So, I'm broke, have no work on the immediate horizon, bills unpaid, the weather is rancid, been avoiding company and I'm getting into the habit of wearing the same clothes until the hairs on my hairy beastie bits are growing straight through them.
And you know what? I'm deliriously happy
because I've been WRITING LIKE A MOTHERF$CKER.
This from Ernest Hemingway:
I knew how severe I had been and how bad things had been. The one who is doing his work and getting satisfaction from it is not the one poverty bothers. I thought of bathtubs and showers and toilets that flushed as things that inferior people to us had or that you enjoyed when you made trips ...
But then we did not think ever of ourselves as poor. We did not accept it. We thought we were superior people and other people that we looked down on and rightly mistrusted were rich ... We ate well and cheaply and drank well and cheaply and slept well and warm together and loved each other.
I do wonder whether his wife felt the same way. Anyway, I can quote from Hemingway on A WineDark Sea, because a few weeks ago when I did have some money and was spending more time consuming stuff than producing stuff, I bought a first edition copy of this:
It arrived on my doorstep a few days ago. It smells beautiful. It has brown speckles over the pages like the brown speckles over my grandmother's hands. And then, you can turn another page and Hemingway just kind of saunters into your head and starts yarning.
This beautiful wee morsel of micro fiction by Angela Meyer arrived on my doorstep too! Winged from Melbourne west to me, from my most excellent blogger mate Jen (here).
So yes, I am rich - filthy rich - rolling in the paper stuff AND writing like a Motherf$cker. It's thesis work: research, references, footnotes and gnarly theoretical paragraphs and still I'm loving it. Look. Look at my desk. You can see I'm in heaven. Below are my favourite history books that have moved in and started arguing amongst themselves.