I’ve never understood people who don’t have an abiding passion which gives their life meaning, and through that, hope. Having same is why early on I was so easily able to kick out the crutch of religion, sit still for long amounts of time, and daily put the System to the back of my mind while yet getting on with(in) it. For me the passion has always been a future-self writing books: no matter what the circumstances, there was that image in my mind, held out and held up, hope, but by the end of my forties, an age where many authors have done their best work, I’m not even close to being published (perhaps never will be). Correction, there was twice in Landfall, but time has long since rubbed that out. No, it’s not the ever shortening, ever quickening rail before me to be usefully used that worries me, I'm not scared of hard work; it's the unpublished, unwritten, track record stretching behind that can't be travelled again, and the fear that past performance does indeed indicate future performance, meaning my future dreams were only ever that: imaginary, as I lack the necessary talent, at worst, or at best deferred the spark too long as the System ground me down. But same result. Although look at me writing as if no time is left: I'm only turning 49, that's the new ... well, for those of us a drink a bit much, the new 48, at least. There is time enough, there has to be, I just have to be more mindful of those distractions the System throws up to destroy focus, energy, and joie de vivre, such as politics, which is ultimately, in a System where collectivism has won the day, and we're more than my lifetime away from the necessary revolution or collapse required to save the day, a pointless pursuit for an individual anyway.
In The Bone Clocks David uses three images I've written into a novel in progress, currently progressed to 112,000 words, meaning I can't use those images, or two of the sentences involved which are almost identical. It's not about legality so much as uniqueness. Three; how could that be? Utter bastard.