I was lucky enough to find myself in my comfortable book-lined office. Over a glass of Petite Verdot, I was kind enough to respond to my questions.
Q: You seem to have been, ahem, missing from this blog for some time now. Two months, I believe. Where have you been?
A: I've adopted the Pentagon approach: Don't ask, don't tell.
Q: Been getting any writing done?
A: Define "writing." I've been doing a lot of writing...
Q: I meant fiction.
A: You would, wouldn't you? Hardly any. I've been working, but haven't written a word of my novel since August.
Q: I thought you were happy with how it was going. What happened?
A: Work, work, and then some more work. Even last week, when I went on what I laughingly call a vacation, I worked about 30 hours.
Q: You seem out of sorts.
A: You're wickedly insightful, you know that? You ought to consider doing this professionally. Of course I'm out of sorts. I haven't been writing, I've been working on this ridiculous deadline, and--
Q: I notice your foot is in some sort of big orthopedic boot.
A: Nothing gets past you, does it? Yes, I've been clomping around like Boris Karloff for more than two weeks now. I overstretched my Achilles tendon and it responded by pulling this exquisite little crescent moon of bone off the back of my heel.
Q: From running in Vibram Five Fingers, I suppose?
A: Nope. In fact, my injury is from yoga. In some positions, they tell you to "let your heels yearn for the floor." Shows what an unrequited yearning can do to a guy.
Q: So, you're not getting any work done on your novel right now, and you're not even managing to post on this blog...
A: ...and I'm in the middle of cutting down a tree in our front yard and haven't been able to finish it, and I'd torn off some sections of woodwork on the outside of the house that needed replacing and of course the clouds have been dumping water on us, and I can't really do much about fixing the hole in our house with my foot like this. And even though it's the weekend all these geniuses in London and Singapore and Hawaii are pestering me with e-mails asking complicated questions about arcane aspects of the work that I'm not finished with yet. It makes me think of a poem...
Q: Yeats, no doubt. "Things fall apart..."
A: No, not that one. I was thinking of Richard Brautigan's At the California Institute of Technology:
aaaaaI don’t care how God-damn smart
aaaaathese guys are: I’m bored.
aaaaaIt’s been raining like hell all day long
aaaaaand there’s nothing to do.
Q: That's odd. Because you just gave me the impression you had too much to do.
A: Well, the answer to that is a stanza from another poem:
aaaaaNow it's over
aaaaaI'm dead,
aaaaaand I haven't done anything that I want
aaaaaor I'm still alive
aaaaaand there's nothing I want to do.
Q: You're fooling no one. That's not really a poem, that's the chorus from the song Dead by They Might be Giants.
A: They also have a song called My Evil Twin. If you're so damned smart, why don't you write the next post?
Q: I just might.
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14 comments:
Ooh hello! You're here! Brilliant! Although sorry to hear about the immense work load and the buggered leg.
Do you want to take part in a round robin interview on the MNW blog? You can say no if life is too hectic.
What a valiant attempt to interview such a recalcitrant subject!
And oooh the clay-footed karma of the Fishes! All that sweaty yoga probably heats up the karmic ovens to purge the residue from pastlife naughtiness. Or mayhaps its Uranus camped out on your Sun's porch? Try having Pluto squatting and placing a fine and fecund pong of misfortune uponst your Sun's and Moon's conjugal domicile!! [should ease up in a few years...]
and there's nothing like the good old quietly exasperated and desperate toiling for the filthy lucre to have one cursing life and Saturn's rings.
Did you celebrate Groucho and Ghandi's nativity? It can only be ruled truly tragic (of mythic proportions) that so many today lack any familiarity of the great Julius, or even his bros. When you say Marx, they think you're talking about Karl Marx! (whoever he was)... ah so desultory.
Absolutely brilliant call-back to the Five Fingers running. Well done.
Welcome back, David. Now GET ON WITH THE NOVEL!
Wonderful to have you back online with us David. Really sorry to hear you've been slaving so hard, however. And what a bummer about the leg!!
Hope things settle down in a far more enjoyble groove really quickly!
Hi, Aliya
Sure, I'd be up for roaund-robining!
Hi, Steve S
I was born with Pluto sitting right smack on the Moon. I mean, 0 degrees, 9 minutes of seperation (23 d 4 min Leo and 23 d 13 min Leo). The Moon moves rapidly, so you have to be pretty precise to land on it with that degree of accuracy. Of course, I was from my mother's womb untimely ripped (too late, according to some thinking), so I guess someone paid the doctors to ensure that I wouldn't miss one iota of Plutonian energy in my emotional core.
Yours may ease up in a few years. There's no chance for me that this sort of thing you discuss will ease up in this lifetime.
I didn't celebrate those birthdays, but a couple of years ago I read Harpo's autobiography, "Harpo Speaks." Veyr cool book.
Hi, Mr Nevets
I gather it will be a few weeks before I hit the trail again, no matter what my foot gear...
Hi, Frances--
Good idea. I'll get on it this afternoon.
Hi, Alis--
I've been glad to see that you've been a-blogging again after long silence, too.
Hi David
Good to see you're back on the blog - not so good as to the reasons why you've been absent! Completely sympathise with the interference of the day-job. At my wits end with mine to the point we're looking at the options of how to get out of dodge with a minimum impact financially.
Hope the foot gets better soon; it's a shame you can't use it as an excuse to ease off on the day-job...
...At least all this has turned out a fantastic blog entry!
Your interviewer was something else. Is he available for guest appearances?
Seriously, glad to hear from you again. The cats and I were getting worried that maybe that sinister plant in your back yard had gotten you after all.
Hi, Matt--
The problem with the day job is that it comes in unmanagable and somewhat unpredictable chunks. Never thought I'd long for the old 9-to-5...
Hi, Jen--
Alas, the interviewer is all too likely to seize control of the blog.
I'm fine with that, so long as I don;t have to sit here while he types.
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