In SF, heading to East Bay. Busy 4 days here but will be good to get back to catch up on work and is likely my last visit either til 2014 or until I visit a bunch more places. I owe this place some fiction, about that time I saw an ex’s name on the BART signs while waiting for the train. You Can’t Make It Up is the title of Lee Gutkind’s new book about writing creative nonfiction, and that’s so fucking true.
I could never make up anything as crazy as that trip. Or this one’s biggest fails or all the food I ate. It’s weird to me sometimes that I even write fiction, but I love it too. I don’t necessarily feel like I always know what I’m doing but I love the spark of a new idea, one that, maybe because I made it up, feels full of possibility.