I've started a cycle of poems about small-town life--a fiction that is tugging me in the direction of a narrative form. Slice of life stuff.
This is pretty exciting, and I think I can keep it going from start to finish, which isn't always the case I've discovered. I have a notebook of fragments, or detritus, that haunts me. I made do with some of it once, collected in Dooley's book, People, Polemics & Pooh-Pah, and I'll likely attempt something like that again.
But man, it would be nice to finish a project again whole. It's been a while since I've done that.
So the grind begins.
TS
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