Pe site-ul Paris Review există o sumedenie de interviuri care mai de care mai interesante cu scriitori. Foarte mijto mi s-a părut cel cu Truman Capote – o lectură deopotrivă instructivă şi captivantă.
„I began writing in fearful earnest—my mind zoomed all night every night, and I don’t think I really slept for several years. Not until I discovered that whisky could relax me. I was too young, fifteen, to buy it myself, but I had a few older friends who were most obliging in this respect and I soon accumulated a suitcase full of bottles, everything from blackberry brandy to bourbon. I kept the suitcase hidden in a closet. Most of my drinking was done in the late afternoon; then I’d chew a handful of Sen Sen and go down to dinner, where my behavior, my glazed silences, gradually grew into a source of general consternation. One of my relatives used to say, “Really, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was dead drunk.”
Restul, aici: Paris Review – The Art of Fiction No. 17, Truman Capote.
P.S. Încă unul, că nu mă pot abţine: „Call it precious and go to hell, but I believe a story can be wrecked by a faulty rhythm in a sentence— especially if it occurs toward the end—or a mistake in paragraphing, even punctuation.” Deci, ce să mai. Ce să mai.