Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Really just wanted...

...to stop looking at the same sad post from 10 days ago. I'm still working a lot (and will be through the election) and trying to decompress when I'm not. I actually went bowling Saturday night (this will only be funny if you know me well).

I tried to read last night because I've been anxious to start Haruki Murakami's latest, but couldn't concentrate long enough to get through a paragraph. So I plugged in the iPod and listened to new music downloads instead.

I'm not a huge Zach Braff fan (probably because Scrubs went on about a season too long), but I love his taste in music. I like the soundtrack from The Last Kiss more than I liked the movie (esp. Rufus Wainwright) and I just downloaded the soundtrack for season 2 from iTunes and it's dreamy: Old 97s, Rhett Miller, Joshua Radin, The Polyphonic Spree, Colin Hay...

Then I fell asleep during Law & Order. Did the same on Monday night 15 minutes before the end of Heroes (don't tell me what happened!).

Sunday, September 14, 2008

I get it. Sadly, but I do get it...

Author David Foster Wallace hanged himself on Friday. I just spent twenty minutes writing that sentence, but there is no prettier way to say it. I was in the car when I heard and broke down in tears, partly because the person I most wanted to call and tell first is no longer part of my life. And I have tears in my eyes writing this now.

I fell a little bit in love with Wallace in 1996 after reading Infinite Jest. I cannot count how many copies of that book I bought and passed along to friends. I wanted them to see a part of me through it. I loved him darkly; I loved his darkness. I didn't see the humor in the book that so many reviewers saw - the same book that won him a genius grant - but I did see the genius. And I remember how many times I told fellow writers and friends, "I want to be a writer like that." I meant it.

And I'm sad to have to revise the statement. I've been to some dark places, I've pulled myself out of them more times than I'd like to admit. I know how I get when I allow myself to wade in too deep, when I'm writing fiction, what I'm like when I start acting like the character I'm writing for.

My heart hurts because I do get it, and at the same time I also understand the impact suicide has on the people who love the person who takes his own life.

I don't want to be a writer like that.
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