His First Novel
He would tell me his burgeoning philosophy some nights. We would sit over coffee at the gas station. He was working at the plant, loading boxes. He was quite good at that sort of physical work. He was a great asset to them up there and they liked him very much.
He would say: "It's all about reintegration. The broader the context of resolution, the greater the insight. Do you understand?"
He'd always end such statements with a question as if he were unclear if he had contained his reasoning to a human scale. I would admit that I felt I understood him. I think that was when our friendship truly began, when he felt I'd understood him.
I had followed his progress sympathetically for weeks. I helped him however I could. I made inquiries for him. I helped get him the job. He was outgrowing the character of his surroundings very quickly. He was ready for something like the city. I helped him even there.
My publicist got him an interview. He worked part-time as a copywriter. He wrote little ads for the classifieds. It was the perfect thing for him. What he sought most of all was succinctness. He was quite happy to do this task as well as loading boxes on the docks. He learned from all manner of people. He had a reputation in diverse circles. His first poetry reading was before a very mixed crowd.
No one even suspected he was a bigfoot. It was such a politically correct environment that his ugliness and other monstrous qualities were revered almost perversely. People seemed to want to worship him. At some point, he withdrew again into the forest to write his first novel.
bigfoot, The Light on the Hillbigfoot, The Light on the Hill
0 Responses to “The Light on the Hill, Part 40”