My first large piece was a thirty something thousand word novella about a boy and another boy and a cult. It was pretty horrible, but I entered it into a competition anyway. I didn’t win the competition.
My second manuscript was an improved version of the story about the boy and the other boy and the cult. I wrote half of it while in a relationship, and the other half while out of one.
My third manuscript was more autobiographical. I am quite proud of it. One day it will be published.
My current story deals with a messed up situation involving school kids.
Sometimes you have to wonder about the necessity of art, of fiction, of a film, of a portrait, of a song. I once heard a guy describe art as wishy washy nonsense. Upon first hearing him, I thought he had a point. But then I realised what an asshole he was. Think of all the time and all the money we’ve spent on films, think of the songs that have moved us to tears, think of the books that have inspired us to move, think of statues and bridges and history, think of the times we’ve happily escaped, think of your friend and his camera, think of the pretty girl in the train with the book. Without our creativity we wouldn’t have survived this far.
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And now a word from the bros:
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