Since the inception of Merry Fates, I’ve developed a complicated relationship with the calendar. The week has redistributed itself to revolve around Mondays. I think about Monday a lot. Any time I get a little snippet of an idea, I mull it over, try it on—see if it looks flattering on Monday, or if it’s too ugly to go out in public.
I’ve begun to collect everything.
Okay, that’s not revolutionary or shocking. I’m a hoarder—it’s what I do. But I’ve started snapping up the anecdotes of strangers and casual acquaintances, thinking in terms of theme and plot. I assess everything I’ve done over the past week based on its potential value as fiction. Maybe I attended a bachelorette party. Maybe I watched a UFC fight. How can I apply some kind of narrative? What were the defining features of the experience, the most memorable images?
For most of my life, I’ve been intrigued by unusual moments, little bits of trivia. I’ve always just packed them away with the idea that maybe I’d get to the story-aspect eventually. I was always collecting the raw potential in things.
Now, because I have a fiction appointment every week, I need all the material I can get. Instead of filing ideas for later application, I explore them. Sometimes I use them recklessly. The goal has become to break open any idea just to see what happens.