1 oh yeah

i am meant to be researching a jackie book. i forgot this. like, seriously, for a full week it was wiped from my mind.

i'm pretty sure this would not happen to a real biographer. no real biographer would be so engrossed in writing blog posts for an audience of 12 and reading cold mountain that she would completely forget about a project that has been rolling around in her head for the last 10 years.

it is hard not to be discouraged.

because i need to go to newport and yet i have no questions to ask once i get there. i have impressive letters. i am authorized. and yet i have nothing.

an email from The Famous Artist's wife has sat for two weeks in my inbox. they are waiting to answer questions. sadly, i have none.

i am writing about something about which no one has written. something no one who was involved and is still alive seems to remember.

i am tempted to call The Brother just to chat. he told me she loved parades. i know her so well and i did not know that.

i have written a book. way back in 2004. i was 23 and didn't know any better. i worked all day and would go home and write from 5 to 10. i remember nothing about living in memphis beyond sitting before a 1999 dell dimension xps t500 and a pile of magazines.

this was back before i had friends and parties and chicago and dinners and wine.

that is why i did not want to do this. writing is great, but living is so much more fun.

and i wonder sometimes if there is no point.

in 1949, jacqueline bouvier went to france. she lived at 76 avenue mozart. she was seen riding a motorcycle. she dated a diplomat’s son. she later said of the experience, “i loved it more than any year of my life.”

this is what we know.

maybe that's enough.