Super Bowl Sunday!
At Kilkare looking out over the great unsalted sea, America's great interconnected waterway!
Was out writing on Friday night with Mary Robinette, and a nameless editorial assistant. I was writing by long hand and seizing up about every three minutes, my hand cramping.
Still there were some good lines.
First page
He was always rewriting his words. Perhaps like his father before him, he would express himself via the written word only to those he loved dearly, or lusted, lost and longed for. No, that's not really true. It was a fiction page, or so he told himself, not him, well yes him, but him inflated beyond all recognition.
"What was it I wanted to say."
What was it I wanted to do,
that has driven me to this abyss.
When would he escape himself he asked. Who is this I?, that I grasp at?
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Super Bowl Sunday!
At Kilkare looking out over the great unsalted sea, America's great interconnected waterway!
Was out writing on Friday night with Mary Robinette, and a nameless editorial assistant. I was writing by long hand and seizing up about every three minutes, my hand cramping.
Still there were some good lines.
First page
He was always rewriting his words. Perhaps like his father before him, he would express himself via the written word only to those he loved dearly, or lusted, lost and longed for. No, that's not really true. It was a fiction page, or so he told himself, not him, well yes him, but him inflated beyond all recognition.
"What was it I wanted to say."
What was it I wanted to do,
that has driven me to this abyss.
When would he escape himself he asked. Who is this I?, that I grasp at?
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