Writing Life(or lack thereof)

I'm now about a month into my career as a reporter.

As of right now, I'm not sure whether I liked it or watching Enemy of the State on nitrous oxide while having a wisdom tooth pulled and going to work on heavy drugs with gauze in my mouth better. Though I suspect the wisdom tooth thing, because at least then I had drugs.

I think it boils down to me having a different idea of "student life" than asking a bunch of college students where they plan to get drunk on Super Bowl Sunday. It's not something I really care to write about, but at least I'm getting decent practice at writing to a specific form and meeting deadlines and being underpaid.

The one other benefit is that I actually managed to secure an interview with Lawrence Block, tying in with the release of the new Matthew Scudder book... which, despite there being 16 of them, the new one will only be my second. Still, Block's got such a natural touch at dialogue, and it's remarkable how different Scudder and Bernie Rhodenbarr(one of my favorite characters) are in their narration and outlooks on life. And both are perfectly natural.

In the book I'm reading right now, Eight Million Ways to Die, there's a brilliant chapter where Block is able to write an incredible account of Scudder's descent back into alcoholism, and it just works so incredibly well. Block's work usually inspires me and, at the same time, makes me realize I can never write anything that good.

Frighteningly enough, I think it's inspiring me to try my hand at writing a mystery, too. That should come off as... very, very painful, I imagine.