Instead of writing in blank journals, I am now writing on extra long office paper, which among artists is a grave faux pas. Not the extra long part, but the office paper part, office paper being inferior, the lowliest class of paper; nonarchival, amateur.
That's to say nothing about the Sharpie, that starts to fade the moment it hits the paper.
How much time until it disappears altogether these words I'm writing today January 15, 2016?
Is it fair to believe they need archival quality?
My dad told me to save it all. So for the most part I have.
Mostly likely, my husband will throw it all in a dumpster behind Target once I've gone senile.
Or maybe one brilliant night, I'll decide to make a bonfire of it.
For now, I'm adding stacks of extra long office paper to the archive.
I like the length of this paper and the freedom to shuffle the pages, working on many small things while working on one big thing.
The Insanity Manuscript, from how I understand it, is the manuscript Tranquility is working on, inspired by Pessoa, works that can not, by definition, ever be finished.
I got an email from Judy, my friend from Tucson who I first approached years ago in the little park by our house, having overheard her talking about her novel-writing group.
Judy is a wonderfully sharp critic with a biting edge that always makes me laugh.
This time, she went easy on me. "We can go there, but don't name it that."
Frankly, it is beyond my control.