Anyway, here's a picture of my desk in my little studio that was once a chicken coop. Maybe I should think of writing as laying an egg. Nevermind.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
One of the composers in residence here played for us tonight. For the past five weeks, he's been composing a sonata and what we heard this evening was staggeringly good. As I walked back to my studio afterwards, I told myself that I'd be thrilled to accomplish a fraction of what he's done, but maybe that's the wrong attitude. I'm still working on the same two books that I've been writing for the past three or four years. My agent's been waiting for the revision of my memoir for months. Maybe what I need to do is work harder instead of telling myself that I'll be content with just a little bit of progress. Of course, I've been learning to write as I go along. Probably the composer has been playing the piano like a genius for years--or at least a while before he started composing.