Ever have an idea for a story you can’t pull off? Something that requires a style, a certain amount of knowledge that you simply don’t have? I’ve got one percolating. I know what it’s about. I know what happens. I nightdreamed it one night while waiting for sleep, semi-somnolent, staring through the blinds at the darkened sky outside. Came out with the particulars. Resolved to write it, and then, today, sitting down, am shoulder slumped by the requirements of the tale. Gene Wolfe could do it. Mervyn Peake could do it. Me? I can butcher it, carve out a rough copy with a machete.
Ah well. We’ve all got our limitations. All we could do is to strive against them. I’ll give it a shot.