Monday, November 13, 2006

I hate Bradbury.
I read his Zen and the Art of Writing.
A short story a week he says.
But he's a genius.
I just picked up Farenheit 451 and just read the first page.
He's a genius. The dove's fluttering book pages, or however he put it.
Of course he can turn out a short story a week.
That's like telling a beginning math student how well Einstein did when he really got cooking.
I love Bradbury's work.
I hate Bradbury's bravado.
He makes his genius seem so easy.
It's not.
It's genius.
If you ever have six months in Kansas to write a book, I recommend actually finishing the book. I didn't quite make it and now swim upstream every day against city life. By the time I get home at 5, I'm not really at my peak to be courting the muse. But then I think of Stephen King, and how I read in his book "On Writing" that he wrote most of Carrie on a piece of board in his lap in his laundry room, kids and wife and a shitty teaching job. If he can do it, so can I.