It's been a good morning, though the nerves are still there. I'm convinced it's from being overwhelmed at what's before me. Two and a half months until my thesis is due. If I think about it that way--which is the only way I'm able to think of it--it's frightening.
I entered the New Letters essay contest this year and lost, rightly so. I read the winning essay today: "Three Hooks" by Robyn Anspach. Beautiful. Broken. Imaginary. Hard. I longed to be broken like her work.
I'm broken in other ways, more local.
I have nineteen pieces in the works. 19. NINETEEN. And they continue to accumulate, unfinished.
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