I have beside me, as I type this, a stack of commonplace books. Well, Moleskines, but it’s all zibaldone, right? Compilations of ideas, notes for stories (mostly unwritten, if we’re being honest), sketches, names, song and poetry fragments, directions, maps and whatever else I thought I needed to scribble down at a given moment. I scribble a lot. And when I say a lot, I mean an inordinate amount.
I scribble when I’m on the bus, on the train, at breakfast, before I go to bed. Other people take pictures, I scribble. It’s automatic writing, only there are no ghosts. Or if there are, they haven’t said boo to me. Sometimes it’s just word-salad, other times its cross-indexed and neatly organized, as I gnaw at an idea from several different directions. One has nothing but overexposed pictures I scavenged from the bins beside automatic photo machines, back when I worked at a photo processing center. Yes, I asked permission. Yes, that’s weird. No, I don’t know why.
I should probably get rid of that one. Probably bad mojo.
Anyway, in addition to the hard copies, I’ve decided to keep a sort of digital back-up zibaldone thing on this site. A monstrous miscellany, if you will. Scribbles of the damned, as Charles Fort said. Erratic entries, entered erratically. Once a week, maybe twice, depending on my research patterns. You might even be able to figure out what I’m writing about before I do…