After the Work
It felt good to be dizzy with purpose...
Does it matter if this is a book or not?
Reading “Something Bright, Then Holes.” She says she’s writing a book of blue, that she got lost in the green, the canals, the pain-body. We are always going somewhere, whether we notice or not.
Rejections don’t hurt. It’s the silence that does, the hollow where attention should be. The forgetfulness. The way the world shrugs. So of course you create for yourself, because who else could it be for. And how easy it is to not sit with myself.
No one tells you what artists do in the interim, how they fold time to survive the waiting. It’s a lie that the sentences come clean, but once you’re inside them, the voice starts moving — ready, grateful, saying yes and yes and yes.
