So now we are in the long haul. The Look at me, Look at what a cool thing I’m doing phase is past, and now when I write, it is the little tidbits of what I’m doing that I have to write, but is it interesting? The small minutiae of the project. At least nine hours on the platform. Probably more, but I lost track of time. That’s what happens when you deal in 10ths of millimeters. How many millimeters to the moon, how many millimeters to the big bang back in time and space. How many millimeters, how many words until I discover the story. These projects intertwining, the novel the fiddle, I lose one and find the other. And I am mired in the long slog through the mistakes and the missteps and the insecurity of where it goes. At least with a fiddle I know where it’s going. But I went too low on the platform. 2/10 of a millimeter. How could that really make a difference? I measure, I carve, no I don’t even carve, there isn’t enough room, I measure I file, dust, saw dust, that isn’t sawed, file dust, like stardust that falls from the wood as I file and measure and file and measure and, OH S**t, too much, how did it get to be too much?
Brian says we can fix it. But I know it’s there. A mistake, life. No one else will know, but I know. I know that there will be a thin veneer glued onto the platform, but in the end does it matter? What matters is the sound, the tone, the song and the story.