Circles

Nothing like the tranquility of very early morning to encourage reflection and introspection. It has occurred to me that in some ways my writer's life now is similar to same in the very beginning of my career. Which is to say, in both instances I am writing with little sense of having an audience at all. The difference is that in the beginning I had a strong sense of being part of a community, serious writers, and of doing something culturally important. Now I have no sense of community, I think I live in a culture where literature has been poisoned by star power and money, and I write largely from habit.

Both are very different from how I felt in the 80s and most of the 90s, writing with great visibility, a secure sense of audience, a sense of being an important contributor to my community art culture.

At any rate, interestingly enough, this feeling is not particularly negative or depressing. Instead it suggests that I was naive in my younger days. Of course, the art-commerce pendulum swings from one extreme to another. When I started, art ruled. In fact, in grad school, we thought of screenwriters as hacks. Today commerce rules. I won't live long enough to see the pendulum swing back again.

But at least I am writing and enjoying it. The novel feels under control again, and I have a supporting character, a literary novelist stuck in a retirement center, whom CJ will help "escape" and he will be a mouthpiece for many cultural criticisms that CJ never thought about before, not being very engaged with the arts. This is a minor theme and must not get overblown. I think an issue with earlier draft is that this theme was too loud too early.

At any rate, I'd love to have a draft done by or during summer. It feels very good to be in a rhythm again.

Life is good. Not quite what I expected at this stage but I am upright and cogent. Complaints in this context are selfish.