You have the final say in shaping your work; the first say in its birth; the real responsibility of bringing it forth in a way that is true to your project and your truth. You might work tirelessly to learn, to hear, to read, to be open to the truths of other writers; you might… Continue reading On being a disobedient writer
For A.M.-C. “The bud stands for all things, even those things that don't flower, for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing; though sometimes it is necessary to reteach a thing its loveliness” From Galway Kinnell, “St. Francis and the Sow” I was a small girl in Brooklyn, between broken English and broken hearts, whispered Yiddish,… Continue reading Trusting Our Own Vision, or: The Late Bloomers’ Club
Dear Writers, I have a confession. I am in love with a dead white English guy, a writer. If it isn’t love, at least it is a shock of recognition, a wave of gratitude at being seen, the kind of amazement when someone brings something into words that illuminates, or puts into relief, or gives… Continue reading Dead white English writer, and your sense of time and story structure.
I am thinking that every act is a creative act. Only some creative acts provide an opening into something vital; other creative acts provide duplication, follow the path of habit, add to repetition, create walls - solidity - separation from the vital and the as yet unborn. And some acts, of course, create destruction. So,… Continue reading How can we know the writer from the dancer?
Neruda suggests in his poem Arte Poetica from the first volume of Residencia en la tierra published in 1933, that the poetic art, or at least the poet, works and flounders and suffers "Between shadow and space, young girls and garrisons", which calls to my mind, somehow precisely, the situation of 4 young Muslim men from England,… Continue reading Back to the Invisible: the intersection of truth and the poetic art
Dear Writers, This may the be first in a series of posts on bad guys, on miserable, annoying, cruel and unusual, evil types. You know, all that stuff we like to believe we contain not even a speck of within ourselves. In the good old days, a writer could name their characters something so that when… Continue reading Bad guys: characters who are unpleasant, embarrassing, evil, heinous, or even unsexy
In Carson McCullers’ story, “A Tree, A Rock, A Cloud”, a man in a diner tells a young paper boy that his wife who has run off had been “like an assembly line for [his] soul.” At its most basic, writing is that for me. It is the thing that drives me, that has traveled… Continue reading Genre-Jumping: From Poetry to Story