Until spring

I applied for a course in creative writing and got in. So I guess until spring I'll just be writing. Plus, in november I'm planning on participating in NaNoWriMo like last year - writing a novel in 30 days. The goal is 50 000 words and last year I wrote 26k which might seem like a failure but didn't feel like one at all. It's longer then anything I've written before and what do you know, this year I might finish. The problem is not actual writing but having the story move ahead, although about halfway through last year I experienced some kind of a "breakthru" and actually felt like my book was the real world, this physical version just something i'm doing to keep busy. Like the characters were telling me what happened rather than me making it up as I go along. A cliché I never thought I'd experience.
A few days ago I got the feels and sat down to edit a few picture from Cuba.


I had a dream I met Nick Cave and he was tall and handsome, like a vampire. He said to me, you are married to your soulmate and I said so are you.
small coffees, orangina on rough chairs by a pretty table. i want to be here with a mutual, live slower, simpler. i would be more easily pleased. perhaps i am not a traveler, but a settler.
i wrote my name on a stone at the beach.
having lunch, turqoise sky with half a moon somewhere up there (i saw it). last night i opened up the story and did a little bit of writing and editing. it felt like coming home to my own head. i felt everything so clear back when i wrote it. it's the best diary i could have from that time. now i'm floating, slowly going forward I suppose but there's a long way going until i will see things that way again. i was fearless. cus i was naïve. perhaps naivety is needed to be the person i wanna be.
a website asked me to take photos for them at way out west, then withdrew their proposition when i explained i don't do mingle photography.
i finished the Nix. I liked it very much. I loved the bits about the twins and about Chicago. now i'm reading accessible but also profound Here I Am by the author I fully rejected two years ago, Jonathan Safran Foer. it's easy reading. it also reaches me in ways i couldn't imagine, cus he writes of some of the things i am writing my own story about.
and sam shepard died.