As seen from my title, I recently finished “The Great Gatsby” by F. Scott Fitzgerald. I won’t even attempt to do a book review, since I’m sure most everyone has already read it in high school. I remember when I read it in high school (or at least pretended to) I was not a fan of the book. Because of that, I found it annoying that it ranked #2 on Modern Library’s Top 100 Books of the Twentieth Century, ranking inbetween two books by my personal favorite, Mr. James Joyce (the list can be viewed here http://www.randomhouse.com/modernlibrary/100bestnovels.html). However, upon reading it the past few days, I really enjoyed it, and was glad I gave it another shot. I think it also helped that I just finished a Maymester class on American Literature 1914-1945. However, that being said… I still don’t know if I’d say it is #2. I don’t think I would rank it in my top ten books I’ve read. But, if you haven’t read it, then you should… after you read “Ulysses” by James Joyce, that is.
I also recently finished the second volume of Marcel Proust’s novel: “In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower” (also translated as “Within a Budding Grove”). In this volume, Proust deals with the theme of young love over the course of 500+ pages, in both Paris and the vacation resort of Balbec. It introduces many characters that (according to the introduction) will become very important during latter parts of the novel; each time he introduces a major character, he does it in a very clever and sometimes unusual way. Another theme which is common in many modernist works and also really stood out for me is the idea of a build up to something great that doesn’t get resolved and turns out to be a let down. Proust introduces this theme early on when the narrator gets a chance to go to the opera to see his favorite opera star. The narrator is extremely excited (much like modern rock fans would be excited to see their favorite band for the first time) and cannot wait to see her sing; but when he finally gets to see her, he is thoroughly disappointed by her performance and does not see what all the fuss is about. This theme continues to reoccur throughout this volume, and I have a feeling it will show up in later volumes as well.
Speaking of music, I went to see Los Angeles punk band X along with the Detroit Cobras a couple weeks ago at the Variety Playhouse in Little Five Points. My friend Alix, a long time friend who I have only recently started hanging out with again, told me about the show, and we went together. I was really excited to see the Detroit Cobras as an opening act, because I have been a fan of theirs for years. They are a Garage Rock Revival band from (as the name implies) Detroit. I found out that they do not write any of their own material; instead, they take old songs from the 60’s and turn them into rock n’ roll/ punk versions. They were fantastic. Then came X. While they have been around since the mid 70’s and have obviously lived a hard life, they put on a very powerful show that blew me away. They played song after song that got the audience to go crazy and sing and dance along. Also, I was somewhat surprised at the fact that myself (being 21) and Alix (being 20) were on the younger end of the audience; in fact, at one point someone even said to us “you look a little young to be X fans.” Sure, it makes sense that people who liked them in the 70’s would still show up now, but I was moreso surprised that there were not a lot of newer, younger fans. If the new generations cannot listen to good old school punk rock, I feel that society is doomed (hahaha).
The above section of this post brings what I feel a change in my blog writing; and by change, I mean an expansion. While I had intended this blog to focus on literature and writing, I realized that I should not limit myself. If I expand it to music, movies, food, and whatever else, maybe I can get more posts out, and also build up a bigger fan base. This change was largely inspired by my Dad, Paul Connolly, who recently decided to start his own blog (which can be seen here: http://paulsnetwork.blogspot.com). So hopefully this change makes this blog more interesting and readable.
Finally (for now) I am excited to say that I will be spending a week and a half in Paris at the end of July and early August. I don’t have much to say about it now, but I will definitely make sure to blog that extensively once the time comes. Also, as far as summer trips go, I will be in Iowa for the University of Iowa’s Writing Workshop the weekend of June 20th. I am very excited about this as well, and will write on that when the time comes.
That is it for now. Until next time.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
L’expulsion du Norman des Farm Lands de Georgia
A Poem
“Invertebraes n’ont pas spines
Parce que ils sont sans épines,”
Says Wilhelm the Norman.
“Et ils ne parlent pas correct.”
