Friday, June 15, 2012

Eddie Coffin says...

'I am working on the assumption that my lifelong sloth hasn’t been that, but a well-disguised storage of creative vim for the killer opus to leave known civilization gaping.  One book and out. I’m taking it all down. The trivialities. The ramblings. The drearies. The trites. I’m taking no chances. Rounding up all the usual suspects, and all the unusual ones, picking them off as they emerge one by one. This is in case I can’t spot a vein bearing line straight away. Not so much for the posterity as for satisfaction, though it would be nice for someone to read this in a few hundred years time. And not come to the conclusion that I reach with many musty, speckled works I chance upon in antiquarian bookshops: what a zero, what a waste of ink, what a regurgitator, what a ripple from someone else’s imaginative stone. Pages of blank masquerading as writing. Why did anyone bother writing for printing or selling or buying or keeping it? If anyone should be reading this…' 

- Eddie Coffin (The Thought Gang, Tibor Fischer, 1994)

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