Ghost of Ernest Hemingway, here.
I was talking with Gore Vidal ... no, he is quite alive. I talk with Roland, and he is all too alive, isn't he?
We were talking about how politicians love to dissemble with words.
This after last week's massacre in Houla, where more than 100 people--many of them children--were killed.
I mentioned Roland's post about the internet craze of writing an entire novel in a month.
He rolled those Luciferian eyes of his and sighed,
"Ernest, it comes down to whether one wants to be a carpenter or a woodpecker."
He scowled, "With novels, as with erecting buildings, it all comes down to design. And proper design takes time as does everything done with quality in mind."
I nodded, "Of course. Kidnap a woman's child and demand she write a novel within a month. She will write that novel."
Vidal chuckled, "Any Philistine could, but would it be a good novel? It is a truism of human nature that what one practices, one becomes.
If they practice slovenly writing, it is a certainty that they will become slovenly writers."
He smiled evilly. "Now, has Roland's penchant for geting into trouble gotten any less? And if not, do present me with the gory details."
And so I did. But Roland is a friend, so you will have to imagine the lurid tales I told Vidal.
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