No writer really works in isolation. Although my favorite time of writing falls daily between 3:30 and 5:00 a.m., I am not alone. In my head are the many other writers I’ve read, and those from whom I’ve learned my penurious craft. Today marks the birthday of Franz Kafka, one of my literary heroes. My experience of trying to find publishers has been a kafkaesque trial from time to time. I learned to write by reading those who’ve written before—Poe, Melville, Austin, Kafka. Their rich writing, it seems, had a place in a past that no longer exists. Something few editors appreciate is the metaphorical and ironic style of writing I employ. Anyone who reads Moby-Dick and comes away thinking it is a novel about whaling has no subtlety whatsoever. To write about life’s great questions, you need a vehicle. Melville chose a whale, and Kafka chose a bug. Today, unless your style is flashy and full of sparkly panache, you’ll remain s...
Blog of a struggling writer.