Venice is a strange place. Even though there’s constant blue skies and sunshine, it’s freezing cold this time of year. And there’s no wind, ever. The great majority of streets are narrower than a Dublin alleyway, with the rest not much wider, and when it gets dark it feels like you’re walking around inside an abandoned building.
It’s arguably even spookier during the day: very few buildings show any signs of being occupied, it’s completely silent, and it’s not uncommon to wander through the streets for ten minutes or more without seeing another person. (We were tired after the journey over so it was only on the second day that we realised how much of the day’s activity, among the native Venetians at least, is carried out before lunchtime.)
There are shops everywhere selling carnival masks. They’re mostly handmade, and you can watch the shopkeepers putting the finishing touches to the paintwork while you browse. There’s a huge variety, and some of them are incredibly ornate (my favourite was a white goat face with a gilded bronze mask over its eyes – yours for a cool €190).
Waterboats are a novelty, and apart from the noise of the engine they’re a pretty relaxing way to travel. We had one minor mishap, which was getting stranded on a small monastery island for an hour. (We were looking for Ezra Pound’s grave, which is to say I was looking for Ezra Pound’s grave, but we ended up going to the wrong island. Worth the trip though.)
Having spent those few days in Venice, I can see the attraction living abroad holds for writers and other artists. There’s a nice level of detachment from the language and culture that really fires up the creative part of your brain – I had inspiration up the wazoo while I was there, and I could easily have made it a temporary home. Of course, it should be pointed out that writers tend to enjoy their own company more than most.
That’s it for now. There will no doubt be more on the podcast, and stay tuned for my Exciting Thoughts on Rome.
Are you a writer before you do it for money? Subjectively speaking you need at least two other writers to agree that you are also a writer for it to be so. Same with Scientists. That is where the whole cult leader thing is easy. Since there’s only meant to be one Messiah and you’re it who can honestly dispute it but a person who is quite obviously wrong.
So you keep your inspiration up your wazoo? (Anatomically speaking, where exactly is that?)
I’m going to disagree with Halpinstein on the other point – technically writers are writers without getting paid. i.e – My grandmother writes fictitious letters of complaint to hundreds of companies a year. I’d call her a writer.
It’s a silly thing to argue about. A writer’s a writer. Anything beyond that is empty semantics.
Fellas, I’m going to have to take you to task for some shoddy use of language:
1) Use of phrase “Subjectively speaking” without any apparent meaning;
2) Use of “i.e.” instead of “e.g.”.
Tut, and a further tut.
I prefer using i.e.(in other words) works just as well as e.g.(for example).
You still haven’t said where the wazoo is… trying to hide something, O’Brien?
Dear David
I.e. = id est = that is. It could fit what you’ve written, but you’d have to rephrase it. You will note that I am correct in this regard.
Best wishes,
Colm
I’ll have to argue with your task taking. You can’t classify yourself without it being dubious. That is like interpreting reflexology as anything other than mindless shit because an expert in it wrote a book. It takes more than one to make it so.
I refer you to words 12 through 17 of my original comment. And you may note that’s not what I took you to task for anyway.
@ Halpinstein: It only took one. His name was L. Ron Hubbard.
@ Colm: You counted your words? Impressive efficiency – even for you.
Hey I covered crazy cult leaders. Secondly you’re not Shakespeare so none of this numbering words stuff.