1. Revising is not so fun. Especially revising fiction. You have to not only fix all that stuff you didn't get right writing it the first time so you could fix it when you are revising, but you have to remember what you did right so you don't ruin it. It's a memory problem but also an ontological one--what did you get right? What is right? What is this thing you are writing? What is the point? In writing the first draft, the act of creation is its own impetus to go forward--putting "something" into the universe is all to the good. But when one goes back to "fix" or "rethink" or "remake," value becomes more important than thing. I love "thing." Not so sure I love the measurement of value. There is none of the frenetic joy of writing. There's labor, which is good but mainly in that protestant workman way more than the immanence that comes from making a new thing. Plus, fiction is rough. I like the way in nonfiction and poetry apprehension is the point. You see and startle. You puzzle and pull. Associations lead to comprehension. You find interiority, or Hopkin's inscape, in the things just by perceiving them. In fiction, you have to create the circumstances that allow for apprehension and if you don't create the fiction just right, you miss the opportunity to apprehend. Perhaps revision is against art--if you don't apprehend it the first time, just move on. But I am a typo-maker. I make the most flaws. My characters roll their eyes every five sentences. Perhaps we could have less irritable, less Nicole-like, characters?
2. We rode our bikes downtown to the Farmer's Market, Zoe on her bike, me on mine, Max behind Erik on the three-wheel. We went down Butler fast, through Fox Glenn, up Sparrow, down 4th Street and then onto the big bike path along Route 66. It's a pretty good ride--mostly safe, but on the corner of Beaver and 66, Max let go and fell. He fell toward the sidewalk and scraped his nose but if had fallen the other way....Anyway, we all lived again. Adventure town USA etc. Also, someone in a Hummer pulling a boat driving by yelled, "Your daughter is going to get run over." I yelled back, "Only by you!" Perhaps this isn't the best thing to yell at someone in a multi-ton vehicle when I've got my two kids riding alongside. Bike-riding, like eating vegetarian, makes me immediately self-righteous (and neglectful).
3. Speaking of vegetarianness and instances of not being neglectful: When we got home I made tostadas with pinto beans, eggs, onions and tomatoes from the farmer's market and just a little bit of cheese. And hot sauce. With a side of carrots. And peas. And cherries. Because it's summer and we were very hungry. The World Cup is over. Erik is done painting. I revised a whole five pages. Time to find a lounging place and make the Sunday last a little longer.