August 13th, 2015
For several years I’ve been reading and thinking about the title Where You Come From. Really, the title might as well be Where I Come From. Two years ago I began to write. Perhaps I’m halfway through whatever it is this latest novel wants to be. I’ve been ignoring my website- which sorely needs updating, a more spiffy look- for this work, thinking, well Birdsell can you really still call yourself a writer if you aren’t actually engaged in the process. And then I remind myself what I tell others, that reading, thinking, walking, staring, dreaming, are all part of the process. I’m not one who has any real idea of where a piece of work is going to go. Rather writing it is like fumbling about in a dark house, feeling my way around the furniture and walls to get the size and shape of it. Lots of surprises. Lots of small accidents. Blogging seems like a lot of very hard work and I do admire those of you who can do it on a regular basis and still sound alive and fresh. Likely this will be my last update until there’s another book on the bookshelf. This one is fun, not at all like pulling teeth or my hair, perhaps because I’m revisiting old haunts while realizing that perhaps it may well be my last book. Carry on.