I’m mourning a lost post. I’m in unlovely Las Vegas amidst the cigarette smoke and dead-eyed slot machine addicts. After an hour looking in vain for a bookshop near the Strip I finally settled for a Starbucks (in yet another casino). I powered up my netbook and pulled up a piece I half-completed a few days ago, only to find it gone. Gone!
And now I barely have the energy to start again on the thing. Isn’t that the worst? Losing something you were reasonably pleased with? Oh well. Perhaps it’s saved somewhere on my home machine. In the meantime, instead of trying to recreate my work, perhaps I should use this wail of loss as a carrier for anything else that occurs to me.
First of all, I’m trying to keep an open mind, I really am, but I haven’t yet found a single thing to like about Vegas. So far it’s all the worst parts of American culture strained out through a spangly sock then dumped in the middle of the desert. Everywhere you look is the promise of a good time, a transformative experience, a connection. Nowhere is there evidence of the real thing. All promises are paths that lead you only to the perpetual smoky neon of the casino. People sit slack-jawed, beer bottles in hand, cigarettes dangling. And they press keys. Over and over again. I enjoy a vice or two myself but I’m failing to find the rush here. I think they’re being punished for something. Speaking of connections I could order a girl (available within twenty minutes, apparently) using a card from one of the men who crick crack decks of handouts on the Strip. This is no under the counter deal either, billboards driven up and down the Strip make the same offer. My wife wasn’t keen, so we passed on it. UPDATE: (from same wife) apparently at least one of the shows is totally amazing.
My first draft continues to inch forward, and my work is a little better focused than before. That’s partly thanks to my scene checklist, I think. I also submitted another chapter to workshop, and the response was gratifying. Of course, it’s still incredibly rough, but I’m beginning to believe there’s something in there.
I’m not surprised when my writing is poorly received. I’m not even particularly disappointed since I know that early drafts needn’t be stellar. When I get positive feedback, though, I believe one of two things. Either the critics are wrong. They’ve somehow failed to find the rotten heart of the piece. Or maybe this time the work is good but only accidentally. I’ll never reach this peak of competence again. After all, the alchemy that transforms a collection of words into something that readers feel is mysterious at best, even if you have craft at your disposal.
I’ve finally decided that, after years of complaining about my day job, I’m going to do something about it. We’re returning to the UK earlyish in the new year. If I can find a university that will have me I’ll embark on an MA in Creative Writing in the fall. In the meantime I’ll freelance and continue with the work in progress. I’ll miss San Francisco terribly, of course, but my visa won’t let me change careers, and if I stopped working my partner would no longer be eligible herself. So that’s that. A new adventure. I’ll keep you informed.
