1792
by DaveA
Since last posting here, I’ve completed three chapters—good ones, carefully composed. I am beyond fried at times while white knuckling it through this thing. It’s almost comical. To use a loose analogy, there are moments where writing a book is like heading down a steep winding stretch of highway in a Mack truck with heavy cargo, in thick traffic, and back seat drivers yelling inane shit, futzing with the radio, and maybe also an animal shrieking and getting up in your business. I read in the Guardian that James Ellroy apparently divorced his second wife when they were living under the same roof, but then they remarried after resolving to live in adjacent apartment flats. He said monogamy wasn’t a problem at all but cohabitation was dicey (for a writer). I honestly think the vast majority of people, even those who read books regularly, have no clue as to what it’s like to piece together a good manuscript, one worth reading after the smoke has cleared. It’s one of those things that only experience can give you a true scale of, but even then, some people’s circumstances/emotional framework could be more conducive than others’. I can weather the storm, on a decent day, but it’s a strange existence, and I may effectively retire from the medium after this one. As much as making recorded music can have its own set of hurdles, be harder logistically, in some ways; more physically demanding, etc., I think the toll it takes on a person is less taxing, and it’s more imminently gratifying, easier to feed off of and move forward with. It’s not incumbent upon anyone reading this to give a flying fuck about any of my exploits, but I’ll have you know: I wouldn’t be doing this to myself if I didn’t think the quality of the work, once edited, justifies it.[/RANT]
ZzzZzzZzzz . . .
New Novel.