mardi 18 janvier 2011

Eric Bogosian, PERFORATED HEART, New York, Simon & Schuster, 2009, 271 pages.

It's time to work. I've quit drinking. Quit smoking weed. No more distractions. I must finish my book. Writing a book is like preparing for a prizefight. I'm so focused, I'm not even masturbating. How else can I make the work that will pierce the world?
My schedule: Get up early, seven or eight. Read the newspaper. Thirty-five push-ups, a hundred sit-ups, stretch. Make a huge pot of espresso coffee and write until I can't write anymore. Usually until four or five. Then go out for a long walk. Breathe. Try to gather up more ideas. Then I eat something. Usually, I go by and visit Zim, talk philosophy and watch him sniff heroin.
Using this system I've cranked out sixty pages in the last week. And the stuff is good. I'm halfway through the second week of this. I'm going to dedicate this book to my mother.
Blake, my new agent, checks in every couple of days. He has sent samples of my writing to magazine editors. Then he asks me how the book's going. Sometimes he dishes about his star clients. He knows Raymond Carver personally. Represents a guy named Richard Price, who is very interesting. I guess I'm the big time now. But I have to get the writing done.
(p. 223-224)

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