“The cunt of a fish
Prolly don’t taste the same
As the cunt of a femine,”
Says the peach farmer
Who still dares to eat
The fruits of his labors.
“Qui mange cunt,
Quand felines sont available facilement?”
Répond le man
Avec le plan
And a belly fulla wine.
I saw that Norman once before,
Smokin’ a fag
(Lung cancer or homophobia:
Which is it, man?)
Sans the attitude
With a wrinkled chemise and cravat.
“Shave the beard, you cunt!”
Yells the peach man,
“And stop being so fuckin’ explicit!
Why don’t you grow some balls,
And enjoy some high culture?”
“Invertebraes n’ont pas spines
Parce que ils sont sans épines,”
Says Wilhelm the Norman.
“Et ils ne parlent pas correct.”
“The cunt of a fish
Prolly don’t taste the same
As the cunt of a femine,”
Says the peach farmer
Who still dares to eat
The fruits of his labors.
“Qui mange cunt,
Quand felines sont available facilement?”
Répond le man
Avec le plan
And a belly fulla wine.
I saw that Norman once before,
Smokin’ a fag
(Lung cancer or homophobia:
Which is it, man?)
Sans the attitude
With a wrinkled chemise and cravat.
“Shave the beard, you cunt!”
Yells the peach man,
“And stop being so fuckin’ explicit!
Why don’t you grow some balls,
And enjoy some high culture?”
Friday, May 16, 2008
Five Stories in May
I have recently been working on three new stories, and I’m also going to work on revisions for two older ones, which brings the total to five. But now I am unsure where I should send these stories. I haven’t put up a story on this blog in months; however, if I publish a story here, then I cannot send it to a magazine for publication. So maybe I will send those stories out upon completion, and then work on lesser projects for the blog; or I will publish older stories, maybe with some revision.
I have been trying out different styles, to try and see which ones really fit me the best. One is Joycean stream-of-consciousness, a style which has fascinated me for a while. I have also been writing in an almost “romantic” sort of way, which seems a little old fashioned for modern times; yet I feel that it could still work in the right instance. And I have been working on one story which I am writing in what I would call “dramatic prose monologue”: the style used by Camus in “The Fall” or more recently Mohsin Hamid in “The Reluctant Fundamentalist.” It’s a fun style to work with.
Anyways, that is about all I have to say here. It is early, and I still must eat and get ready for the fifth day of my Maymester on American Lit 1914-1945.
I have been trying out different styles, to try and see which ones really fit me the best. One is Joycean stream-of-consciousness, a style which has fascinated me for a while. I have also been writing in an almost “romantic” sort of way, which seems a little old fashioned for modern times; yet I feel that it could still work in the right instance. And I have been working on one story which I am writing in what I would call “dramatic prose monologue”: the style used by Camus in “The Fall” or more recently Mohsin Hamid in “The Reluctant Fundamentalist.” It’s a fun style to work with.
Anyways, that is about all I have to say here. It is early, and I still must eat and get ready for the fifth day of my Maymester on American Lit 1914-1945.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Review of “Beautiful Children” by Charles Bock
I finished this book yesterday on a friend’s porch in Charleston, and since it is a new novel that was published in January 2008, I thought it would be a good one to write a review on. I decided first to check out people’s reviews of it on the Facebook “Books I’ve Read” application, and from what I saw people had mixed reviews, which is how I felt as well. This is Bock’s first novel, and it’s pretty impressive when this is considered.
Bock does a good job of creating a group of different characters, and then interweaving them together. It’s almost like the backstories on “LOST,” only not nearly as intricate. Each chapter, or at times each sub-section of chapters, follows one of these characters throughout one day/night in Las Vegas; or at times the narration flashes back to give the characters back story, or flashes forward to tell what happens after the main day/night in the book. I found it interesting that the narration styles tried to mimic the characters themselves: the mother of a runaway boy’s sections sound like those written by a woman whose life has crumbled; whereas the narrations that follow an anarchistic girl have a nihilistic, underground feel. At many times, this narration style worked well. However, at other times it seemed to be inconsistent: in one section that follows a young man who lives on the streets or with his girlfriend and works for a porn-video distributor, the narration is filled with cursing and racist remarks, which I felt mimicked his personality; but in other sections following this same character, the narration is not at all as “nasty,” and there doesn’t seem to be much reason for the change. But overall, I enjoyed this narration style.
