been reading Dickens, just for fun.
(fun being a relative term, i know).
got weirded out realizing (how did i not know this?) that Dickens wrote a Christmas story almost every year throughout his career (and five Christmas novels). i feel there's no point explaining why that disturbs me.
it's bizarre to go back to one's earliest writing influences and see how much they have shaped, poisoned, galvanized one's own work. no wonder my prose is so purple when i'm not watching it. and editorial, and melodramatic.
i mean, i love Dickens, but good Lord ~ it's been nearly twenty years since i've read his books and now i see how sentimental and Victorian it truly is. it's the very antithesis of the kind of writing i've migrated toward since i met ondaatje. no wonder i'm at war with my writing.

this weekend was a wash. didn't do my homework or anything else for that matter. on a scale of 1 to 10 in terms of self-care i'd give it about a 3. not so good.
this morning, a post by
cathellisen had me thinking about the revelation that my kennedy center writing experience was ~ sitting with maria irene fornes and listening to her talk on about being such a poseur and in a moment of serendipty i decided to clean away some stuff on my paper rack and found among the papers, my notes from that very workshop. i want to share, later, her analogy of writing as a kite. i tried to capture it here but i need the notes to get it right.
i also realized that ever since i started f-locking this journal, i've found it a bore and a distraction (not you, me). i bore myself so i can't imagine how much i must bore other people.
i said i would post snippets from my NaNo novel and i'll keep that promise and f-lock those particular posts, but the heck with the rest. no more filtering, no more locking. which means no more boring all of you about the particulars of writing. either you're writing about writing or you're writing. people can claim to do both, but something is suffering in the end for it.
: o p
(fun being a relative term, i know).
got weirded out realizing (how did i not know this?) that Dickens wrote a Christmas story almost every year throughout his career (and five Christmas novels). i feel there's no point explaining why that disturbs me.
it's bizarre to go back to one's earliest writing influences and see how much they have shaped, poisoned, galvanized one's own work. no wonder my prose is so purple when i'm not watching it. and editorial, and melodramatic.
i mean, i love Dickens, but good Lord ~ it's been nearly twenty years since i've read his books and now i see how sentimental and Victorian it truly is. it's the very antithesis of the kind of writing i've migrated toward since i met ondaatje. no wonder i'm at war with my writing.

this weekend was a wash. didn't do my homework or anything else for that matter. on a scale of 1 to 10 in terms of self-care i'd give it about a 3. not so good.
this morning, a post by
i also realized that ever since i started f-locking this journal, i've found it a bore and a distraction (not you, me). i bore myself so i can't imagine how much i must bore other people.
i said i would post snippets from my NaNo novel and i'll keep that promise and f-lock those particular posts, but the heck with the rest. no more filtering, no more locking. which means no more boring all of you about the particulars of writing. either you're writing about writing or you're writing. people can claim to do both, but something is suffering in the end for it.
: o p
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What an interesting realization. Since I decided to use filters I have actually been posting less often. I think I have internalized the filters. I'll have to give it some thought. Thanks for the nudge.
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and stepping around issues.
and generally avoiding stuff.
and posting less, as you said.
not that that's necessarily a bad thing, perhaps ~ if other stuff is getting done.
: D
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i may be burned out before we've even begun ~
but i'll get out the mojo, thanks!
: D
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a tighter group definitely has its advantages.
: D
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For a more abbreviated, children's version of the book, I heartily recommend "Mr. Bump".
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that surprises me!
: D
i'll have to look up Mr. Bump.
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I was being slightly jokey with the Mr Bump ref. He's one of the Mister Men series that Roger Hargreaves wrote. Like Copperfield, poor ol' Bump goes through many trials and trevails before finding his nice. Unlike Copperfield, his life is less soap opera-ey.
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there's a book by garcia-marquez that i've never re-read because the impact of it was so profound the first time (one of the only books that ever made me cry), i fear i would ruin it to try to go back and recapture the intensity of the experience.
to this day i don't recall what actually happened in the book. i just know it affected me deeply.
books are so amazing.
: D
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Whatever. Ah well, there's a great many classic writers that do nothing for me, and I'll just have to accept my failings as a reader and move on.
So hurry up with that kite-analogy already. *grin*. And
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: D
as for writers and tastes, i know exactly what you mean. people have tried to get me to read everything from pratchett to le carré to (insert latest sensation/award-winner here).
if you don't connect, you don't connect. i don't worry about pushing it. reading is a love at first sight sort of thing. you either step joyfully into another writer's world or you stand outside pressing your nose against the cold glass wondering why you would want to go in anyway.
: D
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