Harry

I have another project now. I've got quite a few words down, some better than others, and I feel attached. I also feel relieved, to have something.

I hope to not let the air out of this by talking too much about it. I read that somewhere, where a fellow asked for opinions about talking about his work before it was finished and sold. Another fellow said, Well, if you can talk about your work like a writer talks about his work, without ever having actually written it, well, you probably won't bother finishing it. In other words: why bother with the work when you've already gotten the payoff?

I'll keep that in mind, as a guideline and not a hard and fast rule, because I don't/won't consider myself a writer until I get something that pleases me finished and sold. So I'm still waiting for the payoff, not taking false payoffs. But, I get the overall message and realize I'm as likely as the next fellow to self-decieve. Actually, I'm trickier than most next fellows and much more likely to deceive, but to my credit, I might also be a hair better at catching myself in the act, and sooner.

I will share the epigraph to the new work, because:
— it pleases me;
— it feels like a declaration but not a pronouncement (Please, not the latter: I'll have to argue with a certain obstinate fellow who lately tosses aphorisms like wedding rice: "Here, you two, I've plenty! No, you don't know me, but that's not important. Here, take some more, I've plenty! Not getting married? That's not a problem. Here, you two random people, take some more, I've plenty!");
— enthusiasm can be fleeting: it is good to capture and pose some for shield against drought;
— it pleases me.


The day Harry Shavik declared himself bird, he spread his arms like wings and let himself fall, the wind upon him in a rush and the sounds of the city a sudden thrilling silence. Harry's arms did not make him soar, nor glide, and he was too proud to flap in a panic. Thus he fell to the pavement entirely like a man falls from a building.