Wednesday, March 08, 2006
...But my words may have cost me
Today I heard that a writer shouldn't talk too much about what one is writing. Somehow it ruins the creative process. This explains a lot. My first, best and greatest novel has been blown into the wind as carbon dioxide. Tonight, I will call my sister and break the news. In a sense, it is her fault anyway since she is the one who elicited all this verbal detritus. There will be no great American novel born here on Chiswell Drive, it is already buried as a long, languid conversation deep in the atmosphere. So, I expect that she and all the other wonderful conversationalist in my life will understand when I tell them that I will no longer be available for oral circumlocution. Daily briefings will be available here at blogspot. For free. Comments welcome, though not seriously considered. Not so much different from all that hot air that killed my novel.