Still to be written

A sixteenth-century miller misreads a handful of books and builds a cosmology out of cheese and worms. Borges would have loved him. But what would Menocchio have made of Borges? And what would either have made of a story about Borges reading Menocchio reading Borges? I stayed up too late one night laughing at this, and I’m still not convinced it isn’t a real piece of fiction.

A book with a friend who self-published one two decades ago and wants to write another. About what, neither of us knows. That might be the right way to start.