The Restless Writer

For father's day, my daughter and son (with a little help from their mommy) presented me with Paul Simon's Surprise inside a handsome manuscript box. The manuscript box is shaped like an oversized book of dark wood, with brass hinges and a nameplate on the front where a book title would normally reside. "It's for Tracks."

Tracks is the novel in stories I've been revising, editing and polishing. The gift of this box reminds me that sometimes you've got to stop tinkering and print the manuscript. A work of fiction breathes -- expands and contracts with editing and rewriting -- and is never really complete. I've heard authors reading from their published books at lecterns, editing their own "finished" work aloud, finding better ways to express what they'd already committed to print. For the restless artist, art never rests.

The manuscript box sits empty on my desk, near my laptop, hungry. It's time to print Tracks and feed the box.