That’s what I’m like when I’m not wearing any masks or doing a persona or trying to write well:
// What has also made me proud, a few lost days aside, is that I’ve still been capable of doing things when feeling like this. I write, even if everything I produce is awful and the experience is frustrating. I read, even if my mind wonders and it’s hard to focus and there’s a lot of pain.
Some things I’ve enjoyed too: watching all the Miss Marple episodes, trying some Partners in Crime episodes with my favourite David Walliams (he always makes me smile), listening a lot to Elton John’s music and daydreaming about him, spending time with my cat, reading Nathaniel West’s Day of the Locust was also pleasant. It’s a rather depressing book about people with Hollywood dreams, but I wasn’t depressed by it. I kept imagining the naive simpleton in this book (named Homer Simpson, by the way, after whom the Simpsons cartoon character got its name, though they are not much alike) looked like the young Elton John. This probably contributed to liking this book more too. That character was very cute.
I don’t think I will ever stop being a teenager at heart. //
The tone is different. It’s free of any affectation, my usual elliptical style, and irony, and self-deprecation, and all these things that are part of my armour.
The contrast made me think but I’ll have to think about it some more yet.
Also, it’s really hard to resist the urge to comment on this extract and add the parts I’d add when writing here. That Elton thing in particular is a small challenge to leave well alone.
(taken from an e-mail correspondence)