so i am stuck in milan.
in that i feel like much of what i’m writing has already played out in paris—except that we’re not there yet. what will for a reader be new and exciting feels to me like yet another estate, yet another set of power dynamics, yet another abrupt act of violence . . . you catch my drift.
i was lying in bed at 3:30 thinking about this. i have done a lot of that, these last two years—lie in bed at 3:30 and think about writing. 3:30 a.m. is not the best time to do this. i do not recommend it, either as a one-off or as a habit.
i also realized, heavily, that what i have been working on since august is not merely a few explanatory chapters preceeding paris, but basically another book. a third book. slimmer, to be sure (i expect it will clock in at less than 100k) but certainly its own beast, at least in terms of timeframes and casts of players.
the one thing i did not want to do was write a trilogy. funny how these things turn out.