Yes, we're still weeks away from Samhain, but already I'm feeling the end of this year's Wheel. I know what my next project is going to be. I have a book to write. Tonight, while attempting to put pound out a short story, all I wanted to do was jot down a chapter summary of the things I learned over the past year and how it can all be pounded out into a book. It's coming. That's the project for next year--besides getting into Seminary full time--is making sense out of all the shit that happened in 2008-2009 and how to process it into something that might help others. Journeys, journeys, journeys....
Meanwhile, Jorge and I are taking a week off from shooting the Tarot deck. It's amazing we survived last week's nonsense. We're collaborating on Saturday to prepare for the UK Tarot Conference (!!!)
Hmmmm....what else to say.
CRR and I talked last night about the process of writing. Writing for two hours every day, and reading for one of those hours, too. I would like to get an hour's worth of reading in tonight, but I also need to make some phone calls and clean out the refrigerator. Plus, do some kind of protection spell for my house and home. Maybe I can combine that with my reading. Reading some of my spell books. I have some good ones. When I find something good, I'll let you guys know.
CRR, are you reading this and chuckling? Stop. I feel it in NYC. (Just kidding. But not really.)
I'm playing Witchy Carrie Bradshaw because I've got to fill up twenty more minutes of writing. I'm almost there, right? Have I found enough to say? No. Did I draw any conclusions? Hell no. Do I ever? Meh. Of course not. What philosopher does? Which brings up the question....am I a philosopher? What defines a philosopher? Who the fuck cares who is a philosopher? Would a good philosopher use the word, "fuck"?
CRR, this is all your fault. You suggested I write for two hours a night and now I can't stop.
Don't worry. Only a few thousand people read this daily, anyway. And by a few thousand, I mean a few hundred. And by that, I mean a few dozen. And by that I mean, probably just you. And by that I mean, Kwanzaa, a joke in which only my sister will get this--and she only reads this blog when I tell her to.
Fifteen minutes short of the two hour time limit. Does writing an email count?