When I was young, poetry was my vehicle of choice. Not these days. I've written fewer than a dozen poems in the past ten years. Back then, writing poetry was like riding a wave of orgasms. But I'm an old bastard now. I need to breathe slowly and deeply and take my time. These days, even my short stories aspire to be novellas. And like their creator, they are slower to climax... but are much more playful.
You'd think the opposite would be the case: write it fast and quit fucking around, old man. What, you think you're gonna live forever?
Funny, isn't it? Over the years, I've actually become more patient despite the incessant, needling, nut-kicking tick-tock of the old genetic clock. Go figure.
Maybe I'm just blindly betting that time won't take me -- wouldn't have the audacity to croak me -- before the novel is finished. (And that won't be any time soon. Not with all the beer I plan to drink.)
3 weeks ago