No words today

No words today. I am spending my time hosting event after event. Other people's books launched out into the world. Some of them so good. Some of them terrible. Some of them so foreign to me that they might as well be written in another language. I dream of my own book. I find it in everything I read or see or do. I find that my story here is sometimes popping up in the parallel world of furious vaginas. I find the post I wrote yesterday might just as well be fiction, copied and pasted into the book as it emerges. I struggle with relationships in the real world purely because I want to replicate them in fiction. I complicate a simple friendship to find out how it will play out on the page. I have not put pen to paper in days but I am working on it. I make notes in the margin of a book while I am on the bus, I plan a documentary project and think to myself - it will be good research for the book.

So no words today but my hands are plunged into the world and I am pulling up great fists of potential, panning the mud of life for a few fragments that might end up on the page.

This is the way of it, this writer's life.