| Author: | Donlak | ISBN: | 1230000134724 |
| Publisher: | Donlak | Publication: | May 21, 2013 |
| Imprint: | Language: | English |
| Author: | Donlak |
| ISBN: | 1230000134724 |
| Publisher: | Donlak |
| Publication: | May 21, 2013 |
| Imprint: | |
| Language: | English |
Like all youth throughout the ages, we at some point think we'd like to shed society and it's shackles of conformity behind - however, Donlak takes it to a new extreme and attempts to drop out of society all together; with his goal of writing books, drinking wine, and having sex, while leaving the old social expectations behind. He travels to an island city in the Canadian west coast, and lives like an ex-pat within his own country. Sooner than later he realizes he cannot escape the world, and must confront it on his own terms.
"All this action, or so called action, and I had disregarded a part of my life. That part of my soul that was still trying to just lay low, write my novel, and duck out of society. And there I was mingling with non-artsy types, mingling with all the people who had actual jobs, went to work in the morning, got up, had their coffee, made their breakfast; had a shower and left into the world everyday. What was I doing? Lounging in bed till noon, getting up, just like they were, but getting up to write, read, and write some more. Sometimes writing novels and poetry seems like a joke, unimportant, and a waste of time. Like I was wasting my time; that no body read anymore anyways, and no body really cared about what I was doing, so why was I doing it?"
Like all youth throughout the ages, we at some point think we'd like to shed society and it's shackles of conformity behind - however, Donlak takes it to a new extreme and attempts to drop out of society all together; with his goal of writing books, drinking wine, and having sex, while leaving the old social expectations behind. He travels to an island city in the Canadian west coast, and lives like an ex-pat within his own country. Sooner than later he realizes he cannot escape the world, and must confront it on his own terms.
"All this action, or so called action, and I had disregarded a part of my life. That part of my soul that was still trying to just lay low, write my novel, and duck out of society. And there I was mingling with non-artsy types, mingling with all the people who had actual jobs, went to work in the morning, got up, had their coffee, made their breakfast; had a shower and left into the world everyday. What was I doing? Lounging in bed till noon, getting up, just like they were, but getting up to write, read, and write some more. Sometimes writing novels and poetry seems like a joke, unimportant, and a waste of time. Like I was wasting my time; that no body read anymore anyways, and no body really cared about what I was doing, so why was I doing it?"
