my
body is ravaged, exhausted, swollen and sore. i cannot eat one thing without
the panicked compulsion to be sick.
it occurs to me
that the main problem here, as ever, is a lack of plot. wondering generally if
my troubles with fiction mirror my troubles with life, or vice versa.
characters with cancer, whose houses have burned down, who were abused as
children, who live in this city or that, who have this job or that; these are
situations, not plots. my fiction (life) is sprinkled freely with gerunds, not
verbs. passive voice. future conditional, future perfect.
eating disorders
are a situation. they are a backdrop against which the action takes place. they
interfere with the action. they come forward and recede accordingly. they are not a plot, anise. you cannot spend whole days holed
up, eating and puking. you are getting nowhere. you have lost the plot again.
who will want to read your novel now?
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