Not long ago I briefly considered 2009 in the light of the new year's arrival. As I turned 27, I considered the year I was 26:
- Creative life as a 26-year-old: Super good. Wrote a lot, including several things I'm pretty thrilled with.
- Professional life as a 26-year-old: Mostly bad. I did publish Midnight Picnic, but that was at the very beginning, and after that everything was shit. I didn't submit much short work so there were few small publications to maintain my sense of self-worth -- though interviews with Park Chan-wook, Michael Haneke, & Francis Ford Coppola were awesome. But that's writing about someone else to build credit and get cash, despite the fact that all three men are heroes of mine and I would leap at the chance to talk to them in a non-formal-interview context.
- "Professional" life as a 26-year-old: Full of exciting transitions. Laid off from the comfortable but tepid/menial office job I'd had for almost exactly four years, since I graduated college. The managing director of my department had also been hired directly out of college, two decades earlier. He'd wanted to be a novelist but had come to love the company instead.
Anyway. I just bought My Work Is Not Yet Done, and I can't wait to read it. Bought Down and Out on Murder Mile and can't wait to read that. I liked Digging the Vein. Trying to get some copies of Fires that still exist, as it may not be available on Amazon (or anywhere?) much longer.
I am aching to travel. I want so badly to be back in a tropical place somewhere, or somewhere without a lot of people and without distractions or appointments to be kept. I want to be in a place where I do three things: read, write & eat.
Actually, that sounds a lot like prison. Let me add two more things: Surf & be around women.
Unrelated: No more griping about split infinitives ever, please. They're allowed.