Cold Cuts

I've exiled myself again. I'm staying in my mother's apartment while she's in China. Last night it was 3 degrees F outside here. I'm in the far North of Denmark, only half an hour's flight away from Copenhagen, but much more snowy and freezing up here. People have different hair up here, and more dogs. I'm driving my mother's car in the snow, it's like fun park with a risk. Trying to control the out of control, slightly sliding freely, like being in a Cohen movie, hoping it's only a transportation scene.

I'm going to work for one week here alone. Focus, not get disturbed by anyone or anything. It's always good to be isolated in order to concentrate. I want to get some serious editing done on my novel script. I'm going to knife it down. A lot. It'll get better and stronger. Compact. Concise. Cut to the bone of the story. Cold weather is good for creativity. Cools the brain, helps see clearly, crystallizes thoughts.

The roof tops outside are white. The cars drive slowly, even emergency vehicles move by loud and flashing in a ridiculous paradoxical slow motion. There's snow in the air. The sky is heavy with gray and silver golden light inside the clouds. Words. Thoughts. Solitude. Catching knives in mid air. Work.