Friday, April 13, 2007

No Post Belongs Here More Than This One

Whatever it is, it's not sci-fi. Because sci-fi is not a literature of ideas.

Check out the performance-art website of renaissance-woman Miranda July, who is quickly becoming my favorite artist-type person. She's one of those artists, like Regina Spektor, who seem to arrive fully formed. They're the kids on test day who are sitting at their desks with their pencils down when you're still struggling with question #7.

I have not written in days. Longer than that. Anything new. I pick at the second novel of the BDE, revising it in trickles. Not writing starts to feel like cabin fever; you feel like you're suffocating. I hate it and yet there's this ridiculous sense of constipation. The writing just doesn't come. The words stand you up. But it's been almost two years since I finished the first draft of the second book. two years since I have written a new novel. In the meantime I have revised heavily it and the first book, the angel book; I've written a couple dozen short stories. But I'm a novelist. I need to live with something large enough to take years to capture. Well. That's the whole point. You never do capture it all. Most of it gets away, and what you come back with is the trace evidence it existed at all.

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