I feel the need to make something. Use my hands and some physical things and form a new thing. I recently picked up another book on making books. For some reason knitting, which i still managed to do daily, is not enough to satisfy this craving. I need to make a book.
What I really need to do is write something that I can put in the book I make. Writing is making; sometimes it is just not the necessary making. Writing, typing, even the scratch of pen across paper is not as physical as folding and forming paper, string and a little glue into a receptacle for words, images, ideas.
I think I need to make the book and see what comes of it. What words would fit in it. This seems backwards, surely the content should determine the form. Yes, let’s get into that old debate. I know, if I don’t have words to fit the book, the book will remain blank. Hardly a book at all.
Which does nothing to explain the large collection of empty books and notebooks I have all around me. I have been able to curb my need for blank books somewhat with the printing and assembling of chapbooks, but I still cruise the notebook/journal/blank book section of any store selling such things, and I still have a “few” extras on hand in case there is ever a shortage of paper. Let’s not even look at the “electronic journal” idea.
Another book to be made. Another book to add to the collection. Yes, I will probably make another book this weekend. Maybe I’ll find something to put in it. Maybe I won’t. It just feels like something I have to do.
undertake, create, construct: make