It might be apparent that the surface of this blog looks different today. I'm not even sure how things got that far. A desire to lift the black of the background led me to alternate templates. One change to another change, and here we are. I'm not even sure it's going to look this way in a week, or less, but in the meantime I'm going to try to live with what I've done. It feels like walking through the world with new glasses, except that the face with new glasses is looking back at me--and you, of course, too.
One supreme effect of the change is the emphasis placed on the text. The previous format gave me an odd permission in that words-images-videos were of equal value. In other words, I didn't have to be so responsible to the text as it was all of a piece, a very big deal to a writer who once had the tendency to pick too much at his language, who could stay all day with a single paragraph in his other writing. A desire for a certain artlessness--or at least the illusion of artlessness--has crept into that other writing, most certainly as a result of this blog. As a matter of fact, a few passages from both Unbuilt Projects and my book-in-progress had their origins here.
But the effect of the tablet behind the text? Well, yesterday, I deleted an entry for the first time in the history of 500-some entries. The post was a paragraph about my closet, the frustration of organizing my closet. I knew there was a metaphor inside my trying to cram too much life into the smallest space, but the entry felt forced. It might have even been enacting its subject: a page-worth pushed into a single paragraph. At certain points all day I kept picking at it and picking at it. I wanted it to work. I wanted it to look back at me, to see as I saw, as it shriveled under the action of my needle, scalpel, and laser. And oh can you tell what I must be thinking about? (Hint: previous post.) Who knew? Mark's eye. The writing escaped me, or it knew more than I did. I am humbled, and a little bewildered by what it did. And that's my little lesson to myself--and to you, of course--today.