Does Life Imitate Art? Does Truth (or Reality) Imitate Fiction? Can anyone remember the quote? Because I can't. I do remember Truth is Stranger than Fiction, but I don't want to go there with this post. You'll see why...
In my frenzy of decluttering yesterday, I cleaned out two drawers of a piece of furniture formerly used as a desk. I didn't have a desk in those days. Actually, I still don't have a desk. Huh.
Anyway, I tossed a lot of stuff into the recycling bin, and shredded a lot, too. Some things survived the cut, though, including the blank books. Fourteen of them. Fourteen of them which are now stacked on a chair in the sitting room, where they are near the seven I have in the antique oak secretary (almost a desk). No way will they all fit in there, and I'm not sure where to store them.
This makes me think of Alice Williams, the heroine in my novel, The Blank Book. Alice has an addiction, and one of the symptoms is that she has a desk full of blank books. Actually, they're not just in the desk. They're stored other places too, because she doesn't have space in the desk. And she keeps acquiring them... Hm.
Of course THE Blank Book in the story isn't something she picked up off a shelf in a department or discount store. THE Blank Book is something else entirely, and when Alice begins to write a story in it, that story begins to take over her life.
But these twenty-one blank books--even though some of them are unusual looking--these blank books are just normal. I'm sure. And writing stories in them will not make the stories come true. Because stuff like that doesn't really happen.