I continue working on my novel, and part of me is struck by the absurdity of the process. A lot of time is not spent constructing elaborate narratives or delicately crafting prose but simply daydreaming. If I have a scene about a guy breaking out of prison, I need to sit there and contemplate exactly how someone would break out of prison, step-by-step. If I have a scene about someone confronting a horrible monster, I need to contemplate exactly what would go through someone’s mind were that situation to arise. The whole thing feels rather silly.
Cut that shit out. You’re second guessing yourself. You’ve committed yourself to a basic idea and if you examine it too much you are going to fuck yourself up. While Bruce Springsteen was recording “Born To Run” he went insane and threw the tape in the trash (Or something else that was really melodramatic) and his Co-Producer hollered “What the fuck!?! You think Chuck Berry goes home at night and listens to ‘Maybelline’?” So stop being all self conscious and keep working.
By, the way, I have no doubt that Chuck Berry does in fact go home at night and listen to “Maybelline”. He’s a black guy, totally different criteria.
Thanks dad.
I wonder if Chuck Berry ever listens to his songs and thinks, “maybe it’s Maybelline.”