Sorries (and a book recommendation for Lloyd Jones' "Mr. Pip")

Sorry that I haven't posted in some time. That I don't always know how I should/can feed this beast. To find its place. What is this thing? This blog? I'm not always sure. It's not a journal, I know, because I keep a journal, and much of my journaling is pretty embarrassingly boring. Of late a whole lot of self-talk, organizing, theorizing, deciding, self-motivating, analyzing, moaning bitching whining and then self-motivating to organize and get started all over again. Very little dirty dark secret stuff in the Japanese notebooks my darling mother-in-law sends from Japan (cause they're sooo much better, and soo much cheaper than the crap we get in Canada). Maybe that's because it's not that kind of journal, hasn't been for years (if ever, really). Perhaps the dirty dark secrets stay in my head or go in little pffts out there into the ether in conversation with this friend and that, or into my work - where I try to channel most of everything these days.

Sometimes I use this place to offer recommendations. Speaking of, have you read "Mr. Pip?" Go away to an island, a place of myth based on real. A fable story that has a "Little Prince" ability, a Murakami ability to get your imagination flowing but is also political without being big P political. I.e. Interesting, but still fiction story stunning. That magic that was the transporting reason you went to books as a kid. That kind of book. But for grownups.

Sorry because I'm tired, and who isn't. Some big deadlines keeping me busy, out of trouble, but also offline.

Sorry that I have yet to decide what exactly I want to do here. I want to post more stories, when the time allows. I want to add books for the desert island list (perhaps a movie or two). I want so many things. For now, though, I take it slow.

At the risk of being overly diary-like, I haven't finished the novel first draft (because other deadlines loomed, because I've never done anything of this size, magnitude before (I did write a first draft attempt at a novel my first time out in Japan; but that wasn't something that anyone was ever going to see) and how the hell am I supposed to know how long it'll take). Either way, after three weeks of other work that sidetracked me completely, am now ready to get back in. I was going to choose the verb dive, but I'm not diving. Instead this morning, I didn't even dip my foot from above to test the water temp, choosing, rather, to pay bills and eat cashews and file papers that hadn't been filed in months. Paper filing - so romantic. Cashews - so delicious, when salted.

So now a little freed up, and journal like in this entry, I take stock. It is June 25th. I'm 33 years old. The lunchtime thunderstorm outside has just abated so I guess I'll go eat lunch. After that, lug the old oji-san (the grandpa) of a laptop off to the local cafe (you know the franchise) and maybe finish the fucking thing.

Till next time, adieu.