I'm writing a novel for lent, and I am very far behind. I knew this would happen. It's for the best, I'm sure. I'll pound out some crappy filler chapters at the end, then edit them later. But at least it'll get done. Maybe. Yes.

There's something about concentrated writing that makes all my other forms of communication go to pot. This morning I had an 'epiphany' regarding the final scene - it seemed so important at the time, but looking back it doesn't seem to amount to much beyond a single character's facial expression while standing over a basement. Anyway, it sent me into a frenzy of research, buzzing through home remodeling books during the hour before my store opened. They told me nothing useful. I made the mistake of asking coworkers about furnaces and basement doors. They wanted to know why.

Me: 'Well, let's say a character needs this fire and an opening because for symbolic reasons, but it's not really symbolism 'cause that's too obvious. I more want to imply certain connection, relations, between the fire and stuff. I mean, you're not supposed to build a story around an idea, I mean, around an ideal or like a belief or I mean, you know, like something you're trying to say. But maybe I'll do it anyway and make it work.'

Dan: 'I have absolutely no idea what you're trying to say.'

I wonder why that is.

Maybe that's the real reason I haven't blogged in the last week. Because I can't properly communicate in the human way. Okay, so I might buy that excuse if I was actually writing as much as I should be for a person planning on finishing a novel in a matter of weeks.


In the meantime, I am reading Fear and Trembling by Kierkegaard. This was the source of the epiphany, actually, 'cause he goes on about Abraham in the most gorgeous and emo way (I think I have a crush on Kierkegaard, actually), describing the moment of anguish on Mount Moriah. And it absolutely relates to the end of my novel, only I didn't know it would relate 'cause I had never made the connection between Abraham and Jack's father until this morning. And then the final scene played itself out before me like a film (which begs the question, why am I writing a novel?) and it occurs to me that since no one knows anything about the end of the novel, this paragraph is going to be another one of those 'I have absolutely no idea what you're trying to say' things.

Told you it goes to pot.


  1. Can we just have another phone conversation, and I'll listen to all these beautiful non-flowing thoughts of yours, and I'll promise not to talk about boys this time...? I can almost hear your voice in this, cutting yourself off for rambling, but you are the best rambler I know anywhere, anytime!

  2. a novel over lent? Damn.

    Let's think about your essay after easter, then.

  3. Writing an essay sounds like a fabulous way to slack off from my novel, actually.

  4. Great. Did you decide on a topic?

    Also, here's the site thus far:


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