A Drinker Does Not Exist. Whatever They

Description Is Hard. Remember That All Description Is An Opinion About The World. Find A Place To Stand.

I Am A Trembling Mess From Hip To Knee. There Is A Terrible Heat, A Looseness In My Innards That Makes Me Want To Dig My Fists Between My Thighs. It Is A Confusing Feeling - Somewhere Between Diarrhoea And Sex - This Grief That Is Almost Genital.

And, In Fact, This Is The Tale That I Would Love To Write: History Is Such A Romantic Place, With Its Jarveys And Urchins And Side-buttoned Boots. If It Would Just Stay Still, I Think, And Settle Down. If It Would Just Stop Sliding Around In My Head.

If You Can Just Actually Let The Character Be For A Bit, Then You Get The Right Sense.

You Write A Book And You Finish The Book. That's Your Job Done, Right? You Win The Booker And You Have A Whole New Job. You Have To Be The Thing, Right? So Instead Of Writing The Story, You Somehow Are The Story. And That I Found That Sort Of Terrible.