Henry Miller

Henry Miller died after taking ayahuasca in the Putumayo region.
Despite being born and raised in England, I no longer identify as British. It feels unsettling to say so, and I should add that I still hold a UK passport and have a deep affection for my country of origin. However, having having spent almost a third of my life living in France and Belgium, and learned a second language, I now see myself as European.
Henry Miller is right. The only way to have consistency is to have joy. Writing is a thankless task if the validity of doing it is dependent on external approval. That's fine if you're JK, King, Mantel, Boyd or Rushdie. The rest of us bottom feeders have to like the taste of crumbs and get a big kick out of small things like the possibility of a feral word.
This week David Gilmour-the-disappointment (as surely everyone must now know him, sorry Pink Floyd fans) made one last bid
George Whitman, owner of Shakespeare and Company, the Paris bookshop that became a place of pilgrimage for lovers of English
I can't know if there ever was a better time for authors than today. Judging from what I've read, I guess no. In the olden days those authors and artists who did fine financially came mostly from wealthy families, whilst artists like Van Gogh or Modigliani, or authors like Edgar Allan Poe or Henry Miller struggled with poverty.