Mixing It Up: It’s My Art.

I’m writing about this one from the Phoenix airport. Speaking of greatness (a few posts ago), I’m not a great travel agent—I thought I was flying to Denver and told a friend in Denver that I was going to be in Denver but to change planes so, sorry, I won’t see him this time, but soon, soon. We can figure this out; surely we can—now we can because I finished a draft of that book I’ve been writing—it’s bad, really bad, like if I-found-a-skeleton-in-the-woods-and-all-the-bones-were-badly-broken bad, but I did it. I found the story. It’s all there. All the broken bones are sorted and stashed in “like kinds” buckets—leg bones, arm bones, spine, fractured skull pieces; each in their bucket. Now I can write it and hang out with people. I’m not lost in the woods anymore. I mean, yeah. I’m addicted to being lost in the creative process, and I want to drop this story for another yet unwritten one, but yeah. No. I’m going to finish this one …

Plans were almost made.

I fell asleep.

I woke up and ate some curry. (You should try my red lentil curry—I’m getting good at it). 

Other things happened. 

The plane landed in Phoenix. 

Imagine my surprise—it was Phoenix, not Denver. It was just like my ticket said, and as they must have announced at the gate, it was Phoenix, though I don’t remember hearing any announcement. When I got on the plane, I was thinking about the plane crash in DC and trying not to think about it. 

I drank a coffee on the flight and read a second draft of a friend’s novel. It was inspiring. His writing is crisp now. The story is clear. It’s good. It’s much better than most other early drafts I’ve ever read. I got sucked into the story and quit making notes. I just read it—

Until Denver looked more like the desert than I remembered. 

These posts, by the way, contain accuracy but are not accurate. Please don’t take them for truth or fiction. Don’t try to find me in Phoenix or Denver. I was there. I’m probably not there anymore—or I am there—or somewhere—mixing things up and stirring the pot. 

It’s my art.