While the alternating narration styles were quite interesting, I felt that there were too many characters in the book. Bock continued to introduce more and more characters as the book went on, which I have no problem with; however, these new characters seem to take over the space that the old characters would’ve had in the novel, which led me to wonder what happened to the old characters. One example can be seen in a middle-aged comic book artist. He takes up a large part of the first third of the novel, and seems to be very important to the story. However, after this, he is barely mentioned, and only had 2 or 3 paragraphs that follow him for the rest of the book. I did not understand why he was introduced early, built up so much, and then just abandoned. All the characters connect somehow, which is quite interesting, but I felt like Bock could have done without giving the backstories on very minor characters who have little or no relevance to the main plot of the story.
While there were some other things I had issue with, overall I enjoyed this book. I wouldn’t consider it “great,” but I can see myself re-reading it somewhere down the road; maybe next time I will appreciate it more. While I criticized it at times while reading, I couldn’t help but want to know what would happen next, and the 400+ pages went by quite fast. I will definitely keep a look out for more work from Charles Bock in the future, and I recommend his first novel, “Beautiful Children,” to anyone interested in a good contemporary read.
Bock does a good job of creating a group of different characters, and then interweaving them together. It’s almost like the backstories on “LOST,” only not nearly as intricate. Each chapter, or at times each sub-section of chapters, follows one of these characters throughout one day/night in Las Vegas; or at times the narration flashes back to give the characters back story, or flashes forward to tell what happens after the main day/night in the book. I found it interesting that the narration styles tried to mimic the characters themselves: the mother of a runaway boy’s sections sound like those written by a woman whose life has crumbled; whereas the narrations that follow an anarchistic girl have a nihilistic, underground feel. At many times, this narration style worked well. However, at other times it seemed to be inconsistent: in one section that follows a young man who lives on the streets or with his girlfriend and works for a porn-video distributor, the narration is filled with cursing and racist remarks, which I felt mimicked his personality; but in other sections following this same character, the narration is not at all as “nasty,” and there doesn’t seem to be much reason for the change. But overall, I enjoyed this narration style.
While the alternating narration styles were quite interesting, I felt that there were too many characters in the book. Bock continued to introduce more and more characters as the book went on, which I have no problem with; however, these new characters seem to take over the space that the old characters would’ve had in the novel, which led me to wonder what happened to the old characters. One example can be seen in a middle-aged comic book artist. He takes up a large part of the first third of the novel, and seems to be very important to the story. However, after this, he is barely mentioned, and only had 2 or 3 paragraphs that follow him for the rest of the book. I did not understand why he was introduced early, built up so much, and then just abandoned. All the characters connect somehow, which is quite interesting, but I felt like Bock could have done without giving the backstories on very minor characters who have little or no relevance to the main plot of the story.
While there were some other things I had issue with, overall I enjoyed this book. I wouldn’t consider it “great,” but I can see myself re-reading it somewhere down the road; maybe next time I will appreciate it more. While I criticized it at times while reading, I couldn’t help but want to know what would happen next, and the 400+ pages went by quite fast. I will definitely keep a look out for more work from Charles Bock in the future, and I recommend his first novel, “Beautiful Children,” to anyone interested in a good contemporary read.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Review of “Trainspotting” by Irvine Welsh
I have never really written a review of a book before, but I figured it’s a “literary” thing to do, and seeing as I intend this blog to be literary, I figured why not? I just finished reading “Trainspotting” by Irvine Welsh, and though that it would be an interesting first review since it’s a contemporary novel, and yet (I would say) is fairly well known.
