28 December 2005

timpeltje: (Default)
Today we stumbled into a middle-aged poet who tried to sell a self-published collection of poetry for 12 dollars. I didn't buy it. Instead he "sold" me some short-stories and poems of his own. He chatted a bit and from what he said, it seemed obvious that he was one of those writers who failed to get any recogntion except from people in a similar situation. Frustrated as hell. Nick told me when walking away that he seemed to be on drugs. I told him he's probably just peculiar...and frustrated. Nick said he hoped I'd never turn out like that. I reassured him.

After saying goodbye to Nick, I came home, proofread my Swedish-Dutch translation, and at about eight o'clock, I started reading Mr Marusic's work. I started with two short stories he claimed to be postmodern(one even mocking the postmodern). Sadly, the very crude ideas in the stories weren't developed enough to make me even consider them as postmodern ...or as literary for that matter. Both contained a sort of Deus ex Machina to explain what had just happened. Telling instead of showing and that doesn't create a very good story. I was also very irritated by the errors against French grammar (for some reason, a character spoke French in one of the stories). I then read the poems and wasn't exactly baffled by any of them.

I was planning to go on to read in Satanic Verses right now, but I will fall asleep now for some 14 hours. I know this because I already did. I'm also telling and not showing today.