Came up with a new story for Longer on the Inside this morning, by which I mean, I had something, I took the time to compose it in my head, but I did not formally compose it, because I wanted my energy going to the Scrooge book. I have this brace of stories not yet done for Longer on the Inside that I have known I want for the project, even if I already have enough for three such volumes. I completed another chapter of Scrooge, and I have the next one entirely worked out. This is a big weekend for me on multiple book fronts--Scrooge, Brackets/Dzanc, various proposals, the Beatles book--and I must work hard and long. Walked three miles yesterday, three today. It's not a lot, but it's been quite a few days in a row of something, whether that be walking, running, stairs, hill sprints, or some combination.
Saw an editor yesterday on Facebook saying that the events of Wednesday left her shaking, "literally weeping for America." Then she added that these events of Wednesday were "even worse" than 9/11. Imagine being that divorced from reality? Worse than 9/11. You read through the rest of her posts, and it's patriarchy that, patriarchy this. She writes, too, and you look up the six things she's published, and, shockingly, you learn that the editors who published the meaningless pieces had their pieces published in the venue she edits. (And, as one would also expect, there's the Ivy League school, the MFA, and the fancy prep school for the high school years.) Along I come to a person like this, with my work, achievements, my letter, and there is no chance. Dead on arrival. DOA. The jealousy will always be too much. And, of course, the cronies of this person show up to tongue and gush in the comments, and agree, say it's way worse than 9/11, and on and on.
Funny, too, the number of people on Twitter with blue check marks writing that the Capitol was "literally razed." Was it now? Razed, eh? People just say whatever. Doesn't matter if one has no clue what a word means, say it anyway!
I had been going to Caffe Dello Sport to read, make notes, regather, that kind of thing, but I can't take it anymore. The regulars there have driven me away. I don't know what they do in life. They sit there, they drink--beer and shots (Sambuca)--and speak--loudly--in the most crude, witless fashion. With horrid Boston accents. Yesterday Biden was on the TV, and they must have made the same joke 100 times. "He's a snifffaahhhhh," one of them said, referring to the hair-sniffing thing. Well, if this wasn't the height of hilarity to these Neanderthals--a male and female mix. One woman said, "If he was midget, he'd be in jail." I thought the laughter had a chance of razing the building when she served up that bon mot. They kept saying it again and again. "Snifffffaaaahhhhh." I'm reading my Montaigne, and I couldn't take it, I had to go. I thought of that line that nobody ever got broke overestimating the stupidity of the American people. I'm not sure you can overestimate it. And the political commentary by these dolts--every bit as disturbing as the 9/11 woman mentioned above, but from the other side of the political fence, of course. As I'm sitting there, I almost felt bad for Chad in Meatheads Say the Realest Things that I had him spend time in this place. I actually thought, "My bad, bro."
I like that: write the best novel. Write the best story. Write the best music book. Write the best film book. Invent new modes of fiction. Write the best op-eds, the best essays, the best arts pieces. Just roll off one into the next. Do a bunch of them at once. Make it look like the easiest thing in the world.