Dear Reader,
Despite telling Word Raccoon that I was ready to get more fully back to the page, I woke at 1 am and by 2:30 I gave up trying to sleep, took my book downstairs (the Rushdie – I’m hooked on that second story now!), and read two pages before falling fast asleep and not waking for good until my alarm went off at 6.
(This is not literary clickbait. Rushdie arrives later.)
The reason I couldn’t go back to sleep initially is because I kept thinking about all of the small things I was going to do today to improve the house, everything from hanging mirrors to doing a furniture swap out.
In my mind, I saw myself doing a whole list, and I was so excited about improving things that, as I said, I couldn’t sleep.
When the alarm went off, I was sleepy, but that wasn’t the issue. My joints said, “Hello? Remember us? We know that you carried two heavy boxes upstairs yesterday – who told you to do that? We know every single thing you moved, hauled, swept, and hammered this past week.”
In short, my body did not even want to climb the stairs to get ready. It took caffeine and a pain pill, but I convinced it.
I strongly suspect that my body has been talking to Word Raccoon, who couldn’t care less whether or not I get that mirror on the wall.
While I told the body (and I meant it) that I will be more mindful today, I did negotiate a few tasks before leaving to write.
My mind works best when I close loops, when I actually finish a project instead of opening another. But also, one project suggests another, and they all seem so easy to start with. Before I know it, I have three projects going and a list of others to begin. Naturally, I prefer those with a quick visual win.
Okay, the brain has been emptied. I’m going to treat myself to a few pages of Rushdie even if I am at the café , something I sadly hardly ever do, read here.
Rushdie is one of those authors I like much more than I expected to. In fact, I look forward to his books coming out, though I haven’t read them all. He surprises me with his au courant-ness. His humor surprises me. His tone engages. His plots are imaginative.
And obviously, he’s a badass on multiple fronts.
In this collection, he has done something I seldom see done, where the narrator directly says he’s giving information for those who don’t know. He does that in multiple places. I mean, it’s forthright, and I suppose you could argue that it gives a direct connection with the reader, so it’s intimate. But also, maybe it takes away a bit of authority from the author? Like, I feel like I can just say it, and it’s on the reader to look up a word or a custom, etc.
I suspect it’s sly commentary/critique on the Western-culture-heavy perspective on storytelling and the assumptions we as readers are expected to make, and by pointing out things we wouldn’t know, he’s saying of course we don’t know because the publishing world is built that way.
Or maybe he’s just trying on a voice. I honestly can’t remember if he does it in multiple stories (I think so) though I know he does it multiple times. This is not a review. Just random thoughts.
Okay, WR says fine, I should read a few pages, but then I will absolutely get to the poetry or she will have my hide.
Bossy little animal.
To progress, however small. To life, always precious.
Drema
P.S. Today’s reading led to two poem drafts. More on that later, perhaps, but it involves soup on the moon and the word badinage.
dremadrudge.com 