It's a start.
The cork board is ready to start planning out this novel again.
12 months. 12 sections on the board, sitting above a flyer for a Mapplethorpe exhibition from a few years ago. It's still there because it's a memory of a wonderful day with a wonderful friend, and I love Robert Mapplethorpe's work - as provocative as it is. The other flyer is for the Pop Up Globe, which I'm still miss to this day, because, you know, cheap, accessible Shakespeare, outside. Who knew it could be so good? It's like I remember going to art Galleries and theatre. I've obtained a ticket to the Patricia Piccinini exhibtion in a few weeks time being held at Flinders Street Station. I can't wait.
Anyway, I have a clean cork board. I have nine days to start plotting this novel, as was one of my goals for this month.
But what gets me is the absolute power of the naked page. An empty page, or in this case, a cork board, which sits on my hallway wall with a direct view of the loo, has so much power. All at once it's a source of potential and an object of fear.
What will I put on my cork board? What will come from my plotting and planning.
And how am I going to get 3000 words to an senior editor for review by 15 November? 3000 words which I am proud of? 3000 polished words.
It's a good thing I can write to deadline. It's a good thing I have a few aces up my sleeve.
May the population of the squares begin.
Today's song:
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