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I stretched out on the bed and slept. It was twilight when I awakened and turned on the light. I felt better, no longer tired. I went to the typewriter and sat before it. My thought was to write a sentence, a single perfect sentence. If I could write one good sentence I could write two and if I could write two I could write three, and if I could write three I could write forever. But suppose I failed? Suppose I had lost all of my beautiful talent? Suppose it had burned up in the fire of Biff Newhouse smashing my nose or Helen Brownell dead forever? What would happen to me? Would I go to Abe Marx and become a busboy again? I had seventeen dollars in my wallet. Seventeen dollars and the fear of writing. I sat erect before the typewriter and blew on my fingers. Please God, please Knut Hamsun, don__ desert me now. I started to write and I wrote:__he time has come,_ the Walrus said,__o talk of many things:Of shoes__nd ships__nd sealing wax__f cabbages__nd kings___ looked at it and wet my lips. It wasn__ mine, but what the hell, a man had to start someplace.
John Fante Dreams from Bunker Hill
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I stretched out on the bed and slept. It was twilight when I awakened and turned on the light. I felt better, no longer tired. I went to the typewriter and sat before it. My thought was to write a sentence, a single perfect sentence. If I could write one good sentence I could write two and if I could write two I could write three, and if I could write three I could write forever. But suppose I failed? Suppose I had lost all of my beautiful talent? Suppose it had burned up in the fire of Biff Newhouse smashing my nose or Helen Brownell dead forever? What would happen to me? Would I go to Abe Marx and become a busboy again? I had seventeen dollars in my wallet. Seventeen dollars and the fear of writing. I sat erect before the typewriter and blew on my fingers. Please God, please Knut Hamsun, don__ desert me now. I started to write and I wrote:__he time has come,_ the Walrus said,__o talk of many things:Of shoes__nd ships__nd sealing wax__f cabbages__nd kings___ looked at it and wet my lips. It wasn__ mine, but what the hell, a man had to start someplace.
JF
John Fante

Dreams from Bunker Hill

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