He Looks Tired, Like Someone Walked On

He Remembered His Mentor, Lou Kline, Telling Him In The Nineties That Rock And Roll Had Peaked At Monterey Pop. They'd Been In Lou's House In La With Its Waterfalls, The Pretty Girls Lou Always Had, His Car Collection Out Front, And Bennie Had Looked Into His Idol's Famous Face And Thought, You're Finished. Nostalgia Was The End - Everyone Knew That.

At Night, The House Thick With Sleep, She Would Peer Out Her Bedroom Window At The Trees And Sky And Feel The Presence Of A Mystery. Some Possibility That Included Her--separate From Her Present Life And Without Its Limitations. A Secret. Riding In The Car With Her Father, She Would Look Out At Other Cars Full Of People She'd Never Seen, Any One Of Whom She Might Someday Meet And Love, And Would Feel The World Holding Her Making Its Secret Plans.

Like All Failed Experiments, That One Taught Me Something I Didn’t Expect: One Key Ingredient Of So-called Experience Is The Delusional Faith That It Is Unique And Special, That Those Included In It Are Privileged And Those Excluded From It Are Missing Out.

I Haven’t Had Trouble With Writer’s Block. I Think It’s Because My Process Involves Writing Very Badly. My First Drafts Are Filled With Lurching, Clichéd Writing, Outright Flailing Around. Writing That Doesn’t Have A Good Voice Or Any Voice. But Then There Will Be Good Moments. It Seems Writer’s Block Is Often A Dislike Of Writing Badly And Waiting For Writing Better To Happen.

We Live In A Moment And A Culture When Reading Is Really Endangered. There's Simply No Way To Write Well, Though, If You're Not Reading Well.