Marginalia, no.149

There are storytellers and writers.  You can tell any story you like; you cannot write whatever you like: you write only yourself.

~ Jules Renard, Journal

That’s the trouble.  Editing and revising the current draft of the novel, I find that I’ve succeeded remarkably in putting myself onto paper.  The problem is the self in question: sentimental, affected, distracted by baubles and trivialities that can interest no one else.  The story is itself, but the telling is too much me.  Is self-improvement possible?  Can I write myself into shape?

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