Excerpt from 128 hour dust jacket:
I decided to treat the layout of this book conceptually. It seemed like the best solution to the problems that arise while designing for content in flux. The start of each chapter would depend on the amount and type of content I had, and two columns per page would allow for easy text re-flowing whenever I inserted an image or diagram. A single chapter would take up a single spread, or wrap through four and a half, however many it needed to accommodate my additions. The date of each dream would land wherever it had to, marking the start of each chapter and invoking the feeling of a timeline as the pages are turned. The chapters would seem to blend together, as dreams do at times.
I stopped designing this book at ninety six hours. It became clear to me that my focus had shifted from the novel itself, to myself and what I had to bring to the novel...designing in this way meant I was headed toward the realm where novels look more like encyclopedias, and the meaning of a text is lost to design. I realized the book was more successful when I had fewer hours, because having more time to design it meant creating new layers of problems for which there might never be a solution.
In hindsight, there was a definitive, recurrent arc in my experience of designing for each span of time. I left the starting gate of each book with the same amount of enthusiasm as I had the time before: I looked forward to the possibility of bringing each one closer to the point of refinement; to a state in which it served the content well, or even elevated it, and I anticipated feeling satisfied with my work. Moving forward, I spent the majority of each duration altering the layout to suit my newest priorities, wrestling with the content to see them through, and struggling with a resultant, constant lack of time. Each finish remained the same. Regardless of a book’s condition, I always found relief at the limit to my design time, and the freedom in having to print.