It goes without saying, the writing life is pretty odd. The novel I'm writing (it seems odd to call it a novel, but maybe at 80 pages of prose and counting it's safe to say that it won't turn into poetry or transmogrify into a collection of essays) is the portrait of a young woman obsessed with handbags and purses. That's really all I feel like giving away at this stage. Wouldn't want to jinx anything. Although in truth, it's all likely to change anyway.
Writing a novel about a person obsessed, means that you get to follow their obsessions around a bit, try them on. I've got a whole shelf of books by now on purses and handbags. Books on vintage handbags, the history of handbags, how to divine a woman by her handbag, and my favorite book: Bags which is the catalogue for The Museum of Bags and Purses. Possibly it goes without saying that my character will at some point end up there. With some luck, this means that in the next year or so, I also will end up there. Wish me luck....bags of it, yes?
In the meantime, I'm mixing my obsession with taking photos, with my character's obsession with purses. The photos here are the result of a shoot this afternoon - a series I'm calling, "Purse Portraits." I mean, I'm just doing this to amuse myself, but also to think about purses, to really see them, these things that we just sling over our shoulder usually, casually draping a large part of pretty important and revealing stuff, and dashing out the door.
I'll leave you to them.
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