[G]o ahead and fake it hard. Any early and too bright confidence, even if unearned, might prove to be bankable, I want to think, against those innumerable midcareer instances of dread, the sense that your B.S. detector is still in one gleaming piece, but running an old, unsupported version of Windows. The machinery grows old and unreliable, or so it seems in post-midnight ceiling-staring sessions, the components no longer meeting plumb, their fits grown awkward, their lubricants dried and gone. Or potentially worse, the technology remains as reliable as a solid-state transistor, idiosyncratic but functioning, but the idea-fuel’s all spent.
I’m the writer-in-residence at Open Book: Toronto for the month of May. Stop by often for posts on music, procrastination, baseball, and, I guess, writing.
To get into the swing of things I did Open Book‘s take on the Proust Questionnaire, and in the process learned a little something about myself (namely that I really don’t have answers to most of the questions on a Proust Questionnaire).
Thanks to Grace O’Connell and everyone at OB:T for the invitation, and apologies for all the damage I’m about to do to your esteemed brand.