After another long day of work in the dining car of a Swiss train I had dinner with my German publisher.
I have known this man since 1997 and I admire him for many reasons. At the same time I realize that I don’t make life necessarily easy for him.
He and his family don't appreciate all of my benign provocations equally.
If an author takes his literature seriously enough he should be ready to become an outcast. (Family, friendship, probably even love, it could all be sacrificed for his work.)
Anyone should be ready to become an outcast.
What is standing between me and the outcast is an aptitude for corruption.