this is what happens when i don’t read on the train and instead just let my mind wander. but i need to insert a little piece later, and that piece relies on what happens in the now-leaden 3 & 4 . . .
the glamorous side of the writing life. this is the third? fourth? wholesale rewrite of these chapters.
i was once at a gallery, long ago, to see a solo show . . . i can’t remember who it was now but the canvases were very dark and crowded with details, figures and buildings and cars, really populated landscapes. and if you looked at them from the side, you could see that the paint was thicker in some parts than others, lumps that coincided with particularly busy areas. i think, now, those were the painter’s rewrites—scraping and reworking and scraping and reworking and all the residue slowly building up.
we all have to do it. :/