a couple of plaintext files of lines and thoughts and a couple of pages of rough notes and bullet points in a Moleskine.  I have a Field Notes notebook on the shelf that it will start to get developed in, but I can’t let myself pick it up and write the working title on the cover until June.  This phase is sort of like mental indigestion.  The idea is lodged in a tube somewhere inside my collapsing body.  And I can’t choke it up for another month.  Worse: when it comes out, it might just be too rotten to use, and then I won’t be writing a new book after all.

But, if all goes well, this is where my journal starts getting even more disconnected and abstract than usual.  But, you know, that’s really what it’s here for.  Also I will drop off the face of the world unless you know me personally and are in regular contact.  Looking at a long hermitage ahead.

 

I just wrote a blurb for this amazingly fucked-up crime book by Jeff Johnson with the brilliant title of DEADBOMB BINGO RAY. (UK) (US)