Monday, March 16, 2009

Possible first sentence of my autobiography, no.2

Ha! I'll bet you were expecting the second sentence. Or not, since I numbered the first one 'No. 1'

I'm not writing my autobiography, in case you're worried you'll have to read it. I have never done anything, so there's nothing to write about. Maybe if I wrote something, then people who liked it might want to know about the life that led to writing such a thing, and then I could write it. But no. I'm just writing exercisey sentences. Like this one:

Though I never caught a thing, not even a splay-tongued leather boot with a hole on the sole or a tin can with its saw-edged lid not cut all the way from its sides--you know, those things--the only things--you find on the end of a cartoon fishing line (because the cartoons were made in the '40s, though that would mean nothing to a three-year-old in the '70s), and though it doubtless dulled the hook and made some fish's last moments even more torturous than they would have been already, I learned, following my father's instructions, how to cast a line with a hand-cranked reel, and how it was different from an auto-spooling reel, by practicing--playing at--throwing the hook into the black lake-shaped asphalt of the cul-de-sac drive of the trailer park behind Veterans' Park.

In the '70s.

1 comment:

T. Smitty said...

That's a monster sentence.