Dec 2, 2013
Lost Art.
I miss the days when you could smoke in bars...
I would spend many a night, pen in hand and paper in front of me; with a glass to my left and an ashtray to the right. Putting words down on paper. Any words. Whatever came.
Now, it just all seems so impersonal. Laptops and power cords and the glare of the screen lighting up your face as you sit in the corner trying to get it all down.
Your thoughts, no matter how trivial.
The golden age of the great American novel has died. And a little bit of me has died with it.