It’s all I’ve been reading recently, Celine. It’s all I want to read anyways. It’s all I care for besides myself, whom, as I’ve mentioned, I work specifically to fill the niche that I’ve been itching for amongst others. Ralph Manheim’s translations being the ones that I look most forward to because he really seems to get a good grasp on the writer, wrangling Celine’s personality to the forefront, making it feel like I’m spending time with him when I read him, which is what I want: someone to be proud of spending time with.
Which is what I want for you as well with me. Which is why the first thing that I do when I wake and the last thing that I do at night before hitting the hay is slapshot myself hard and raw against my notepad calling it a first draft, building myself a castellation of cards to play as a way to primp before publication. You could call it a press because I’m pressing these images, moments, vignettes together, applying filters, adding distortion, observing the squozen thought from multiple angles, through multiple sets of eyes, looking for places to squeeze the image into something further beyond myself.
I think that’s healthy. It makes the writing better for you as an audience, myself included in that category. It’s my job to provide you with nourishment. I want you to trust me with your time. Let me be a reliable source. We are all together in this, combining our products to produce the grand epic, bound together within this book of many authors. It can be very fulfilling. That’s why I always do my best to bring my contribution to a passable state of cohesion and consistency because I want to be here for you. I want to be something that you can rely on and look forward to. I’ve got these projects that I’m working on, pushing them into higher chapters of themselves, further solidifying them into more accessible forms, but there are no guarantees that I’m doing well though I try hard to hold my focus steady through the pugnaciousness of my aching back, right there in the middle of my shoulders, threatening to tear this thing apart like a plothole of weariness, like as though it’s that devil of The Lord squeezing into my muscles, getting in the way of addiction, trying to get me to better rise to my position of defeatism. Remember like how I said this is my job? So let me do it. We all signed up for this in our own way. I autodidact from a school priding itself upon the connection made with the audience. That’s why I stay up late on nights like tonight, tearing myself in two with Musette understanding that she’d still like more from me, but that we’re okay where we are right now because this is a big dream and a risky one with high reward.