Brian Eno wrote a great book called
A Year with Swollen Appendices , which was basically his diary for 1995, with some essays tacked on the end.
I read it and said, "I can do that," which resulted in close to ten years of journal entries in (at this point) seven of those big black sketchbooks they sell at Borders, plus two little hardbound notebooks picked up on trips. This in turn spawned the webpages, and the novel that stares me in the face and says "edit me". Now that the
third degree is nearing completion, I may actually have some time, energy and inclination to do that. In turn, this will spawn the movie, the broadway revival, and the action figure with the kung-fu grip.
When I first started, what I really wanted was to become the kind of person that interesting things happened to...things I could put into a journal, for example. What actually happens, of course, is that in addition to doing more interesting things, one becomes more aware that everything one does is more interesting.
This leads to the mistaken impression that everyone else would find one's life equally interesting. Leading to this post.
