I have been meaning to link to Colin Watson's blog for some time now. That he has been diagnosed with Hodgkin's disease makes it that much more important to do so. It is tempting to call people "aspiring writers" but Colin is a writer who simply has not been recognized yet. The quality of the shorts varies, to some extent because they are striving to capture an innate voice that he distrusts, but which shines through in the oddest of ways at the oddest of moments.
The reality is that he was working as a barista at the two story Harvard Square Starbucks, which is a hideous waste of his talent. He diagrams out theories of coffee with an intellectual panache that would be better spent on other problems. Often his best writing is when he addresses the reader, and the powerful undercurrent of performance present in his work, comes out – for example here. The key is that he truly loves his readers, and this saves almost anything for the ersatz attempt to use an audience as social proof in a pick up game.
You want to know why the world of literature is filled with naval gazing next big things? Because we are busy burying the artists while alive. This is merely one example, but a particularly poignant one, since he is sitting on an as yet unpublished novel, which the world ought to read, and which ought to have more company before Colin takes leave.
As for me, I am back now, lord help you all.