The first thing that is noticeable in “Trainspotting” is the use of the Scots dialect. A lot of people claim that this makes the book extremely difficult to read. While it can be a little tricky at first, I got used to it pretty quickly; once I got into it, I really loved it. I felt like I was reading a book in a foreign language, and yet was completely fluent. In fact, I feel that the dialect isn’t really difficult to read if one sounds out words phonetically in their head. Also, there is a glossary in the back for words that aren’t used by most other English speaking people (two examples are “keks” for underpants and “bairn” for baby).
Another “issue” many people may have with the novel is Welsh’s laxness with grammar. At times, the tense switches between past and present tense. Also, Welsh uses the dialogue dash instead of quotation marks, and many times mixes narration and dialogue within the same paragraph without informing the reader of the switch. While the unconventional grammar can be a little tricky at times, overall I didn’t have problems with it. At times, I would read for pages before it hit me that the tense had changed back and forth multiple times. I feel that this ability to pull the reader in to the point where they don’t notice the problems with dialect or grammar and just focus on the story itself shows how great Welsh is.
The plot development of Welsh’s novel is quite interesting. Several of the chapters in the book had been previously published as short stories, and many other chapters could stand alone as short stories as well. From chapter to chapter, Welsh shifts focus on different characters, moving between first and third person narrations, as well as different points in time. This provides an interesting effect, because it gives little snippets of people lives, which don’t seem that relevant in their own right, but in the overall picture have a larger meaning. Welsh also makes casual references to events from time to time which pop up again later on in the novel. This is definitely one of those novels that can be read again and again, each time shedding new light.
In conclusion, “Trainspotting” is definitely a worthwhile read, and one which I would highly recommend to anyone who enjoys good literature. Also, for anyone who says “well, I’ve seen the movie,” the book is quite different than the movie, and has many more memorable scenes. It is quite interesting to notice the similarities though. At times, scenes in the movie will use different characters than Welsh used in the book. (For example, the scene in the movie where Spud wakes up and has shit the bed actually happens to another character in the book). Irvine Welsh is truly one of the top modern writers of the English language.
The first thing that is noticeable in “Trainspotting” is the use of the Scots dialect. A lot of people claim that this makes the book extremely difficult to read. While it can be a little tricky at first, I got used to it pretty quickly; once I got into it, I really loved it. I felt like I was reading a book in a foreign language, and yet was completely fluent. In fact, I feel that the dialect isn’t really difficult to read if one sounds out words phonetically in their head. Also, there is a glossary in the back for words that aren’t used by most other English speaking people (two examples are “keks” for underpants and “bairn” for baby).
Another “issue” many people may have with the novel is Welsh’s laxness with grammar. At times, the tense switches between past and present tense. Also, Welsh uses the dialogue dash instead of quotation marks, and many times mixes narration and dialogue within the same paragraph without informing the reader of the switch. While the unconventional grammar can be a little tricky at times, overall I didn’t have problems with it. At times, I would read for pages before it hit me that the tense had changed back and forth multiple times. I feel that this ability to pull the reader in to the point where they don’t notice the problems with dialect or grammar and just focus on the story itself shows how great Welsh is.
The plot development of Welsh’s novel is quite interesting. Several of the chapters in the book had been previously published as short stories, and many other chapters could stand alone as short stories as well. From chapter to chapter, Welsh shifts focus on different characters, moving between first and third person narrations, as well as different points in time. This provides an interesting effect, because it gives little snippets of people lives, which don’t seem that relevant in their own right, but in the overall picture have a larger meaning. Welsh also makes casual references to events from time to time which pop up again later on in the novel. This is definitely one of those novels that can be read again and again, each time shedding new light.
In conclusion, “Trainspotting” is definitely a worthwhile read, and one which I would highly recommend to anyone who enjoys good literature. Also, for anyone who says “well, I’ve seen the movie,” the book is quite different than the movie, and has many more memorable scenes. It is quite interesting to notice the similarities though. At times, scenes in the movie will use different characters than Welsh used in the book. (For example, the scene in the movie where Spud wakes up and has shit the bed actually happens to another character in the book). Irvine Welsh is truly one of the top modern writers of the English language.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Sodium and Tempura
A Short Story
Whoever will not receive you or listen to your words ― go outside that house or town and shake the dust from your feet.
