Write drunk, edit sober.
If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.
The first draft of anything is shit.
by Peter Meinke
What the children remember about Uncle Jim
is that on the train to Reno to get divorced
so he could marry again
he met another woman and woke up in California.
It took him seven years to untangle that dream
but a man who could sing like Uncle Jim
was bound to get in scrapes now and then:
he expected it and we expected it.
Mother said, it’s because he was the middle child,
and Father said, Yeah, where there’s trouble
Jim’s in the middle.
When he lost his voice he lost all of it
to the surgeon’s knife and refused the voice box
they wanted to insert. In fact, he refused
almost everything. Look, they said,
it’s up to you. How many years
do you want to live? and Uncle Jim
held up one finger.
The middle one.
© Peter Meinke, from Liquid Paper: New and Selected Poems, University of Pittsburgh Press, 1991. (via)
Apart from the known and the unknown, what else is there?

A master of science maybe-it’s-not-really-fiction. As a film director, not so groundbreaking. Hello, Westworld!
Expect a future run on the NYT Bestseller List after geneticists in 3008 discover his DNA encased in polycarbonate.
I wanted the simplest, dullest, plainest-sounding name I could find. James Bond was much better than something more interesting like ‘Peregrine Maltravers’. Exotic things would happen to and around him but he would be a neutral figure — an anonymous blunt instrument wielded by a Government Department.
A dream will always triumph over reality, once it is given the chance.