I haven’t been writing my blog lately ‘cause I’ve been trying to get some serious writing done. My little novella has been upped by almost 10,000 words, so all I really need to do is write another 10k, 5k if I want to just get by, revise one last time and submit or eat it. Either way, I’ve been working on a totally different book that’s been coming along quite nicely. After about two hours, I want to smash my computer over the first book, so I switch to the second and write for another two. I’m amazed how shifting gears like that can re-inspire creative thought. It has caught up with me though, and I don’t feel like writing today, hence, the blog.
I don't expect you all to finish this posting as it is mostly my bitching, but some of you readers might like it.
I finished reading Texasville the day before yesterday, and I must say, I’m tremendously disappointed. The Last Picture Show was so good that I’m still trying to understand why McMurtry chose to follow such a brilliantly written novel with a comedic sequel. What the shit was he thinking?! Granted he wrote it 20 years after the first one, and all the characters have aged with impressive consistency but a comedy? There’s a third and I believe a fourth installment, but I won’t be reading them. I was irritated that Texasville was 660 pages because I knew I was going to finish it even though I dragged my way through. It was a New York Times bestseller too! And, it received several pages of praise with such language as “McMurtry has written and ideal sequel” or “Texasville crackles with energy, humor and passion.” There were some others that even though I read them, I still ignored: “Texasville is just as funny as can be” or “Texasville is just slightly off-center and loony” or “Texasville is a big ol’ mess of book.” I don’t get it. What made me finally finish it with speed was All Quiet on the Western Front. I may give McMurtry another shot with Lonesome Dove (as I've discovered (to my dismay) that I like westerns), but that’s his last chance. It’s another fatty, and he won a Pulitzer for it, so if I don’t like it, I’ll assume the whole country is one buck-toothed idiot.
I started greedily reading All Quiet on the Western Front, “The greatest war novel of all time!”, immediately after Texasville. Now, that’s an interesting one. I’ve always thought I understood the deadness of war-scarred soldiers, but I’m finding out I don’t. The only ones who truly do are other vets. No amount of empathy will ever equal what they know, for the most youthful return from war as aliens.
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