Occasionally If I Look Back At Something

I Started Writing Short Fiction Very Briefly, As I Imagine Is The Case For Some Novelists.

I Was Once Really Close To Sitting Down And Having A Conversation With A Shadowy Young Woman Who Is Reputed Have Become A Millionaire By Investing In Beanie Babies. She Was Someone That A Couple People Claimed To Know, She Seemed To Exist, But She Remained Shadowy.

[when] Johnny Mnemonic Was Coming Out And I Realized That All The Kids That Worked In 7-11 Knew More - Or Thought They Knew More - About Feature Film Production Than I Did. And That Was From Reading Premiere, That Was From This Change That Came From Magazines That Treat Their Readers As Players. Magazines That Purport To Sell You The Inside Experience.

The Most Common Human Act That Writing A Novel Resembles Is Lying. The Working Novelist Lies Daily, Very Complexly, And At Great Length.

For Me, The Melancholy Of The Late Xxth Century Is Walking Late At Night By The Mont Blanc Pen Store And Seeing These Things Always Strike Me As Simulacra Of Luxury Items. They Seem Like Fakes.