Beginning a book is unpleasant. I’m entirely uncertain about the character and the predicament, and a character in his predicament is what I have to begin with. Worse than not knowing your subject is not knowing how to treat it, because that’s finally everything. I type out beginnings and they’re awful, more of an unconscious parody of my previous book than the breakaway from it that I want. I need something driving down the center of a book, a magnet to draw everything to it—that’s what I look for during the first months of writing something new. I often have to write a hundred pages or more before there’s a paragraph that’s alive. Okay, I say to myself, that’s your beginning, start there; that’s the first paragraph of the book. I’ll go over the first six months of work and underline in red a paragraph, a sentence, sometimes no more than a phrase, that has some life in it, and then I’ll type all these out on one page. Usually it doesn’t come to more than one page, but if I’m lucky, that’s the start of page one. I look for the liveliness to set the tone. After the awful beginning come the months of freewheeling play, and after the play come the crises, turning against your material and hating the book.
Fiind vorba de un jurnal mă găsesc aşadar în situaţia de „character in his predicament”. Predicament este de luat în sensul mai larg, mai mult decât o situaţie dificilă sau neplăcută, după cum ne sugerează Aristotel în logica sa (each of the ten ‘categories’, often listed as: substance or being, quantity, quality, relation, place, time, posture, having or possession, action, and passion). Voi scrie aşadar despre mine în raport cu: fiinţă, cantitate, calitate, relaţie, loc, timp, postură (sau impostură?) posesie şi pasiune.
Oare mi-am propus prea mult?