Trees and Eyes
Trees and Eyes

Trees and Eyes

It turns out I only needed to print about 30 pages… and put approximately the same number in the shredding pile. I put the newly printed sheets where they go in the big binder, and then move a bunch of scenes around, like literary musical chairs. Next, I’ll have to read it all again, I know. It is the part I dread. I go back to reading a novel that someone else has written; it is called The Idea of Perfection, and I did not choose it for its cover, but for its title. It is why I am in this room: to get a little closer to the idea of perfection: the elusive novel in my mind. The point of the story, of course, is that there is really no such perfect thing. But still I can see it sometimes, from the corner of my inner eye, bathed in shadow, and howling at the moon.

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