The bottom line is that I have never been drawn to literary types. Those who seem constrained by an admiration for poesy or prose. I'm sure there are writers out there I would like as humans. But within a fixed construct? Not so much.*
I've attended two Literary gatherings, one in Mexico and one in Marin. Good enough people. I did not have a real moment, because so many seemed so intent on rehashing the past. And adulating things that gave me a shrug.
Would it be accidental if I never attended another literary gathering? Not so.
If I had time and there was a human who said "Hey Damon, let's go. Bring your flute"? Sure, I'd be there in a heartbeat. I appreciate good grooves.**
The hardest thing I have getting my head around is that writing may not be enough. Arisugawa Park may have had a lot of work put in by an original prose artist, but the chances of it getting noticed are small. Since I realized that ultimately I control it via whatever medium presents itself for dissemination, I have been walking around liberated and shit.
Best writing ever.
In related news, Ari Park 1.20 - "Head on Desk" is near to publication. Full revelation: the only AP episode so far that gets a lot of hits is the one with the woman in the shower, obsessing over her dead lover (for good reason, as it turns out). Note to self: no more sudsy scrubbing. Let's keep this novel on the under, for the truly elite.
** Santa Cruz, '93.