a fool to become a writer – “boy”

while in amsterdam this past weekend, i was able to spend a half an hour – not nearly enough time – at the waterlooplein market. it’s a very edgy market, jam-packed with army gear / boots / jackets, bizarre piles of vintage clothing, competitively priced antiques, graffiti / paint supplies, and dusty paper products. i walked away from my brief moment spent there, with some interesting articles of clothing and the book, “boy” by roald dahl.
after trying on the clothes and {just moments ago} finishing “boy” – i’d say i did pretty well with the limited time i had to spend at the market. [one dress is slightly too peculiar for me. i may take some scissors to it, to see if i can alter the thing to be more forgiving.]


the book made me smile more than once, and i couldn’t help but read about dahl’s younger years and reflect on how easy my childhood was . . . loving parents, artistic freedom, fishing trips, an annual florida vacation [and my schooling wasn’t too terrible either.] i’m fascinated by the seemingly over-the-top, harsh realities that only those older generations can speak of- the separation from your family at such a young age to go boarding school, the expectations, the borderline-mental and definitely physical abuse of the time otherwise known as discipline. however, out of all of that, came a hugely talented writer with a lot of wonderful {true and made up} stories to tell.


i really enjoyed this little bit.
if you can make out the note at the end written by his father please feel free to comment below!


and lastly, dahl’s thoughts on his time spent as a businessman.

“I began to realize how simple life could be if one had a regular routine to follow with fixed hours and a fixed salary and very little original thinking to do. The life of a writer is absolute hell compared with the life of a businessman. The writer has to force himself to work. He has to make his own hours and if he doesn’t go to his desk at all there is nobody to scold him. If he is a writer of fiction he lives in a world of fear. Each new day demands new ideas and he can never be sure whether he is going to come up with them or not. Two hours of writing fiction leaves this particular writer absolutely drained. For those two hours he has been miles away, he has been somewhere else, in a different place with totally different people, and the effort of swimming back into normal surroundings is very great. It is almost a shock. The writer walks out of his workroom in a daze. He wants a drink. He needs it. It happens to be a fact that nearly every writer of fiction in the world drinks more whisky than is good for him. He does it to give himself faith, hope and courage. A person is a fool to become a writer. His only compensation is absolute freedom. He has no master except his own soul, and that, I am sure, is why he does it.”

my dad is coming to london tomorrow night! i am absolutely thrilled to make up for lost time with him and his awesome lady, anna.
i would say that tomorrow can’t come soon enough but i’m also super excited about my plans tonight!

stay tuned.


amsterdam, i will {hopefully} see you again in september!

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