catastrophe, not mine

here's a 4th of july whoops for you. that's the bad thing about taking a vacation right after this particular holiday. i'll miss out on all the dumbass emergency room fireworks-related injuries. this one, though surely dumbass, is also, of course, sad.

anyway. i actually had an okay day of writing yesterday. and today's writing is going all right so far too. yeah, things are going well. i don't know where they're going, quite, but that's all right.

but my own writing isn't what i feel like talking about now. i'm still working my way through hopeful monsters by nicholas mosley and i'm really liking it. it's one of those "novels of ideas" or "intellectual novels" that i periodically find myself drawn to. i'd love to be able to write this sort of thing myself, but i'm totally not at that level. i don't know if ever i will be, but that's okay. i can write my sort of thing, whatever my sort of thing is, and mr mosley can write his. i reckon there's room for both of us.

it's one of those books that seems to be about everything. love, physics, biology, relativity, fascism, sex, communism, anthropology, war, philosophy. it's nearly overwhelming. plus it's funny.

i know mr mosley isn't for everyone, but i do recommend his books. give him a try. he's got a bunch. this one is the last in a series of novels he calls "catastrophe practice," and i know i'm messing everything up by reading this one first, but it's been on my shelf for years and it was calling to me and there was little i could do. here's a brief article about it that appeared in the stranger back in the day.

okay. now i'm going back to work some more on my own, notably less complicated, intellectual, or original, story.