I’ve hit the 25K mark in my novel, but there’s no way in hell that I’m feeling smug about it. No, ma’am. I’m fully aware that the manuscript could sabotage me at an unexpected moment, or the unruly words could stage a revolt upon my consciousness, or the characters might decide that the thoughts and feelings they’ve been nice enough to reveal to me are now off limits. No, humility and a work ethic is the only way to keep going on this. And for all I know, the novel may suck ass.
sprezzatura on Eggers: “Dave Eggers the person is all right with me. Dave Eggers the writer is another story. The very distinction, you feel, would exasperate Eggers, since he has staked his creative life on an identification of decent living with good writing. The conviction that good-intentioned people necessarily make good art is what lies behind the hectic innovative blurring of fact and fiction in Eggers’s work, and in the work of the writers he publishes.”