CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The good days, the fat days, page upon page of manuscript; prosperous days, something to say, the story of Vera Rivken, and the pages mounted and I was happy. Fabulous days, the rent paid, still fifty dollars in my wallet, nothing to do all day and night but write and think of writing: ah, such sweet days, to see it grow, to worry for it, myself, my book, my words, maybe important, maybe timeless, but mine nevertheless, the indomitable Arturo Bandini, already deep into his first novel.
So an evening comes, and what to do with it, my soul so cool from the bath of words, my feet so solid upon the earth, and what are the others doing, the rest of the people of the world? I will go sit and look at her, Camilla Lopez.
John Fante, Ask The Dust
~ Good friend of mine mentioned this guy’s name in passing—I’d never heard of him before, John Fante. The only thing I learned in college was from a theatre history professor who said “read everything you hear someone else mention. If it meant enough for your mind to remember the author, the title, the movie, or the song, it will mean enough for you to check it out for yourself.” Wise man, Tom Lindblade.
~rjb
