I'm thinking in fragments lately. Because I'm teaching the kids not to use them and I'm perverse? Because I'm scatterbrained? I don't know. I'm trying to write lately about my daddy, and the only way I can is in fragments. I fancy them up and call them "vignettes," but I know what they really are.
He's kind of like Ozymandias in the Shelley poem--"two vast and trunkless legs of stone" are all that's left. Anyway, I have four or five little Daddy fragments, not enough to say I'm working on a book yet, and all my eye notices is a bit of a landscape here and there. So there they are, little pieces of my town.
I'm thinking Carson McCullers was right; to love, you have to start with little things--a tree, a rock, a cloud, and go from there. Or a meter, a paintball building, a fence. Daddy would have no idea what I'm talking about.
