Different Harbours

I’ve been writing all night. I was talking about how strange the work of a writer is with my friend this morning. This led me to consider outlining the writing process I’ve adopted while I’m writing the new book. I’m still thinking about it, but it might pop up on here someday soon. In the meantime I’ve been reading Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer. I started reading Miller about six months ago and I’ve been annoying anyone who will listen by raving about his work.

This quote is from Stand Still Like The Hummingbird. I was reading it while my friend sat beside me and I proclaimed, “holy shit! We’re kindred spirits!” This happens to bibliophiles from time to time, and it is always glorious to discover yourself in another, long dead, but certainly alive in spirit.

I see myself forever and ever as the ridiculous man, the lonely soul, the wanderer, the restless frustrated artist, the man in love with love, always in search of the absolute, always seeking the unattainable.

Henry Miller

A Fiction of Slowing Down

I’m too busy working on Other Lives to write anything of importance on here. But, earlier I was reading through Leaves of Grass and I found this passage highlighted.

“Not I, nor anyone else can travel that road for you.
You must travel it by yourself.
It is not far. It is within reach.
Perhaps you have been on it since you were born, and did not know. 
Perhaps it is everywhere – on water and land.”

Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass


John Berger About Time

I have two working titles for my new novel. The first is Phoenix and the second is Other Lives. I throw these out when discussing my new manuscript for different reasons, but both are related to the concept of time. Previously, I’ve posted different snippets of literature that are influencing my new manuscript, but tonight I’m posting a video essay on time that has influenced me greatly. John Berger has influenced my writing, and my thinking, and I owe him a great debt. Please enjoy the video if you can make time. Also, pick up a copy of his remarkable book, And Our Faces, My Heart, Brief as Photos.