Today, after a little trip to the city for fresh air
and motivation, upon arrival at home, I decided
to delve beneath my desk and go through what seemed
like a ream of paper: Scribbled notes, typed notes,
a line for a poem, an idea for a story, screenplay notes
for the giallo I may still someday write, print-outs of old interviews
by beloved writers, about 6 (so far) unused notebooks,
a Frank Lloyd Wright puzzle, a Paint By Sticker (Masterpieces) book,
old calls, recipe for “Easy Raspberry Bars” that I plan on adapting
to “Easy Some other fruit Bars.” You get the idea?
It’s weird coming across items from months ago that carry the same
memory for me as stuff from years ago? I fed a lot to the shredder
that I didn’t think I needed and some found its way back on my desk because I felt
like I still had some connection to it? Like:
1. Notes on the history of canaries
2. Famous recluses
3. Screenplay for a horror short I wrote when I lived in Sicily
4. A long poem: Travels in North America, by Weldon Kees
5. Drafts from a chapbook I’d started about living in Sicily
6. A movie review worksheet that I had my daughter fill out about the movie Freaks, 2018. Emile Hirsch, Bruce Dern, Lexy Kolker. I remember really enjoying both.
I know that I made progress because I see gaps under my desk. My copier paper is now easily accessible instead of having to lift a pound of other paper to get to it. I will continue to sift through the papers that found their way back to my desk and hope that I find some gold.
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