Choice, with its inevitable invitations to loss, is always such a trial. It does not matter, in my experience, that a particular choice consists in apparently unweighty alternatives. Quite the opposite. Choices between banalities are some of our more intimidating ordeals in life.
You always know the truth, because when you cut yourself or someone else with it, there’s always a bloody show.
I was twelve going on thirteen when I first saw a dead human being.
The New Inspiration Pad
I want a collection of these for my longhand first drafts.
We are not who we were. We do not have what we had. Our current moment is nothing at all like it was.
selected notes from two weeks ago’s Mary Ruefle Q&A
- "I’ve never been interested in writing a ‘good’ poem."
- "Six Arguments w/ Kafka" — story about whether it was prose or a poem, 1st accepted piece…
- People would rather read about things than experience things themselves.
- Recently I was doing something that we all do at various times — bemoaning life choices
- stop thinking of yourself as a writer and start thinking of yourself as an artist
- James Lord book on Giacometti
- you wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t like the way you feel while doing it
- we live in a world that tells us what to pay attention to, but we have a choice about what we want to pay attention to
- 1/2 of my poems were untouched after first draft; 1/2 were drastically revised, maybe over years, maybe so radical that only 1 or 2 original lines remained
- we all want to grow up and become someone else, but we grow up and become who we are
- endurance, patience, and persistence
(all quotes jotted down and thus possibly “wrong”)