marty_feldman_ameri_186080mInstead of writing 2000 words today on my new novel, I wrote nearly ten thousand. That’s one eight of a book. Plus a blog post, but I wrote that this morning. I just forgot to publish it. Now I feel exhausted, but happy. Spent. Excavated. I haven’t written that much for myself in a long time.

I had to apologise to Mark for not being there at all during the whole day. It’s not fair to him that I zone out into my own little world, with my imaginary friends, and spend all my time with them. I even managed to nearly miss dinner, but even then eating was mechanical while I spent the time thinking about the story, and the characters.

I become so focused when I write, you wouldn’t believe. I can forget time, space, and forget to eat and drink. I’m in that world, and not in this. There is some therapeutic value in that, I think. I control that world totally. I also realise that this sounds a bit mad, but aren’t writers mad to begin with? I usually joke that it’s an acceptable form of mental disorder. My imaginary friends feel very real, but they never take shape outside my head.

I need to limit that, because I’m not alone anymore. I can’t just zone out and forget the world for an entire day.

***

Remember young love?I missed that Stephen has a new girl, for one thing. He was actually over here, and I recall saying “Hi” to him before disappearing from the world again. He seems much happier now, and Mark managed to drag out that he’s met someone.

I wonder who. Stephen is one of those really social people. He can talk to anyone, and sometime it feels like he knows the whole town. We can meet a perfect stranger that neither I or Mark has ever heard about, and Stephen will remember meeting that person at some party or other. It is uncanny. He’s a walking lexicon about people, and sometimes we ask Stephen about someone we’ve met because we know that he usually knows him or her.

I don’t know who this girl is, and neither does Mark. Since it’s Stephen, I won’t even speculate in how he met her, or where, or why. I’m just pleased that he’s over the girl that dumped him.

***

People are angry at my other blog post for today. I have two comments in my comment-queue that say that I’ve “capitulated to radical feminism” as one puts it. I don’t even know what that is. There are many types of radical feminism, from the Dworkin-kind to the Butler-kind. Feminisms can be quite mutually exclusive.

But am I a feminist? In so far that I don’t think that there are different value to the sexes, that I think that the sexes should be equal in all things, and that I think that there’s no difference except in some biological ways between the sexes…

If I’m not, Maria will beat me up, and make an example of me. That was a joke. She’s not that bad. She’d just be very annoyed with me.

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