Luckily, this large and airy room – the perfect place to take your lunch – is largely unknown to the crowds of tourists below who endlessly parade the aisles of the market, jostling with their trays, looking for an empty table. Farmer’s Market is for some reason a big tourist attraction, a Los Angeles landmark. Thankfully, most visitors don’t notice the staircase that leads to the big dining hall, which, as I say, is usually quite peaceful.
I began to write. “To write, just for the sake of writing” is a great thing, said Dave of The Funny Names Blog. It’s true. there’s a certain pleasure, an inherent personal value, in writing. Several years ago when I first started blogging, I commented to Eric Alagan – that is we conversed, or conversated if you like, via the comments section – about the validity of blog writing.
My position was that blogging is not “real” writing. To me writing meant writing a book, some short stories, or long literary essays. Blogs were by their nature briefer. I also felt that writing for the blog would detract time and energy from the “real” writing.
Well, looking back, I must say that I was 100% correct. Empirically, (and one must always be empirical when one can!) I’ve blogged hundreds of posts, but I’ve written zero novels, just a few stories. In short I haven’t written very much. Now, don’t get me wrong. I like a lot of my posts. I enjoy “writing” for this Bumbastories gig. However, my “literary” production is definitely down.
Unlike writers who make a living from writing (a group about as numerous as hens’ teeth, and equally as appealing) I have always been unwilling, to write commercially: to conform to industry norms re subject matter, plot development, etc. I don’t throw in any gore or gratuitous sex (However, I am nonetheless a firm believer in gratuitous sex!). For me, the writing is so time-consuming and energy-depleting that it just seems a pity to write anything that I don’t like. For me it has to be genuine.
“OK,” you ask. “So, when are you going to start the next novel?”
“Soon'” I say. “After some of that gratuitous sex.”