Dusan Varga
Stories (2/0)
A Bar in Paris
The bar is in Paris, just off Saint-Gérrmain; it’s late, well past the time André usually goes to bed. Yet he is here, drinking hard, to drown a pain he no longer feels, whose source he doesn’t remember, the way he doesn’t remember how long he’s been here or where he was or did before coming here. He’s sure, though, that he began to drink because of a great pain and that he could remember everything if he thought hard. But thinking hard is something he doesn’t want to do right now: his head is heavy, and the bar keeps whirling around him this or that way. And, if that wasn’t enough, there’s the old voice coming from across the table.
By Dusan Varga2 years ago in Fiction
Four Techniques That Can Turn Anyone Into A Perpetual Aspiring Writer
If you look at what I spent 8 hours doing four days ago you would not think I was a writer. If you look at what I spent 5 hours doing yesterday, you'd swear to it. This is what I spend my time doing: I put up a WordPress website where I am going to list and offer for purchase all my future writerly output. Did I have to do it? Of course not, that’s putting the cart before the horse; I chose to do it. And herein lies my greatness. Read on and you'll understand.
By Dusan Varga2 years ago in Education