Tuesday, June 06, 2006


I have always been fascinated by the word entropy. The sound of the word is not so special. It sounds similar to canopy or little flea. But the meaning ~ bouncing energy dispersing from whence it came and becoming less energetic as it goes ~ struck some kind of chord in me. I don't really know why, other than I thought at the time I first heard the word that it would be a good name for a novel someday. I probably shouldn't have said that, on the off-chance that someone actually reads this and decides they agree; and that person just so happens to be writing a novel of their own.
I have many unfinished short stories laying around, none of them newer than 5 years old, and I've always wished I could somehow finish at least one of them. I seem to have a problem finishing things. I always get started with lots of enthusiasm, starting with a mental Eureka that is just inspirational enough to write one chapter (if you could call a one chapter story a chapter in itself) and then I just fizzle out. I have no ability to pre-plan, to plot characters and story lines. I have no attention span in writing classes or grammar lessons. I wish I did, because I feel like it's in there somewhere, that ability. But I've never found it.
And so, maybe I like the word entropy because it mirrors my writing ability. I write feverishly at first, and after that it's as if all the energy has been dispersed and blunted so that it's no longer useful to me. Hell, I've probably struck several aspiring writers mentally mute in the process, just by the sheer lack of force by dispersing energy particles that are frantic to escape to anywhere but my mind.
And so I thought maybe with enough time I could take all the little particles, all the little bits of stories, and put them together. It might not make all that much sense, but at least it would feel like I finished something.

Bag of Bones