July 19, 2005

Thinking too much, having too many ideas, cripples a writer. Success, in writing (and perhaps in other things), lies in having a few clear isolated ideas to create the core structure, having the life experience to provide the walls of this structure ... and then allowing absolutely nothing else in which could muddy the waters.

Why is it I can no longer pick up a book -- on any subject -- without knowing the writer's politics within less than ten pages? Just once, I want to be able to work for it! A person's life experience should resonate within their creation ... but everything I have glanced through of late has such a powerful didactic note that it becomes distinctly obtrusive, in the way a sledgehammer beating on my head would be obtrusive. Where has the subtlety gone? Is there so much noise in the world that the only way for someone to be heard is to scream?

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