This is exactly why (had I any talent) I'd never strive to write the Great American Novel. It's all so... oppressive. Betraying intimacies. Dreaming up bullshit. Ah, the weight of the world and my constant struggle. Out of it I shall make great art!
No; I'd rather be political correspondent with a feminist tack. A sure way to assignate with a lot of women, no? LOL Once knew a runt political 'activist' of a socialist stripe. He claimed it was a great way to get laid.
If I did write, drawing upon memories... hmm... I once had a date in Manhattan. We went to dinner in the East 50s (Beef Wellington and Côtes du Rhône), walked over to the vest-pocket park under Sutton Place and the Queensboro Bridge, took a cab to the Rainbow Room atop 30 Rock where we saw Ella Fitzgerald, then a Hansom cab ride in Central Park. The stuff of romantic novels? Took her home.
She later incorporated it into a film script. I sued.
"You can't do that! That's my life there!!!" LOL
Just kidding. It was a memorable night; curious to think:
if I remember so well after near 50 years, how's about since?
She later incorporated it into a film script. I sued.
"You can't do that! That's my life there!!!" LOL
Just kidding. It was a memorable night; curious to think:
if I remember so well after near 50 years, how's about since?
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