Saturday, March 16, 2013



“Imagination, of course, 
can open any door—turn 
the key and let all the 
terror walk right in.”
—Truman Capote, "Unspoiled Monsters"
Answered Prayers The Unfinished Novel

I thought I was just writing a novel
but then it started writing me

I thought I was just doing non-fiction
using literary techniques storytelling it

But the story had a life of its own that’s
when I became just another character

I thought I was just doing reportage
but the deja-vu monster was waiting 

I began to have doubts about this style
my approach & the texture of my writing

Because the writing was writing itself 
without me, accelerating my alarm

The energy of esthetic excitement was
there & growing with every page

But as Colin Clive exclaimed in James

Nothing lessened my noir depression
in fact, it began getting worse & worse

There was no simple answer to the
growing apparently unsolvable problem

But I couldn’t stop wondering to myself
if I wasn’t the author then who was?

At first I blamed it on bleak gothic Kansas
stuck out there in a gaunt Garden City motel

The cold, the midwestern noir depressing
lifestyle was surely squelching my style

It wasn’t just New Journalism taking hold
it was like Perry Smith had invaded me

And yet I kept on writing & seeing him
falling under his ex-con hypnotic influence

My novel was not longer a novel but moving
more toward a film script and something unreal

It was looking for something to say and I was
the way the crime drama was unfolding 

My imagination had turned the key & unlocked
the door to something terrible that walked in

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