It has taken me over 2 weeks but today I finally managed to figure out how to write fragment 300 of Appearances. 65 more fragments to go and then I have to re-imagine the manuscript into its final form. Unless I get really lucky, I probably have at least another year of work to do on this project. It's the most difficult piece of writing I've ever worked on. I routinely veer between doubt, frustration, depression and joy when considering the thing.
My father has cancer. He's 84 years old and, otherwise--all things considered-- in good health. Last week he was at Sloan-Kettering in NYC for some procedures. One of the procedures involved the injection of a nuclear material.
Dad and Mom live in Connecticut. After they finished up at the hospital, they were at Grand Central Station racing to catch a train. Someone tapped my Dad's shoulder. Dad turned around to face a uniformed policeman.
It was a subway detective. He told my Dad that he'd set off a detector! And proceeded to ask if he had been in the hospital. My Dad explained his situation, the cop photographed my Dad's driver's license and thanked him for his cooperation.
Of course, Mom and Dad missed their train. But the cop helped them to get their bearings and figure out what to do next.
My love affair with Jack White's CD Lazaretto only continues to deepen. I'm obsessed with it.
It's muggy. I should be practicing guitar, but my motivation is flagging.
When writing goes well everything seems possible. But the truth is that the life of an artist is about failure as much or more than it is about success.