The process (or lack thereof) sometimes starts with a word, or a picture, or a sentence, or a theme, or a sound, or a song, or a breath, or a win, or a shot, or a fall, or a pain, or a loss, or an entire story whose fragments are often rushed onto a page or screen before I forget the story entirely. There are hundreds of Word docs and some that are sadly no more than a few words.
“The photographer’s wife knew she would die for this, but she feared a life of ridicule more than a leap from the Brooklyn Bridge.”
“Indian Moon Race”
“I found Rabia alone in the corner of the room with a cucumber in her hand and I knew then that six years of marriage meant more to our family and friends than it did to the two of us. We would separate, she heading back to Istanbul and me remaining here in the house to live the life of a born-again Bachelor.”
“This is what happens when we aim for the moon with a slingshot.”
And sometimes I sit and then these words come out and they keep going and going, and if I knew how to latch onto the particular nerves firing off during the whole thing I think there’d a hell of a lot more to show. Discipline? Yes, please.