A snail of a book. Fall/Winter Notebook, page 1

It’s been taking me an hour to even concentrate, and a half hour per paragraph. Needless to say my book is a snail right now, but that’s OK,  because when it’s done, it will be the most important work (to me within my subjective cannon of work) that I’ve ever completed.

Damn. Nice to feel that you can laugh at yourself sometimes. As far as tonight goes, the day before the big United States election, well I just keep on doing what I do. Sending out resumes and learning and working and fighting and loving these damn words, and I don’t know, trying to grow as a human being. Strange days…

Really, there will never be a better time than now.  It’s been said, sure, but still true, if you want it to be, and writing this book and placing everything my mind has (overall) back into words, for ten plus hours a day, even these notes, all if it, is turning out to be a wonderful experience in not just adventures in writing, but also adventures in being a damn human being.

A second ago. Beer on the mind. So a beer it is. Drinking slowly and right now, for a minute, I’m just talking, and after, back to words, back to work, to the book

And oh, so tonight, and I say this for personal reinforcement reasons, I’m going work for two more hours after a walk, and then sleep and go observe people on election day. After this journal entry of sorts there’s  a paragraph from the draft that I was struggling with tonight, and after, are a couple of recordings of a section that will be formed and molded and find a way into the book, a book that may be a novel when it’s all said and done.

As the book was supposed to be just a short collection, well back then when it was only sixty-five pages I started it with poetry ,and I don’t know if I’ll remove that part. The poetry was supposed to be a kinda objective narration that set the historical and natural tone of the backdrop of the first person narrative. I don’t know what the book is, but it is a story, so  we’ll see.

Oh, the Fragmented prose book isn’t happening. I’m also thinking about changing the name of the book to ‘Happy in Dirt’. I do like  Sleep walking under The Moon Soul of Lake Michigan, because it means something very personal, I don’t know…I’ll see what happens. 

Alright. “Good night and good luck”. Now for a nice Michigan walk to get a cheap beer and wake up these restless legs during the end of fall.  Seriously, as writing goes, for a young writer and growing human monkey man, there’s never been a better time than now…(draft)

“I would die.

A sentence above with only three words, that would forever carry me forward in time, and no matter where I found myself always this fact would be a remainder of sorts. A three letter word, also known as…death, and yeah, even I would die someday. It’s so simple but so profound, and thankfully back then I had already accepted this, therefore… I walked away and followed an unknown path, and not just to wander alone as if some rebel or some western frontiersmen, but to write, to see things, and man, just last second it hit me. How have I been so blind? The whole time, what I was really doing was forcing myself to remember to live.”

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