- Matthew 10:14
At 18:16, Abe led the two men out of his apartment complex. He reached the outer door and held it open. Marc Swann exited first, followed by his portly companion Mel Proud. They both wore black suits, and both lit cigarettes as soon as the cool evening air touched their artificially tanned skin.
“So where’re you two off to?” Abe asked as they all walked down the steps towards the sidewalk.
“The Desert Plains,” Marc said. Mel stayed quiet, as usual.
“I hear the food’s good.”
“We’re not going to eat there. The Boss told us to inspect it.”
“You must be puttin’ me on.”
“No.”
“What?”
“There’ve been a lot of complaints,” Marc said.
“You mean?”
“Yeah. It’s gotta be done.”
“You’re inspecting the whole place?” Abe asked.
“Yeah. Why?”
“A friend of mine works there.”
“Who?”
“His name is Oscar. He has been a great friend for years.”
“I’ll see what we can do,” Marc said. He and Mel put out their cigarettes on the sidewalk, and then got into Mel’s car.
***
The two men reached the restaurant at 19:00. They walked inside, and were greeted by a small, frail looking host.
“Hello, welcome to the Desert Plains,” the man said in a soft voice. “How many are in your party?”
“We are actually here to inspect the restaurant,” Marc replied. He showed the man a forged ID badge which stated that he was a restaurant inspector. “We would like to start in the kitchen.”
“Oh, alright,” the man replied. Marc glanced at his nametag: it read Oscar Haranson.
“Just the man we want to see,” Marc muttered, nudging Mel in the side. “You talk to him while I deal with the chef.” Mel nodded.
Oscar led the two men through the restaurant. There were loving couples gazing into each other’s eyes as they dined on chicken breast, rump roast and mounds of deep fried delights; many of these couples were illegally married through local underground ministers, since the state would never allow such atrocities. The patrons glanced uneasily as the men passed by.
Oscar pushed through the kitchen doors, sending waves of surprise throughout the cooking staff. The two men followed close behind.
“Oscar! What is the meaning of this?” asked the head chef. His voice was flamboyant and feminine. “You are not supposed to bring anybody back here.”
“These men said they are inspectors, sir,” Oscar replied.
“Ah, inspectors!” the head chef shouted sarcastically. “Are we supposed to bow down and kiss your feet?”
“We are just here to see the conditions of your restaurant,” Marc calmly stated.
“Well, all of our food has no trans fat and little sodium,” the head chef said. Mel glanced over at cans of salt stacked up in a pillar. “But I am sure you already made up your mind before you walked in the door.”
As Marc and the head cook were talking, Mel pulled Oscar aside. “Listen,” he said quietly, “things don’t look good here. You better leave now and find somewhere else to work.”
“But I need this job! I have a…” he cleared his throat “wife to support.”
“I understand. Your friend Abe Genisi asked us to help you. He’ll get in touch with you about a new job.”
“Abe?” Oscar replied excitedly.
“Yes. Now please, get out of here now.”
Oscar paused for a second to think, and then exited the kitchen unnoticed.
“You people make me sick, you know that?” the head chef continued. His face was flush with angry blood, mirroring the slabs of meat that lay on the table behind him. “Now get out of my restaurant, or I will have the police escort you off the premise!”
“Very well,” Marc replied. “Mel, I think it’s time to leave.”
The two men exited the restaurant. When they reached the car, Mel popped open the trunk, revealing two submachine guns, a few bottles filled with gasoline, and a couple of rags. Mel opened one of the bottles and began soaking the rags.
“You take the front, and I’ll take the back,” Marc said. Mel nodded as he handed his partner a freshly made Molotov cocktail and a gun. Marc headed towards the alleyway that led to the rear of the restaurant.
Almost simultaneously, the two men threw lit Molotov’s through the windows of the restaurant; the flashing flames brought smiles upon their carnal, blood-hungry faces. Moments later, patrons and workers began pouring out of the restaurant, screaming and coughing, covering their mouths and faces. As the cool evening air touched their tan skin, a storm of bullets began mowing down the fleeing sodomites. The two men responsible erupted in orgasmic delight as they squeezed their guns until every last soul was accounted for.
