Early in 2021, I wanted to give myself a break of revising The Sacrificed, figuring that there was no need to rush things with it. I want to try writing a novel that was shorter, less structured, more informal. I had an idea of a tangential plot structure–every section follows on a tangent from the previous one without the need for any semblance of a linear time structure. I wanted to complete a draft of a manuscript without all the core pieces already planned out. The working title is Like the Aged Too Old to Stay Young. I started the draft in March, and I finished the draft today.

I have no idea if this story is even readable. It might very well be a complete mess. It’s been the focus of my writing for these last six months, and now it’s time to put it on hold. Let it take a vacation while I return to The Sacrificed. The last time I wrote a novel with so little planned in advance, it was 1998. It was the first novel I ever wrote, the manuscript of which I’ve long lost. Maybe by the new year, I’ll finally be done with The Sacrificed and can come back to look at this experiment.

Anyhow, here is the first paragraph of this unwieldy-titled draft. Usually, the first paragraphs of my drafts don’t end up being the first paragraphs of my completed manuscripts. But. Hell. Why not just post it here.

In the end, my entire life will take place in between the space of two memories.  It will not matter my age, my condition, my emotions.  Before my consciousness wanes and cognition whimpers, I’ll skip from one thought to just one more.  Time may unfold before us in a linear path but the trail we leave behind is tangled and jumbled, knotted, frayed and darned.  We take the orderly events of time that have yet to occur and scatter them in a right fucking mess in the instant of our present.  That’s what we do.  We take the order and sense out from reality and make a Pollock, call it a life.