These old writer’s blues April 11, 1985

 

 Dear Kathy:

It was nice to hear your voice the other day and good to know that you are doing well. Michael told me of seeing you once in his store and Dorothy sees you now and then as well. But I seem a bit out of circulation. Part of this is the nature of me to hide away.

Currently, I’m a bit down. I find myself caught up in words without meaning and my novel flounders. It has direction. But the words won’t come together at all. Maybe I’m pressing too hard. I need to finish it and move on.

Some of my depression comes from two stories recently rejected by the pulps. I do not take rejection well and consider you lucky for your ability to publish often. But then, that’s your spirit, too, injected into everything you do.

So, how ARE you doing?

I know there is hardly time for anything like creative writing these days. I’ve been struggling to find time as well, working crazy jobs like Fotomat and Dunkin Donuts.

Have you talked to Professor Chief recently? Or anyone from those old classes? I know Matt wanders around in your area. He’s like a ghost sometimes. At other times, he’s Jack the Ripper. I like him a lot, but he makes me nervous. But then, I see a lot of myself in him, especially when he helped edit Essence.

I also suffer from a certain kind of ignorance. I feel the strain of not knowing things and struggle for control both of writing and my life.

It comes in spurts. Just as the creativity does. It’s manic, too, shifting from high to low on too regular a basis. I can almost predict the low by the moon. And that’s pretty stupid.

Dorothy suggested I come work with her at the Paterson News. Yet, I don’t feel comfortable as a journalist. I tried journalism classes at school and found the whole need to be away from the typewriter painful. My ideas some from having my fingers on the keys, trying to make people come alive on paper.

It’s just…

Painful and dry.

The next issue of my newspaper will have the serialized beginning of my first novel. But beginning it means that I must end it. And with the way my finances are, the paper might not last that long.

Oh well, I just need to write and get out of some of these old writer blues. Why don’t you write me back with some cures?

 

Your friend

Al Sullivan

 

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