mary: A picture of a woman sitting in front of a stained glass window, from Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds (Default)
[personal profile] mary
So I go to the US in a few days, and it was last April at about one in the morning in a hotel room in Denver that I had the first glimmer of the idea which eventually became Candy Butchers.

And like, the year since then has been a really really damn rough year for me. One of the hardest so far.

But I finished Mixtape and got it published and it meant a lot to some of the people who read it, and some people whose imaginations I love were impressed by it, and those are pretty great things to have happened.

And I started and slogged through and finished Candy Butchers, and maybe in a few more months I can look at it and be proud of it to, instead of dissatisfied in the way I always am when a project is completed. Maybe I'll find a publisher. Maybe it will mean a lot to people too.

It's the third in what I think of as my 'Lennon Lyrics Trilogy' (yes I know Wolf House was five books shh shh) -- Wolf House, Devil's Mixtape and Candy Butchers all feature characters who have the lyrics to songs written by John Lennon on their wrists.

There are other recurring themes and 'spiritual sequel' connections between the three; that's just the most obvious of them. I'm sure that my future work will also fit along similar lines, but I also feel like these stories, these things which I wrote in the second half of my twenties (beginning at 25, finishing just a couple of months after turning 30) fit into a particular capsule of their own.

I guess I'm proud of having made something like that. Sometimes. I think I did a lot more things wrong than I did things right, but I also think I did close to the best that I could at the time. Is that enough, though? I don't know, but I hope so, because I don't know if I'll ever be able to do anything better, accomplish anything greater than these. If this is the upper limit of what I'm capable of, is that enough? Should I be proud of it?
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mary: A picture of a woman sitting in front of a stained glass window, from Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds (Default)
Isn't moral anarchy kind of the point?

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