For a split second this morning I thought I was 12 and still living in Wales. I suspect it had something to do with the BBC on the radio, the rain, and my memory. And then this American Life moved in.
I’m reading Watchmen by Alan Moore. It’s good. But the illustrations are amazing. I know the graphic novel is a marriage of story and image and both are equally challenging, but, damn, it seems like the images by Dave Gibbons require far more work to make the narrative work.
On my wet drive into work this morning, I kept thinking about what it means to live a bit before writing. I don’t want to just trade on style. I want the substance. I want to have done things beyond just writing so that the writing has that recognizable heart beat. I do feel like I have. But how much is enough?