15 and 16: Haiku and Limerick
Welcome back. I’m still telling the same story 100 times.
I missed last week, so this week you get two:
Haiku
A sharp knife is safer, in capable hands. My sweaty palm cups blood.
Limerick
There was a young man, sold no knife But a gift for his dad from Dad’s wife. While proving it’s fit He sliced open his mitt— Not the final slip-up in his life.
I’m kind of writing a novel, and I’m kind of not. I need to edit and submit several short stories first. But I’m taking notes for a novel. It’s an autobiographical novel. Possibly what I’m writing is just a diary with an agenda.
A couple of weeks ago, actor-author-comedian DC Pierson said that the Succession line, “Maybe…fuck the Hundred?” is great shorthand for the exciting feeling of ditching a project you’re in the muck of, and running to a different exciting project.
So that’s helpful, as I needed it to be even more fun to abandon ideas when the real work starts.
I’d like, some day, to write an adult spiritual successor to The Phantom Tollbooth. And in that book I’d like to put a desert, where far away you can see glittering new ideas. And then you get close, and the ideas now look ugly and dim. But then you see on the horizon: glittering new ideas.
Or maybe the sea, which shines like diamonds from far off. But scoop up a handful of water, and it’s only brown muck.