Leonard and Alexandra.

Ok. So here’s the idea:

I have been trying to finish a book for eight years now. Yes. Eight years. That’s two shy of ten. And some six or so more years than I ever imagined. That’s ok I guess. I think some projects should take eight years to complete. That’s ok. I suppose what’s not ok though, is feeling like you could be some place else, professionally, creatively if it weren’t for x, y, z. And you know, ultimately not having finished that book.

In this particular instance– that being the sequence of events that have lead me now– allow me to use point form for brevity and coherence:

I left my partner,

I left a lot of things recently, if I’m honest,

and then set up another wordpress blog.

The reasons for all of this are pretty parallel in nature.

I want something.

I want something else.

Something other.

To add to this; I’ve spent a lot of time over the past eight years investing in my creative process. At times more serious than others.

I started this particular project I speak of in the city of Tokyo during the month of May 2002.

In the early February of 2006 I decided to up the stakes; left my then fiancee, left a language, a career, an awesome pad in downtown shitimachii and relocated to Melbourne to complete my book as a Masters in Creative Media at RMIT.

I think a lot of writers possess the rather romantic notion of thinking any form of post-grad (course-work) study will render their project complete. Done. deshita–

But any mug who has ever found themselves in the precarious position of trying to finish a fucking book will likely concur– it ain’t that easy.

There is no course that will remedy all of your creative jams.

Make the blank pages filled with prose.

Make you feel like you’re nearly there.

For this reason– among others that I shall list as this projects blossoms– I found myself oddly moved upon learning of Julie Powell’s blog-turned-book  Julie & Julia: 365 Days, 524 Recipes, 1 Tiny Apartment Kitchen.

My lover and I, had decided, you see, upon a dinner at Govinda’s in Darlinghurst, followed by a screening of the blog-turned-book-turned film.

I was tired by the time we got to the film, and had eaten too much of that scrumptious Hari Krishna fair– and what with all of that full belly reclining film viewing Govinda’s plush-ness– I actually ended up nodding off once or twice.

Maybe more due to the fact I had to be up at 5am than, you know, the quality of the film or my full-as-fuck tum tum.

Anyway, I digress…

I liked Powell’s idea. My partner and I, both writers, liked her idea and talked about it all the way home that night.

Maybe it doesn’t have to be brilliant was the conclusion we came to, maybe it just has to be consistent.

And with that the notion was born.

Well, two notions in fact.

1. In order to finish ones manifesto perhaps it best one commit to something consistent, diligent and maybe not quite so intimate. Just an entry, every day, about something I really give a shit about.

and

2. Fuck I love Leonard Cohen.

Both of these points marry well with other ideas I have, but in the theme of consistency I’d rather cut this here thing short and keep it up– rather than– you know, bang on all night and not feel like doing it again till Wednesday.

There in, I propose this:

I will write something about Leonard Cohen everyday for one entire year… in lieu of getting to know the man better, and you know, finishing my fucking book, like.

yoroshiku,

Lex.x.


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