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Beach

Saturday 12/2/23

Keep going. There is beach to be taken right now.


More novelette work.


A workmanlike day. Still not doing nearly enough. I'll say when I am.


Walked three miles, did 100 push-ups, did three circuits in the Monument. Again, not a fantastic number, but this is still good. Hadn't been in there for a while, now it's been three days in a row, and I'm building up. Monument stairs are the hardest stairs. The Monument is the best. If you're doing the City Hall stairs and you transition to the Monument you'll be in good shape, but all stairs are different. As I've said.


"Strong moral compass" is a mixed metaphor. A lot of people say the phrase.


Watched 1955's It Came from Beneath the Sea.


A writer/professor who read the earlier entry about replacement-level writing and writers wrote me the following:


I’m curious. Is there a single living writer you admire? I get that The Threepenny Review sucks—as do the majority of most lit mags. And Wendy Lesser lives up to her name. But there HAS to be another living human who writes that you find admirable. While I certainly can’t do what you do—not even close—I would also argue that nobody but me could have written my last book. It was what I was born to make. I’ll send you a copy if you remind me of your address.


To which I responded:

That's the kind of thing where if I say, "Why does there have to be?" it's like I'm being defiant or truculent or something that I'm not being and wouldn't be. And like I'm close-minded. Which I'm not. I'm talking about writing, too, not events. If there was someone out there who lost three limbs and was the most decorated Coast Guard rescue swimmer after having lost these limbs, and they wrote a book about it, I understand that they're the only person who could have written that book. But that's not what I mean. What I do mean is spelled out across this journal. But as for this HAS to be--I think I'd only be letting you down by not providing three or four names.


P.S. You were born to be a lot of good things. And you became a lot of good things, which is more important anyway.


I'm thinking about writing the Coast Guard rescue swimmer thing now.


I’m curious. Is there a single living writer you admire? I get that The Threepenny Review sucks—as do the majority of most lit mags. And Wendy Lesser lives up to her name. But there HAS to be another living human who writes that you find admirable. While I certainly can’t do what you do—not even close—I would also argue that nobody but me could have written my last book. It was what I was born to make. I’ll send you a copy if you remind me of your address.

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