Do you ever have that? A compulsion to read a particular writer?
I was in the middle of writing a scene and suddenly—BOOM!—I craved Cormac McCarthy. I have read only one of his books, The Road, but I have read it twice and will read it many more times as the sparse beauty of his language would captivate me and I would stare at a sentence and think, “How the hell..? How the fucking hell is he doing it??” And then I would cry because it would seem impossible to reach this mastery, ever, and then I’d blow my nose and grunt and stubbornly try harder.
I haven’t read his Blood Meridian, but I just opened it and got shivers. Jesus Christ, he’s good.
"See the child. He is pale and thin, he wears a thin and ragged shirt. He stokes the scullery fire. Outside lie dark turned fields with rags of snow and darker woods beyond that harbor yet a few last wolves. His folk are known for hewers of wood and drawers of water but in truth his father has been a schoolmaster. He lies in drink, he quotes from poets whose names are now lost. The boy crouches by the fire and watches him."
And now compare this to one of his earlier drafts below. Look at how he slashed it to the bones. Man, it gives me chills, and gives me the will to continue working on my writing until I fucking bleed out of my nose.