Hello June!

I hate summer, but it does mean another year has passed. It’s time to really look ahead.

               And oh, my love, remind me

               What was it that I said?

               I can’t help but pull the earth around me

               to make my bed.

               And oh, my love, remind me

               What was it that I did?

               Did I drink too much?

               Am I losing touch?

               Did I build a ship to wreck?

Florence and the Machine have a new record coming out, and I know it will be the anthem of my summer.

And somehow, this seems totally natural. Fated. Florence has been the mainstay artist I find inspiration in since I started writing. Her last album came out four years ago, right when my writing was taking off. I am so glad to have her back in my orbit again.

Her songs are the atmosphere I live in. They are a dark sepia-toned fantasy dream. Through this tinted lens she tells compelling stories. And this is the same lens I use for my life. It keeps things interesting.

But this is also the world of my writing, a dream world where people are flawed and yet the world feels like an old summer memory, or an otherworldly landscape. In a way, Proust does this too. But hopefully my sentences won’t be quite as long.

But what is this thing I’ve been building? Like Florence says, have I just built this to wreck it?

Is this more than I can do?

Am I capable of this?

Am I just a lost cause?

Will my love pan out like I want it to?

Have I put enough energy into my relationships?

Have I put enough into myself?

Do I have any chance of the success I want?

Will I be able to provide for my family?

Will I ever be stable?

There are no answers. Still, the questions are there. I suppose the only answer is that I have to try. I have to keep along the chaotic path I’ve chosen.

I can only assume that the path will be rougher than I imagine. But I’m going to keep trying. And that’s ultimately what this class has inspired me to do. Proust wrote 4,000 pages. Surely I can write 300.

But more than page count, Proust and the work we’ve done has proven to me that it is possible. Interviews and research are not as hard as they seem. A compelling story can rise from almost nothing. Voice mostly has to do with vision, not intent. And if you write enough, the story will appear.