I meant every word

So I am reading East of Eden by Steinbeck right now. It's quite a tome but it slides across my cerebellum like butter. I feel guilty, I should be reading A Confederacy of Dunces, but it's daunting for one reason or another - more on that in a bit. So - I'm a couple of chapters in and one of the reasons I am really loving it is because I feel as if I've been enveloped by that world. The language slithers into the corners of my being and it is lulling, peaceful prose. It can be graphic yet soft and makes me feel warm and cosy. Is that strange?

Two minutes ago I was complaining to Skye about how boring the internet was and then I decided to wiki Steinbeck. So here I am. And here's what I think.

I want to live in the era of Steinbeck. He was raised on a farm and went to Stanford but dropped out because he wanted to write. He was something of a drifter but then his father put him up in a house he owned and supplied him with money and paper and other needs. Steinbeck was able to write. He worked in between Stanford and being supported but - at jobs that we (and probably he as well) consider(ed) demoralizing. My point, though, is: it was a different time. Now, I, of all people am usually the first amongst us to say "man I love living in the future" but things are so rigidly structured in our time. We're expected to go to high school - and that education doesn't count for much, so we go get our degree, and then more degrees, but how much practical knowledge do we attain? Then we're saddled with loans (if we're not the lucky few) and spend our lives slogging through the weeds to pay them off. I know I'm looking at it from a really negative theoretical standpoint. I can't help it. I want to run away and just live. To fast forward through this university stuff - and just be able to live. Steinbeck, other than having millions of words inside himself, was a literary genius. If I knew that about myself - that I had those kinds of stories inside of me - I would leave in an instant. I guess the pervasive idea of my life for the past few years is that I have, in a sense, been stuck. Stuck in a relationship that I didn't know how to account for or get out of (for whatever reasons) and now - in a way - I'm stuck again, at university.

Please don't misunderstand tender reader - I am in no way trying to compare myself to Steinbeck. Now, back to my thoughts.....

In the time of Steinbeck, one didn't neccessarily have to go to university. People just went and got jobs. Some were more apt with words, some with their hands. The world was not so populated as it is now. Life - in a way - was more simple. I know I'm saying things that are glaringly obvious but still, I wish we could go back to this simplicity. So that I didn't have to spend all this time waiting. Waiting for my life to start. Because that's what it feels like sometimes.

I want to travel and see things that somehow bring those millions of beautiful words out of me. I want to be struck by ideas for stories and be able to follow my hunches and ideas and do research on things. Time feels precious. But to get time - you need money - and to get money - you need a good job, a career if you're lucky. A career means: university education. It feels like a hopeless cycle. And at the same time I realize that I actually like going there - U of T is pretty awesome despite what people have to say. But still. I want to concentrate on things other than 10 page essays on the treatment of "female bodies" in a detective fiction work. Sure it's interesting but, my mind tugs me in different directions.

And then who's to say that even if I do have a great idea for a book or a novel, that I'll be able to execute it properly. How long would that take? Will it be good enough? I know - I should stop dawdling and start writing. I suppose the career of a novelist is hard enough to come by - we can't all just wake up one day and be Steinbeck.

He had to work at it too. I guess I'll keep doing that.