And so the illusion of a new year presses on with a kind of weird madness, as usual. The year as we have it is a cycle: January meets January as the sun and earth play their natural parts. Can there be a new January? Do you want to remember last year’s January? There’s this from last year’s Jan 2 2005 post
Well itâ€™s now 2005 and counting. Not much to say about the new year, except to wish those stricken by tsunami well in the recovery, survival, and rebuild. What horrors on the beaches.
Susan at Spinning is writing about narrative as she gears up for fiction writing. Iâ€™d suggest not to worry about short or long story, but rather about story and how it manifests. In fiction weâ€™ll be dealing with shorter forms to start because we can manage a lot of them in a semester. Each story will demand what it demands. But I winder if as she writes them she sees the whole circle? Do I when I compose a story? Sure, a vague sense of what the story might look like at resolution.
What about the novel Suttree and Edsonâ€™s short Dinner Time as examples of story? One is long, the other short. Different shapes, but story nonetheless. But how they both drill into memory.
John Timmons announces the IF course for the Summer, too. Teaching at Tunxis is itself a lesson in timewarp.
Now it’s 2006 and counting and I’m half-way through Krauss’ Hiding in the Mirror and rewriting a section of Sandoval, extending a path where the link structure now just seems odd in the novel, such that I ask: “Why did I join these text spaces in the first place?” Better: “What was the thinking here?”