First in, last out

Life doesn’t work like a stack, where the last thing pushed on is the first thing popped back out. Many things get pushed in to our minds and you never know when or what will come of them, if anything. I’m sure very few of us in the US were having any thoughts about Chechnya until a couple of days ago, before the Boston Marathon bombers became known. That was some obscurity from a decade past to the relative few who paid attention to it even then. Such complexity in the world today, and such a confusion of cross connections and currents! We cannot really even begin to imagine it.
But I was thinking more about childhood and how I spent so many years in classrooms and in bedrooms doing nothing but daydreaming, telling stories to myself in my mind. I realize now that that was all practice, like learning to play an instrument, and writing stories now is the fruit of that training. I can’t say I would have consciously chosen it. I would rather have had better teachers and more friends.

As people often physically resemble the pets they adopt, do you think that writers can physically resemble their stories? For example, the very large George RR Martin writes very large books, books that share a certain sense of excess. On the opposite side of that, I was a very small and thin child, and my stories are all skin and bones and brief. Kafka is said to have been awkward physically, and you can say the same about his books. A silly theory most likely, but I like the idea. It amuses me to think of what kind of stories would be written by the random people I see on the street.


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