March 30, 2013 § 11 Comments
The story takes turns without logic or foreshadowing. There are long pauses (not pregnant, just boring). Every now and then the narrator, like a friend of mine who was particularly inept at joke telling says, “Oh did I forget to mention…”
And the “forgot to mention” is the whole point, but it’s too late to use the information–and the story falls quietly off a cliff or, having missed its opportunity, dribbles on.
So, in addition to the discursive story told by this second rate narrator called “real life” I do the job myself in a parallel perfected reality called the novel.
March 16, 2013 § 5 Comments
In the jar was loose change, a crumpled dollar bill; my start on getting from my bedroom at 5 Canoe Broke Drive, Princeton Junction, New Jersey to “The Grand Tour.”
I yearned toward a world I had thus far experienced only as ink on glossy paper.
I got there too. I backpacked across Europe during college with two shirts, one jumper, a pair of pants, and a thin sweater. Coldest summer of my life. I knocked on the doors of Italian relatives who had clearly not gotten the letters my grandfather sent explaining who I was and that I was coming.