It is confusing and more than a little distressing to be a writer in a day when the quality and value of one’s work is equated with sales. The idea of sales does not just imply lots of readers, but lots of money. Success and failure is understood to have a cash value. We want access to our box-office take when our little ponies go flying out of the ( Read more... )

and Desolation Angels, I am in love again with Jack Kerouac's voice, my favorite American voice, for ever and ever, amen. Reading Jack Kerouac makes me want to pray. I want to drop to my knees and thank whoever that I have eyes to read and a mind to hear that voice, and a soft couch to lie on while I'm doing it. I've been sleeping with the books ( Read more... )

I had the "spagetti and meatball" scene all planned out in my mind, and I went over the few remaining details before I got up. Made the coffee, put on the ratty sweatshirt I like to write in, and sat down at the computer ( Read more... )

I swear, sometimes I just want to crawl into bed and hide my face. I've been working on a story, and it was so brilliant when it was done, I excitedly sent it off to a new publisher I haven't worked with before. And over the course of the last week, I started to rethink the ending. No, really, I started to hate the ending. trite. unbelievable. ( Read more... )