***
Early the next morning, Abe drove by the pile of rubble and bones where the restaurant had been.
“Don’t worry, Oscar,” he said to his passenger, rubbing his shoulder sensually, “I’ll find you a new job.” They drove off together to breakfast. Abe felt extremely happy that the two men had respected his wishes.
Whoever will not receive you or listen to your words ― go outside that house or town and shake the dust from your feet.
- Matthew 10:14
At 18:16, Abe led the two men out of his apartment complex. He reached the outer door and held it open. Marc Swann exited first, followed by his portly companion Mel Proud. They both wore black suits, and both lit cigarettes as soon as the cool evening air touched their artificially tanned skin.
“So where’re you two off to?” Abe asked as they all walked down the steps towards the sidewalk.
“The Desert Plains,” Marc said. Mel stayed quiet, as usual.
“I hear the food’s good.”
“We’re not going to eat there. The Boss told us to inspect it.”
“You must be puttin’ me on.”
“No.”
“What?”
“There’ve been a lot of complaints,” Marc said.
“You mean?”
“Yeah. It’s gotta be done.”
“You’re inspecting the whole place?” Abe asked.
“Yeah. Why?”
“A friend of mine works there.”
“Who?”
“His name is Oscar. He has been a great friend for years.”
“I’ll see what we can do,” Marc said. He and Mel put out their cigarettes on the sidewalk, and then got into Mel’s car.
***
The two men reached the restaurant at 19:00. They walked inside, and were greeted by a small, frail looking host.
“Hello, welcome to the Desert Plains,” the man said in a soft voice. “How many are in your party?”
“We are actually here to inspect the restaurant,” Marc replied. He showed the man a forged ID badge which stated that he was a restaurant inspector. “We would like to start in the kitchen.”
“Oh, alright,” the man replied. Marc glanced at his nametag: it read Oscar Haranson.
“Just the man we want to see,” Marc muttered, nudging Mel in the side. “You talk to him while I deal with the chef.” Mel nodded.
Oscar led the two men through the restaurant. There were loving couples gazing into each other’s eyes as they dined on chicken breast, rump roast and mounds of deep fried delights; many of these couples were illegally married through local underground ministers, since the state would never allow such atrocities. The patrons glanced uneasily as the men passed by.
Oscar pushed through the kitchen doors, sending waves of surprise throughout the cooking staff. The two men followed close behind.
“Oscar! What is the meaning of this?” asked the head chef. His voice was flamboyant and feminine. “You are not supposed to bring anybody back here.”
“These men said they are inspectors, sir,” Oscar replied.
“Ah, inspectors!” the head chef shouted sarcastically. “Are we supposed to bow down and kiss your feet?”
“We are just here to see the conditions of your restaurant,” Marc calmly stated.
“Well, all of our food has no trans fat and little sodium,” the head chef said. Mel glanced over at cans of salt stacked up in a pillar. “But I am sure you already made up your mind before you walked in the door.”
As Marc and the head cook were talking, Mel pulled Oscar aside. “Listen,” he said quietly, “things don’t look good here. You better leave now and find somewhere else to work.”
“But I need this job! I have a…” he cleared his throat “wife to support.”
“I understand. Your friend Abe Genisi asked us to help you. He’ll get in touch with you about a new job.”
“Abe?” Oscar replied excitedly.
“Yes. Now please, get out of here now.”
Oscar paused for a second to think, and then exited the kitchen unnoticed.
“You people make me sick, you know that?” the head chef continued. His face was flush with angry blood, mirroring the slabs of meat that lay on the table behind him. “Now get out of my restaurant, or I will have the police escort you off the premise!”
“Very well,” Marc replied. “Mel, I think it’s time to leave.”
The two men exited the restaurant. When they reached the car, Mel popped open the trunk, revealing two submachine guns, a few bottles filled with gasoline, and a couple of rags. Mel opened one of the bottles and began soaking the rags.
