About Suiting Up

Post 803:

Couple thoughts. This will be all over the place. Some of my favorite writers had solid, short runs. Three or four books out of twenty, all bunched together in one time. Other than that they mostly wrote crap, or at least stuff that was ignored or considered crap by the considerate.

Another thing. I like portraits or old photos of departed writers. They always look like proper folks, totally put together. If you go back far enough, they look positively regal. If you’ve done art of any kind, you know these are not accurate representations. Them folks were crazy as hell, just like the rest of us getting twisted up over some thing, trying to find a feeling or a sense or a connection to something that we can’t even explain, no matter how many phrases we learn to turn.

It’s mostly fashion. Somebody tells somebody you’re good and then you’re good. Hopefully it lasts, but it won’t last, and there’s no way that it feels great and free and wonderful when it’s all good. It just can’t. Free and wonderful happens between you and the page and it happens for a couple hours here and there and when you least expect it. When life’s comfortable and you are ready to create, you’ll come up with nothing. When you don’t have time to put down a sentence the goods will come.

It’s all crazy and always will be. It’s just disaster management. That’s the best we can do, and we can do it well. I know I’ve written some pretty good garbage. You know what I mean by garbage. A story that makes sense and pretty much rules, except those parts that you go back to and wonder what the hell you were thinking. Garbage is what you’re thinking, and you’re right. But just because you make garbage doesn’t mean you’re garbage.

So suit up. Maybe add a pipe. That always looks dignified. Keep pretending. Cheers and see you after.