Talent

“They who lack talent expect things to happen without effort. They ascribe failure to a lack of inspiration or ability, or to misfortune, rather than to insufficient application. At the core of every true talent there is an awareness of the difficulties inherent in any achievement, and the confidence that by persistence and patience something worthwhile will be realized. Thus talent is a species of vigor.”

I love this quote. I first heard it during a Richard Ford interview (On Charlie Rose, the last interview in the broadcast).
I think Ford got the source wrong, but having read of Ford's perfectionism, I better check deeper.

Anyway, I am hoping for some more vigor right now as I start an afternoon of writing.

Have a great weekend.

One pale star

An excerpt from something new....
(psst... a new novel perhaps)

I rode across the highway that cut through our town and down seventeenth street. Growing up on the Crescent there was no seventeenth street, just a lot of prairie and one lone tire business. As kids we'd run across the highway and go play on the stack of tires. The owner didn't seem to be around much, I'm not sure how he ever made money. A couple of times he'd chase us out of there, but then he just stopped caring. Where the tire shop used to be stood three brand new houses and the beginnings of another four. Two workers were banging away at the frame of one of the houses. Another guy hauled shingles in a wheelbarrow. I stopped on the road and watched them for awhile. It was getting dark already and I needed to zip my jacket up as the wind had picked up. Just yesterday the breeze had felt warm, but now there was an edge to it. I looked up expecting to see the first formations of geese heading south, but the sky was empty except for one pale star that hung over the horizon.

Covered in some guy's brains

For a fiction blog, I haven't posted much of my own lately. Here is one of my favorite excerpts from my novel Correction Line.
Blood mixed with humour, a combination I like.

Have a great weekend!

Correction Line

"Pull over, pull over – c’mon!"

"You’ll be fine."

"I won’t be fine! Pull over the car!"

Lawrence eased off the gas and edged the Pontiac to the shoulder. Before it came to a complete stop, Curtis was out the door and on his knees retching. With one hand he braced himself against the road; the other cradled his stomach. The left side of his windbreaker and his jeans were caked with blood. The driver shut off the headlights and watched the reflection of the moon shimmer on the shiny material of the retching man’s jacket. He tapped his fingers incessantly on the steering wheel.

"Curtis. We need to leave."

A stir came from the back of the car. The large man reached over the seat and helped the woman sit up.

"Lawrence?"

"Hello, Lucy."

Curtis was down to dry heaves now. He stood, spat twice on the ground as a final punctuation and turned back to the car. Before he got in, he took off his windbreaker and tried to wipe off some of the bloody matter on his jeans – all he managed was some of the larger bits. He shuddered, rolled his windbreaker into a tight ball and drew it back, preparing to hurl it into the ditch.

"Curtis. You don’t want to do that. Get back in the car."

Curtis stopped, mid-wind up, he looked like a freeze frame cartoon figure. He lowered his arm and dejectedly tossed the jacket into the open door. He kicked the windbreaker under the seat and slunk into the Pontiac.

He let loose a torrent of words. "Damn, Lawrence, this has gotten too intense for me – I mean – look at me! I’m covered in some guy's brains. I’ll see that guy’s face being blown apart in my dreams. For years. Sure, I’ve done some stuff, but nothing like this, nothing at all – " Curtis looked at the woman. "Hi." He turned back to the driver. "I’m done, I’m really done. You need to drop me somewhere. That son-of-a-bitch slammed me hard with that bat – my guts don’t feel right at all. I need some sort of doctor or medical attention or just – " he stopped and twitched his head toward the backseat.
"She been awake for long?"

"Close the door."

George on Dave

I know, I know I probably mention George Saunders more than any other writer at this blog (sorry, Andrew, here it comes again).

Saunders was recently on Letterman, and while he didn't talk much about his new book (The Braindead Megaphone), he showed why he is such an amazing storyteller.

Click here to see the interview

Shout

My goal this fall is to be a bit more on top of this blog. I updated the Upcoming Shouts link to include a story of mine that appeared in Carve and an upcoming one in Bound Off magazine.

Have a look.