Friday, February 8, 2013

"You should write a book"

Funny thing happened today. Two different people from two completely different walks of life suggested I write a book. One of them didn't even know that I'd been bleeding at the altar of the written word for the past...oh my god...decade. And still, she said, she'd want to read a book if I wrote it.
I'm not sure what I want to write a book about. I watch my predilections flop around from human sexuality to relationships to all things science-y and consumable to urban design to behavioral neuroscience. People fascinate me, I guess. We're pretty remarkable creatures.
I could memoir, I suppose, but my memory for details, my regard for the past even, is so thin, that much of it would be fiction, intended or not.
And speaking of fiction, I could do that. I have been doing that, page after hand-scrawled page of a twisted fairy tale where no one isn't damaged but most people are pretty good anyway.
Art imitating life again.
Maybe the goddess is calling me back to the nest, maybe she's putting the pen squarely back in my fist. It's been too long, after all, and my soul is drying out on the edges. To curl back in her arms with some blank pages and the goal of spinning a book out of them might not be a bad thing.
And maybe this blog post is a reasonable start.