Considering myself “harshly” in that way, from the outset I have felt I am not particularly “representative” of male fiction writers of the present.
Whenever I am finishing and OTHERS will now shortly have to read it, once again I start to have pre-publication terrors. I can’t help but think: What if I’m too close to its writing trees and I have failed to see the reading forest?
I may have even shredded them… which, for an historian, I guess makes me a terrible person and even a vandal. (That said, thinking about it now I may have a paper copy of Distances in a box in the Catskills, where I had finished writing it in 2015.)
Olhão, on Portugal’s Algarve coast, is more than worth a visit if one ever gets a chance. We have stayed here these last few days…
“You seem to know lots about what Frenchwomen think,” my [English] wife has teased me more than once. Actually, no, I don’t believe I do…
What this program is to me is yet another reminder as to why I groan at dystopic visions of the future; I consider them dangerous particularly to kids’ and teenagers’ life outlooks.
Would anyone out there want to shoot me? Of course, I’d rather not actually be shot.
Suddenly, I was back in the 1990s again. It was almost eerie. Immediately I remembered another Meg Ryan film I’d seen in 1995… and someone else’s then reaction to it…
I fully understand now why some authors do go loopy or worse – and especially when embarking on a several years’ long writing effort.
I have never been gripped by tales set in murky purportedly kinda ancient Celtic or Scandinavian locales, where magic pops up, that are populated by people wearing furs who look like they haven’t ever cut or even combed their hair, or washed in the last decade…
That is an example of why I feel political and social belligerence on my blog or other social media is inappropriate. (I came THAT CLOSE to unfollowing that person on Instagram, but decided I would not.)
How many of us deep down desire to get away from all of the “noise” of this century in which we must live? How many of us wish to saunter on a secluded country lane by the side of our well-dressed handsome gentleman or bonnet-wearing lovely lady?
Because once the last word is on the page, well, that’s it. Done. You have become just someone who has written a book. That was then. What are you doing now?
My wife had to have a minor (we hope) procedure and *chose* to have it yesterday rather than a weekday. She was offered the option of the Sunday appointment and we had supposed the hospital would be quieter and so it might all be a bit less stressful. “Quieter” turned out to be, well, an understatement.