Steven Connor's Journal

It's a small, but thick, brown notebook, about the size of a 400-page paperback. The binding is coming apart a bit, and the corners are worn, but overall it isn't in bad condition. On the inside cover, his name has been written in small, spikey handwriting. The rest of the book is full of months of this same cramped writing, occasional doodles here and there, and little notes from other people every so often. Steven's tiny writing seems to fill the book without rhyme or reason; short stories are taken up and dropped off at random points; notes are added along the margins; some pages are devoted entirely to fragmented thoughts about stories to be written, classes to be taught, songs to be composed, and anything else he feels he needs to write down. Throughout the book, most pages are dominated by impromptu musical staff paper, filled with scraps from tunes he is composing. On the inside back cover, in slightly messier font, as if written on a sudden impulse, are the words, "I'm a fermata. Hold me."