Slaughter House Five was published in 1969. I was seven.
The book made Billy Pilgram and Kurt Vonnegut famous. KV would go on to teach writing at Iowa and Harvard. He was able to write with all his might. Over the rest of his life he published some of the most inciteful humor of modern literature. And he elevated himself into the “lit” category. He is just now being studied with more seriousness. I want to be the first Vonnegut Scholar. But that’s not a thing, and that’s not how it works.
Read read read. Write write write. Read and write. And when you can’t do either, do the marketing for the writing. Sleep. Begin again.
How does the story, my story, go from here? Does it just end? Do I stop writing for unexplained reasons? Did my daughter’s college graduation fulfill some odd need and now I could relax and now strive so hard? Is that’s what’s happening? At this moment. At. This. Very. Moment.
Either you get me, or you’re on a different vibration. Not like I was when I connected with Breakfast of Champions and my mental landscape and concept of novel blew into a million fragments. Nothing was out of bounds. Even crude felt tip pen drawings. No idea too odd. No angle too sharp. Let’s make a hard left.
Still with me?
What could Vonnegut have produced if his financial hardships were taking care of earlier in his life. In the twenty years before Slaughter House Five. And providing him with a better method, a computer even. We’d have twice or thrice the Vonnegut masterpieces. Instead, you’ve got something else. Imitators. Intimidated assassins. Anything to find the release button. To unhook the safety, pull the trigger, and blow this previous life into dust.
I’m ready for an ascension. Or at least a leg up. It doesn’t have to be masterpiece, just a flicker of genius. That’s what we’re aiming at. A glimpse of greatness shows through in this first novel. Unhinged, yes, but uncompromising stream of consciousness that starts the warping process in your mind. Bending toward my language, my cadence, my word choice, and word word word.
On we go. As long as you ride beside me. Here.
All life changes tomorrow. I drive home. My ex-wife and my daughter will stay an extra day. No hurry. The girls. Her husband is flying home alone. They don’t like road trips together.
The warp is here.
Out over the tips of my skis. I’ll find my quiet again across the great plains of Texas. Home. Cats. Plants.
Write.
from wikipedia, dec 2024
Vonnegut published his first novel, Player Piano, in 1952. It received positive reviews yet sold poorly. In the nearly 20 years that followed, several well-regarded novels were published, including The Sirens of Titan (1959) and Cat’s Cradle (1963), both of which were nominated for the Hugo Award for best science fiction or fantasy novel of the year. His short-story collection, Welcome to the Monkey House, was published in 1968.
Vonnegut’s breakthrough was his commercially and critically successful sixth novel, Slaughterhouse-Five (1969). Its anti-war sentiment resonated with its readers amid the Vietnam War, and its reviews were generally positive. It rose to the top of The New York Times Best Seller list and made Vonnegut famous.
*image dall-e + john cc 2024 no rights reserved
