Unusually, I wrote yesterday's post during the daytime. Some time later, a little after midnight, standing in the bathroom, brushing my teeth (using a lovely Braun electric toothbrush - an absolute revelation, although S complained that it made her want to gag when she first used it), I realised that one of my lengthy paragraphs had meandered around the point which I was trying to make but had not actually made it during its few laps.
I had written: "Were Shakespeare's synopses any good? Did Douglas Adams research some personalised titbit about the literary agent he contacted? Does Zadie Smith have a great-uncle who runs a publishing house? Probably not - I presume that people read their work and formed an opinion accordingly. Otherwise, published authors will be those skilled at self-publicity which, to put it kindly, will be a subset of the great writers in the world."
The missing sentences, which could probably be inserted in place of 'Probably not' should have said something along the lines of... "The answer is neither yes nor no but 'who cares?' - these books have been published and people can now enjoy their wily and playful poetry and prose. How many more such books have been lost for all eternity due to their author's inability to boast and brag and thrust himself (or herself, clearly) forward with much 'hey look at me' and little or no modesty?"
There. I feel better now for having clarified my own thoughts and put my wiser words out to the world-wise web. (Yeah yeah, I know, it's not a typo - it's humour, but what with 's' being next to 'd' on the keyboard, I'm sure someone somewhere would have thought he was being smarter than me - not this time, pal!)
Update on Mr Grass-Head: no grass yet.
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