Why do I find a beautiful long pass from Andrea Pirlo of Juventus far superior to most literary works of today’s writers? I’m very interested in vitality and un-self-conscious vitality, in particular. If writing is, like other arts, ultimately a game, the real pleasure of it is the doing. You write something, you edit it, carve it, edit it and the process is the fun. If you’re good at the process, perhaps you’ll produce something good. On rare occasion, you bang something out and don’t need to touch it. I am reminded of that great phrase from Sexy Beast – for the sheer fuck-offed-ness of the thing.
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