Just the other day, I wrote another essay. I was procrastinating from doing the work I had to do but it was a good idea, I think, to clear my head from all the other stuff that has gotten into my brain. Too much thoughts and not enough focus. Too much thoughts about other things that I can’t bring myself to finish any of the stuff I have to do.
Very unprofessional. But I got to writing and I finished another essay that I think might be okay to put into The Thin Man, a compilation of essays and poems about body image, living with HIV, being gay, growing older, life, and death.
I have the poems. I’m writing those constantly. The essays aren’t coming fast enough but I finished another and I can see it coming together. I have some e-mails, as well, that I want to use as part of the book. It’s less memoir and more like a scrapbook.
I think it’s going to be discordant and chaotic but I think it’s going to be interesting, at the very least. I still have a long way to go. I want the book to be hefty. I don’t want it to be lightweight. I want it to be engrossing and personal and intimate. I want it to be engaging as well as slightly uncomfortable. I realise it isn’t easy for me to be extremely intimate and personal when I write essays. I prefer to express these things through conversations or even on a stage; as long as they can see my face and hear my voice so they know that I’m okay with it. I can be self-deprecating and I don’t want people to think that I’m being sad. I want the humour to come out and it just doesn’t translate well in my writing.
Well, it’s coming along. Slowly. But it’s coming along.
And now I have to stop procrastinating and finish the scripts I was tasked to do. I wrote this blog entry to delay again.