so as much as I love and crave novelty, and wander off after it for its own sake when I get a chance, the novel will never mean anything much unless it has mundanity underneath it.
mundanity itself isn't all one flat texture, either. there are neat little bumps in it to catch you when you think you aren't paying attention.
I'm thinking of moments where I notice a girl across from me on the bus putting on lip balm. I do that.
when "happy Wednesday" comes out of someone else's mouth and I smile inordinately much to hear it.
or recognizing songs on the radio, recognizing them so deep they transport you across decades.
or when the sides of buildings you've driven past at least thirteen dozen times suddenly stand out in different light or different shadow, even though they are the same stone silhouette as ever.
it could be the juxtaposition that saves these samenesses from being dull. a mix of this and that, here and there, now and then-ness. you and me-ness.
yesterday I read this article, one I came across via the tumblr of Emily Horne, one half of the duo who used to write this webcomic. she was quoting from an article about beached whales by one Rebecca Griggs.
"I put one hand briefly on the skin of the whale and felt its distant heartbeat, an electrical throbbing like a refrigerator. Life on that scale – mammalian life on that scale – so unfamiliar and familiar simultaneously. Oh, the alien whale. The world-bound whale. A net of shadows spread out across the ribby sand."