"My First Book"

Chapter 3



A relationship


But maybe writing a book is a little bit like being in a relationship. Who wants to read about sexual dysfunction, weed addiction, asocial behavior, panic attacks, anger and worry?

This page is "chapter 4" of "my first book," a 6-page series I wrote in the summer of 2004 in Nijmegen, and (as of autumn 2014) my only attempt at narrative in web-page form.)

I cut alcohol out of the picture, physically — but of course that's still there by implication.

What about those young women, to whom I'm afraid to speak? What about the times I try, and my mouth still comes out full of stupid garble? I'm angry inside, and it scares me. Who would want to read about that?

I'm disatisfied. I want more. I want something. Not more... Something else. What is it that I want?

And who would want to read about that?

Well, I've always wanted to write books.

That's what we call an understatement. It's like the blood of life, to me, the idea. It's like the blood of Jesus to a true believer; life in a cup. That's what the idea is like, to me. It's what I want to do. It's not a logical decision.

But my goal is something different. My goal is... indeterminate. Undetermined, yes; but maybe inarticulable. Motivation inseparable from action; a process. Life itself.

Maybe, in effect, I can write a book, and by doing so, write my life.

And, so, what was my point? Oh, yeah. I'm just going to write a book, anyway.

Chapter 5