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Wind: ESE 5-10 knots, gusting above 20 in thunderstorms, then shifting to SW
Our laziness continues. I’m having a very hard time being motivated to do anything because it may be another two weeks before our radio even gets here and then I’m going to have to learn how to use it. That’s an immense amount of time to get everything done. Another difficult part of my motivation is the cheap paperbacks that Pegasus lent me. I’m diving into trash fiction now instead of DVDs. It takes me about two days to whip one of them off, but it means I don’t do anything else at all, not even the dishes, while Karl cast glances askance at me.
He always asks me why I never fail to read tasteless bestsellers when they’re around instead of the accumulation of great literature I have aboard. I’m carrying books by Thomas Merton, Iris Murdoch, Toni Morrison, and Dostoevsky. Instead, I read books that are hailed as “best beach reads” by People magazine, named things like “Absolute Rage.” I guess I deserve a break after Ulysses.
Trash fiction, too, is like candy, while literary fiction is meat and potatoes--real food that nourishes me. My books are food and drink, I believe, as well as talismans to ward off danger, and things of beauty. They make me happy just to look at. The idea of writing one gnaws at me--I haven’t revised my NaNoWriMo manuscript from November yet, haven’t even looked at in months, and I feel profoundly guilty about that. The prospect of getting jobs looms ahead and I don’t want a job. I want to write. But I don’t.
I can’t make money writing a blog, though. I either need to start writing how-to-fiberglass articles or start writing a real manuscript. Since reading my sister’s blog, I have this brilliant idea to do a dual memoir, exploring our atypical childhood and divergent present. Maybe we need to get an agent.
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