“There was one last book to write and the summer to be lived through. She worked on the book in a desultory manner, writing odd disjointed pieces at strange times of the day, dating them like journal entries, although they had nothing to do with the days on which they were written. They were pieces of the past, a history of obsessions…”from The Anna Papers
As I was flipping through the book this morning–reading words here and there–this passage stopped me. This is exactly the way I’ve been writing fiction lately–“odd disjointed pieces at strange times of the day” and dating them because I’m not yet sure how they fit together.