This is the longest I've gone without writing a blog. That's not to say I haven't been blogging. I've been going through eight years of clippings, thoughts, bits and pieces, and notes that I've been collecting and now collating, in preparation for the book I plan to write at Stegner House in October (got a grant). As I have waded through a sea of paper and sifted through the sand, I have also been picking up starfish, i.e. material for blog reports. Lots and lots. So my blog has never been far from my thoughts. I've scribbled notes in passing for me to go back and enlarge on. Actually it's quite a daunting list, and that brings me to lists. Anyone who loves paper as I do must also be addicted to lists. On paper. I have software on my computer, apps for Sticky-Notes, Reminders, and just plain Notes, plus Skitch, whatever that is, and Evernote, which might be promising. I will welcome affidavits. The thing is, I love to put my lists on paper, on bits of paper: I tear up used paper if there's some blank space on it and make small sheets out of it. It's so satisfying to have completed a task on such a list and toss the paper out, having done my bit for trees; it's more satisfying to toss rather than to tick off. All you can do with a reminder list on the computer is delete it, not nearly as hands on. Some times I lose the bits of paper, no I don't . I don't lose them, I just misplace them, for a while. If they haven't been tossed - and I don't toss them until they are finished or irrelevant - I find them eventually. I know it's not as awesome a method os that provided by an iPad or iPhone but it works for me. They say paper is going to be obsolete soon; we've had something like that discussion (see "paperless society my foot"). Other things will go, too. Just this week I was sent a list of 10 things that we will shortly see the end of. Another list. Á bientôt.
where am I?
I don't ask that question often but I really do wonder where I am. Or when? Maybe when. I spent too many hours today watching catch-up episodes of a TV series that had been recommended to me by someone whose judgement I respect. Well, la di dah. (Is that how you spell that?) Maybe it was an overdose but I felt totally disoriented by the time it finished. This is not the world I grew up in. There, that's her age speaking, you say. Well, yes, I guess it is. I still have a moral compass and the needle was spinning as I watched this show. I have to think about this, about my naiveté and about others' cynicism, not to say callousness. I'm a writer but I can't write like that. So maybe my question is not where am I but where is my audience? Or who? And when am I going to do something about it? Is it too late?