Autumn is a good time to go into hiding. I have spent the last five years walking up and down this long cool hallway, writing on its walls, forgetting much of it until I go through the process of collecting, editing, revising.
It is like posting a story or a poem or a collection of nonsense on a telephone pole, one that you know certain people are going to walk by, and hope others will walk past and stop to read as well, but never really knowing. Never really reaching as much as you want to, or need to, or can.
I have to pause. To be quiet here, to experiment in writing other places, in writing other ways. In taking the raw flesh of what I’ve put here and make some sense of it, try to make a body out of it. I am trying birth a new chapbook. I have to be Frankenstein.
And I have to let the footsteps I’ve left along this hallway fade for a time. I have to reimagine this place, too.