Very distracted this month. I can write the novel, but, I will not be able to finish by the deadline. What a drag. I’m going to send Heart of Clouds to Dennis. More interested in getting going on selling what I have already done so I can move forward.
It is too sad here, post the losses of the last decade. Want to be in a place of less loss. Soon. It is hard on my soul. I want the trawler. It would be a good place for me to inhabit. I need to move from this house, I really do. Too many memories.
Very hard to try and cope with this novel in this place. Today, the rain. Not helping. It woke me up pattering against the roof.
My mood is towards dark memoir, rather than fresh happy novel. Can’t help it.
It’s like an anchor pulling me down.
Was at Pacifica for a long time yesterday. I told Mark my thesis, and I checked out the Red Book. I really feel very strongly about my new treatment paradigm in terms of Art/Narrative. Here is something on that book…
I’ve been thinking about The Seaheart as if it needs to be written while illustrating it. It’s not much different than the journals I did at Pacifica.
I just need a break from this house. I really do. I just need some help, so I can leave here — for a different space. I have never felt so claustrophobic as this year, or so alone on earth. All writers are essentially alone. We are. Outsiders.