Bones

Sometimes I fear that I write for words and not for meaning. A novel is more than a sequence of chapters and writing any kind of narrative from the inside requires a knowledge of their anatomy. Much of it is empty space. The places where the blood flows, where the simplest prose can suffice and mere detail exist. But to create these spaces requires knowledge of where cartilage must be strung, where the supports of the narrative’s bones must rest. Too often I find myself filling space before I have the skeleton in place. At other times I worry too much about bones. Somewhere between the two, lies a novel.