Buzz Bradley - Audio Book - First Person
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EnglishAccents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
In those days, apartments were almost impossible to find in Manhattan, so I had to move to Brooklyn. This was 1947 and one of the pleasant features of that summer, which I so vividly remember, was the weather, which was sunny and mild. Flower fragrant, almost is if the days had been arrested in a seemingly perpetual springtime that was grateful for that. If nothing else since my youth, I felt, was at its lowest em and 22 struggling to become some kind of writer, I found that the creative heat, which at 18 had nearly consumed me with its gorgeous, relentless flame, had flickered outs to a dim pilot life, registering little more than a token glow on my breast or wherever my hungriest aspirations once resided. It was not that I no longer wanted to write. I still yearned passionately to produce the novel, which had been so long captive in my brain. It was only that, having written down the first few find paragraphs, I could not produce any others. Gertrude Stein's remark about a lesser writer of the lost generation I had syrup, but it wouldn't poor. To make matters worse, I was out of a job at very little money and was self exiled to Flatbush, like others of my countrymen, another lean and lonesome young Southerner wandering among the kingdom of the Jews.