“You take the front, and I’ll take the back,” Marc said. Mel nodded as he handed his partner a freshly made Molotov cocktail and a gun. Marc headed towards the alleyway that led to the rear of the restaurant.
Almost simultaneously, the two men threw lit Molotov’s through the windows of the restaurant; the flashing flames brought smiles upon their carnal, blood-hungry faces. Moments later, patrons and workers began pouring out of the restaurant, screaming and coughing, covering their mouths and faces. As the cool evening air touched their tan skin, a storm of bullets began mowing down the fleeing sodomites. The two men responsible erupted in orgasmic delight as they squeezed their guns until every last soul was accounted for.
***
Early the next morning, Abe drove by the pile of rubble and bones where the restaurant had been.
“Don’t worry, Oscar,” he said to his passenger, rubbing his shoulder sensually, “I’ll find you a new job.” They drove off together to breakfast. Abe felt extremely happy that the two men had respected his wishes.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
March Madness Time Change Spring Forward
Being that it is now Sunday, my Spring Break is nearly finished. I spent much of my break reading Proust, and fiction based on heroin: notably Irvine Welsh’s Trainspotting and Denis Johnson’s short story collection Jesus’ Son, which was recommended to me because I wrote a short story originally entitled “Feel Like Jesus’ Son” about ― you guessed it! ― a heroin addict. I have since revised the story, altering its title to “Always Late,” another classic Lou Reed reference; and I’ve also altered the style, based heavily upon Joycean knock-off stream of consciousness. On a related note, I am working on a research paper about Joyce’s use of stream of consciousness: my thinking being that if I am going to use the style, I should know the history and development of it.
Along with heavy reading this break ― and the consumption of large amounts of rum, whiskey and beer — I did work on a few short stories, my potential novel The Village, and even a couple poems. Somehow that seemed a lot cooler in my head then typed up… but maybe someone will find it cool.
Tonight I bought Beautiful Children by Charles Boch. It was published just a couple months ago, and the New York Times Book Review gave it a nice review and it sounded interesting to me. Maybe I will read it soon and review it myself. I would like to publish reviews on this blog… once I start reading faster. For now, a couple of reviews: if you want to read about Scottish heroin addicts and other crazy Scottish people written in English and Scots, read Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh; and if you want to read the genius of Marcel Proust, read Proust. Hopefully these reviews will become more sophisticated as time goes on.
I feel like I had more to write, but a lot of it got lost along the way. Anyways, more will come sometime I am sure, and maybe even a short story or a poem will float along and find itself here. But it is almost 4 AM, due to the time change, and thus I should try and get some sleep, for I only had four hours of sleep last night, seeing as I was up ‘til 4:30 AM reading, and then I had to wake up at 8:30 AM in order to go to defensive driving, which was required so that I can get my license back and drive once again.
Along with heavy reading this break ― and the consumption of large amounts of rum, whiskey and beer — I did work on a few short stories, my potential novel The Village, and even a couple poems. Somehow that seemed a lot cooler in my head then typed up… but maybe someone will find it cool.
Tonight I bought Beautiful Children by Charles Boch. It was published just a couple months ago, and the New York Times Book Review gave it a nice review and it sounded interesting to me. Maybe I will read it soon and review it myself. I would like to publish reviews on this blog… once I start reading faster. For now, a couple of reviews: if you want to read about Scottish heroin addicts and other crazy Scottish people written in English and Scots, read Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh; and if you want to read the genius of Marcel Proust, read Proust. Hopefully these reviews will become more sophisticated as time goes on.
I feel like I had more to write, but a lot of it got lost along the way. Anyways, more will come sometime I am sure, and maybe even a short story or a poem will float along and find itself here. But it is almost 4 AM, due to the time change, and thus I should try and get some sleep, for I only had four hours of sleep last night, seeing as I was up ‘til 4:30 AM reading, and then I had to wake up at 8:30 AM in order to go to defensive driving, which was required so that I can get my license back and drive once again.
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