prose and the person himself

The uses of the mind. The truth is it's awkward to be typing here in the car but I want to capture a moment in which here I am nearing the end of the Murakami novel and I feel as though the life coming to an end is mine, and I can see the subtle sensitivity behind what it feels like to die away. If I were dying, what would I do? Where would I go and who would I like to see? Is it not about time that I venture out and get some feedback on the character that I am? I have much to learn. I will not be dwindled by the fact that I'm twenty-seven. But I like where I am going and I want to see things a little more clearly, a little more clearly. Then I will write something with a harder edge. Nothing wrong with the kind of work I'm working on now. The beginning of the artist is the beginning of the artist. How funny though, I had wanted to write an artistic piece to blog, then coming here I feel crunched up and I end up saying I'm all crunched up and I abandon the artistic part, then I turn back to my writing, and thinking and writing about my writing. This too will change. The key is to strengthen, and define myself more fully. I still feel like half-baked bread.

first draft 070623

Now, as I read the passage above (which I wrote yesterday). There are sentences I want to scratch out. They show me to be unsure. Too often in my prose I sound unsure of myself. But it isn’t like by editing the words that my character would change. To improve one’s character flaw takes longer than editing a prose piece. And so I resolve by leaving those words in.