I should've headlined my other blog "Damnitarya" rather than "patiencearya" since I see how addictive this Blogging thing is becoming. I can see it now, five years. My marriage and finances run amok, I'm dressed all in flannel reeking of generic brand cigarettes as I wooble up from my folding chair, a tepid cup of instant coffee tucked in paw, my vision averting to my work boots as I take a deep breath, telling the circled group of internet junkies that yes, my name is David and yes, I am a blogoholic, swatting a teary stain of confession from my cheek as the gruff oval of heads immediately nod in concurrence,welcoming me with a hefty "HI DAVE!".... So I think this is how it will be... I'll blog in the "He who lives in the moment" before I start working (writing) (Ten page daily requisite--which, ever since ******* computer swallowed my Nuclear woods scene I composed on Tuesday-I've been forlorn and sulking ever since!!!!)I'll tackle the pages of the Recital after the day is done and even post crazy poems and dreams and proclivities perhaps on both....
I've been reading, re-reading short stories this pastweek. The best advice I got last semseter was from Prof. Blouch (all you crazy BU students who stumble upon this should take her--Her rubicund pumpkin smile and affable classroom semblance is nothing short of a joy!!!!) She told me that, the only advice she could give me is to "Stick close to the writers I admire and keep thriving" I get equal accolades and certain fingers addressed towards my prose all the time, but that advice really licked my heart like a cheap stamp that was already adhesive to begin with.
....Which is what I realize about writing and art. The act is reciprocal and it bails you out by the lapels. I cried after I read George Saunders "Sea Oak" and "Civilwarland in Bad Decline". I've probably read both those stories an estimated twenty times, but every time I stumble upon them I enter this pluriverse where I'm both extremely entertained and emotionally sliced open at the same time.
Also, Anthony Doerr's shorty THE HUNTERS WIFE. He was may age when he wrote it and he can do things with language and imagery (not to mention tell a damn good stroy about rustic "Legends of the Fall"-like Montanna that involves mysticim and loneliness) that I can't do. Lorrie Moore's domestic stuff just opens my chest up like a kitchen utensil drawer where all the forks are in the wrong place; and, oh yes (sorry about this Vanessa, if you ever read this--I'm sorry about allota things) David Foster Wallace!!! He has a new book of (sucky and indulgent) short stories called Oblivion coming out later this week, but his first book (a book I keep buying and giving away to other aspiring writers only to find out it is now out of print but will be back in print later this month) BROOM OF THE SYSTEM justr arrive via interlibrary loan and I'm holding it and remembering the first time I read it and thought it was teh greatest thing in print since King James.
Here's a formative interview by Wallace with salon that sort've shaped my aesthetic perspetive about writing!
http://www.salon.com/09/features/wallace1.html
Time to clock on with the book! Maybe next entry I'll avail more about the elusive "patiencearya". Maybe.
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