He was going too fast. He knew that he’d traveled, in almost no time at all, a long, steep path that men can take years to complete, often their whole lives, if they reach the end at all.
Georges Simenon, born this day in 1903, wrote a book every few weeks, and kept the pace up, year after year. His lifetime output was more than 200 serious novels. Simenon wrote fiction the way that Mozart wrote music; entire novels appeared before him, and he wrote them down as fast as he could type.
He enjoyed food and travel and, most of all, sex. He had a wife, two sons and a daughter, many mistresses and one-night affairs. He was born in Belgium, lived in Arizona, New England, Quebec and Paris.
“It just happens. As though a moment comes when it’s both necessary and natural to make a decision that has long since been made.”