diary 11/06/2023 night
11.06.2023 night
If I stopped writing this and started writing a novel, how bad would it be? Unbelievably. Unbelievably bad.
My instinctive response – to circumvent the actual challenges of writing a novel (e.g., what would happen, etc.) – would be to describe natural scenes, preferably as viewed from a train (to circumvent the challenges of describing static objects).
But even that seems absurdly optimistic.
The train getting here – mostly green outside.
Perhaps blue, but I wasn’t aware of it at the time – the green, being contingent on the cycle of the seasons, seemed to have more conviction.
Because – isn’t a diary inherently a document of despair?
And could there really be such a thing as a sad novel? Isn’t there an insane faith in any novel – a faith that time has the power to resolve things? However negatively, it moves to resolution (if it really is a novel).
But there is no time in a diary. The diary happens in time, so it can’t contain any.
No time and no movement; none of the two thi…
