Responding to Orwell: August 13

George: No diary entry today? Come on, pal. I know you’ve been taking some flack because of your concern for weather and blackberries. And I know that I’m not the only one waiting around here to see just how the blackberries will redden or how you will describe other garden snakes and the like. But your diary entry encourages me to produce my own. And when you don’t write, what am I to do? Guess I’ll have to do the work for us. Somewhat hot, with an insinuation of autumn cool. Am currently hacking away at Segundo shows I need to get in the mail, reducing them to 58 minute installments. Hard and often painful job, but if someone has to make the cut, it may as well be me. Future of Segundo uncertain and may have to pull the plug after all. Future on freelancing also uncertain. But then you’re well aware of that uncertainty. Uncertainty seems to be the new certainty. But if I have to pack it in, at least I had a good run. 235 shows over three years is nothing to complain about. Nor was the newspaper work. Just wasn’t good enough to stay alive doing this. That’s capitalism for you. Or maybe social Darwinism. Of course, once one has tasted the nectar of the gods, it’s a bit difficult to go back to tepid tap water. Which was probably why I drank so heavily last night. Still, I remain pro-active, hoping for an eleventh hour reprieve stemming not from fortune or coincidence, but my own industry. We’ll see.

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  1. […] Edward: Well, that’s a cynical attitude to have. Are you really going to give up so easily? You and I both know that you are a stubborn mule when it comes to living the good life, even if the good life brings its share of penury and isolation. But here’s the thing. I think what you’re really upset about is having to abdicate your joie de vivre for a supporting role in a humorless office. But this does not necessarily have to be permanent. And it does not mean that you have to sacrifice your vivacity. While the obituary is by no means final, maybe Segundo isn’t what you’re meant to do. There are these novels that you’re writing. Two unfinished. And what of the polyamory play (also unfinished) that you did all that research for? Or those radio plays you wrote? You’ve been grumbling about being so caught up with work and saving Segundo that you’ve had no time at all to write fiction. Maybe you’re just postponing the inevitable. Because you know they’ll go after you once it’s out there. […]

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