Hey grouchy Pants

I’ve been re-reading On The Road – the first read happened sometime in high school – and I’m amazed by how much of it I forgot. It occurs to me that when I was reading books during that period of my life, I was reading them more to say I’d read them than to actually actively enjoy and appreciate what I was reading. I worked at a bookstore at the time and believe that it brought great works and great authors to my attention faster than to the average high schooler, which left me reeling and wanting to absorb all of them all at once. I’ve always been a reader, but I’ve also always been a product of the culture of immediacy. Blame it on TV or convenience stores and fast food or whatever you want, but I was not a patient reader. I liked to get’er done and I liked to get’er done quick. The years (experience, wisdom) and over-examination of novels in college has solved that little problem, but I find that it pops up in my writing, or more appropriately, my lack of writing.
Allow me to clarify. I write – daily in fact – my problem is that I can’t seem to finish anything. Rather, I finish things too quickly. And sometimes I’m just finished with something. I lose interest and it never ends at all. Or it finishes without being finished. Finish. Finnish. Finish. I’m working on it.
Advice? Sympathy? Magic beans?
Anyway… I’m enjoying the Kerouac, not so much as great literature as a thought catalyst and fun character analysis. Oh Dean… who are you? I think I’m going to re-read Catch-22 next. I think I read it in something like 7 hours to impress a girl. Ahh… if I only knew then what I know now.