Body Maps

In Animals, Current reading, Dance, Drafts, Hautvoir, Local projects, Now playing in a theater near you, proto drafts, Theater, Visual artists on February 24, 2014 at 7:47 am

Fiction must take the back seat again. The dream too?

In the telling, yes, the dream must wait. It involved a getting-to-know-you dance sequence between unlikely partners,  in an unusual setting. Try: a gun shop in the upstairs section of a restaurant? Never a dull moment.

For now: how some real events flow into fiction, no problem, straight from life to transmogrification. How other events resist the same process; insist they’re part of the story but not that way. Not here. Not now. Not in that pov. Not in that scene. Not. OK. Keep your wig on, Ethel, the tale will find the place that fits.


In the hoard of notebooks. There it is. I haven’t kept much from that period. Read through it last night. Embarrassed only by the moments when I panicked, although I suppose the panic was a natural response to the strangeness of it all.

I was working on – what else? – a novel. The notes from real life and from story, intermingled. They still are. Why this is no longer an issue now, I don’t know.

Notes about the People’s Daycare Center, notes about Gods in need of Editors. None of the themes have changed, I notice.

A brief scribble out of Jim Harrison. “I’ve always been a slow talker,” it begins. “If my vocal cords had been otherwise constructed I may have done well at a growl or bark or howl at scented but unseen dangers beyond the light we think surrounds us, but more often enshrouds us.”

I’m not in an enshrouding mood, this morning.  But that notion of what lies beyond or below light: one that, to this day, won’t let go of a fictional fifteen-year old boy. Who may or may not go further than putting his question to the universe, in this go-round.


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