Contemporaneous: Chapters 46 – 47
46. I sleep fitfully, drag myself out of bed, then go through my morning routine like it might be any other day, but there’s some weight I’m carrying now – my limbs are leaden, and my back is tight with all these little aches that make me think of writhing maggots. When I get to the work, everybody’s clustered together, huddled, hugging, crying. This is the best we can do in mourning: mourn together. One head of hair stands out – pink. Melody fucking Merlo. Seeing me, she rushes over with the urgency of a girlfriend charging a partner they haven’t seen for a long time, and hugs me so…
Contemporaneous: Chapters 38 – 39
38. The creative spirit is wonderfully erratic, sometimes quick and irresistible, and other times sluggish, if not apathetic, or maybe it’s just pathetic. I’ve learned over the years to just write, so I’ve narrowed the gap between the two extremes. Lots of writers wait for inspiration, or think inspiration’s going to fuel them the whole way. It’s not. It’ll get them 1% of the way. The rest, as the cliché goes, is perspiration. And, right now, given the mess of the meeting with Regina, and knowing I’m off the Melody edit, I feel this awesome resentment. People talk about positivity and shit like that. Anger and resentment are great motivators,…