across my room
all the pages from 10 years of off and on, working on this story (called Echo), taken out of notebooks, typed up, printed out, put in a binder, over 60,000 words, but there are also repeats in here, notes taken down about the same scenes over the years, emotional directional notes, garden observation notes, and a few pep talks. I sarted this process of notebook typing up, not this past summer but the one before. (like finding needles in haystacks, I used to write parts down randomly here and there in notebooks with all sorts of other things tucked in them randomly here and there)
because my notes are not in order, I print out a second copy of my notes, cut them up and place them on boards, and then I can arrange the boards sequentially. Only thing is, I keep getting more information, as time goes on, and then there isn't enough room on the boards I already have done, not a big deal you say, buy more boards, but these boards I can not find anywhere, and the whole thing used to be nice, it used to be color coded, by when, and who, and present or past, and now it isn't anymore.
Character pages. Funny thing though, the small white page is my main character, you would think I would have more down on him wouldn't you? But the really long one is the character who wants to be I, wants to tell the story.
Ah, and this is what I have to do today, cut and paste, and add the last of my notes, fold them into time. I don't want to do it. I couldn't do it without my ipod.
I hope to directly type in future notes, but I am sure there will be more notebook stuff.
Sitting here, with this stuff before me, I can see the beauty in the process of just jumping right in, in starting with a blank page and an open mind. Clearly that is not the path I have set out for myself. I feel like I have this world of words, that I have to wrestle with and somehow make it all flow and go together, pieces peices everywhere, on the floor, stuck in my hair, I breathe them in the very air. (oh yes sometimes with the glue stick and all, I do find I get pieces stuck in my hair)
It amazes me to realize- all this time, and work, I have put into this story already and no rough draft, none at all. I spook every time I try, and run away.