WELP. Pretty much failed at that one, eh? But I’ve been THINKING of writing, rather a lot really, so that… sort of counts? Composing in your head counts? Anyway. Maybe I’ll keep posting chapters, once I stop being sick again. And again. And again…
Oh, also, Vincent—how do you feel about taking the snippet of “she believed in words” and marrying it to Elizabeth Snubb? I like it. Better than “I am not a novelist”, a little truer and closer to home.
Quick notes about future chapters:
– dad as professor of music and going deaf/alzheimers
– who’s carrying on the Snubb family name?
– mid-30’s, studied various things in university; ice-cream truck prevented finishing/job
– Why is grandfather’s chair in the attic?
– the cat who was supposed to be a dog (and the collapse into winter)
– the face at the window (how dad creates his own stories to fill in memory)
– the Missing Things (more of same; but possibly not?)
– the wheelchair next door
– more dreams
– The Devil at Midnight
– The Devil at 4:00
– the face in the wall (Don’t touch!)
– friends, internet
– childhood memories (the dream of the gems in the pocket, the mouse at the throat, the vermillion bugslide, the knee-caps)
– dad thinks the house is haunted; face-in-the-wall scoffs
– Is it the drugs?
– working out, not working out.
– the darkness at 5; the distorted sense of day and night
– the music that wasn’t there
– No Entry #2 (tack it on at the end of another; just mention that she couldn’t find it again)
– the fans that drown out voice, singing
– dad’s theory of the future/aliens
– dad’s theory of music/aliens
– dad’s story of invading Korea?
– a good day: dad cooks chicken.
– Do I Exist?