Hot on the platen of my Smith-Corona Coronet, a chapter serving to "sign" the work begins to emerge. Who is this Ed Desautels, anyway? [If you keep clicking the photo, you'll eventually find a size you can comfortably read.]
Yesterday, I began a series of posts examining my novel in progress, Housebreaking the Muse. As I noted, the manuscript has hit a kind of critical mass, so I’ve begun analyzing it for clues concerning the work I'm trying to accomplish and how I'm going about it. As I said, I prefer the work of…
Another glimpse into the first draft as it emerges: .... Could it be that I, poor ghost of a thousand fragments clustered in the suspect ectoplasm of the vaporized artilleryman, the failed shade imprisoned in the sliver universe, a misty specimen trapped as if between glass slides of infinitesimal thickness, pliant panes that allow only…
But how can I be sure of anything in the state in which I find myself? I feel as if extracted from someone else's dream, as if I--the would-be poet--were nothing more than a failed verse written in crabbed script, left adrift in the wake of a passing train, skimming the platform of a deserted…
I haven't posted one of these for a while. This short bio-fictional piece is part of a series I'm writing under the title Evocations. Peter Falk Renders Lieutenant Columbo in Charcoal Well, yeah. It happens all the time. Like paying sales tax: a small percentage added, insignificant and worth more to the greater good than…
