...or, Perfection is the Enemy of Good.
As promised in an earlier entry, here are some of the thought I was gonna blog about, when I had the time to fully hold up the thoughts to light and see some funky prisms shining down. But here it is, Sunday night, and where are those thoughts? Still waiting to be held up to the light.
I have a file I call "shrapnel," full of bits of paper with ideas and thoughts. That's where they remain: in a file called "Shrapnel." They're waiting for some elderly gent to come along with a metal detector and find them, I guess.
So rather than adding to my shrapnel file I'm gonna make haste and say, here are some sticky-note thoughts:
Joan Didion. In The Year of Magical Thinking, she writes: "Was it only by dreaming or writing that I could find out what I thought?" And I thing, yippee, I have found someone else like me! Affirming that I am not the only person in the zoo who thinks "How can I know what I think till I see what I say?" But then, E.M. Forster said that. Good company.
The Alchemy of Personal Writing. That's what the back cover of The Sun says. "...the surprising alchemy that occurs when we write in a rigorous and intentional way; when we hide nothing, especially what we most want to hide; when we find the never to go back into the fire again and again and again." Ok, so what're you trying to hide? Hey, what am I trying to hide? What aren't we talking about?
When I talk to myself. When I talk to myself, I know I'm writing. You will think I'm silly, and slow, and perhaps there's a tad of truth in that, but it's taken me a while to learn this. When I talk to myself, I know I'm writing. So now I immediately grab a pen and get it down. For example, last night, in what I think Poe called the hypnagogic state--right before sleep--I said to myself, Currently the neighbors to the south have no known qualities except for the solar powered lights lining their sidewalk, which when lit up look like an airport runway waiting for the extra terrestrials to come in. This wasn't always the way it was. Before, there was Ruby Shue.
That's all for tonight. Thelma, if you're there, I'm with you all the way. Step on the gas.
Beth
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4 comments:
Beth, ah, so you saw my Thelma and Louise entry! I noticed I forgot (again) to allow comments. Come back and post something when you have time; it's activated now. Yeah, step on the gas; keep on going. I think that movie voiced stuff women had not talked about: that's why it was so popular. What I don't talk about in my blog, I try to talk about through my art. That's the best place and the safest place for me to do that. That's where I can truly feel that crossover point in me, that wild side I could never show, the side that would surprise everyone if they knew. Just like they couldn't believe what Thelma and Louise did. Right?
Beth--thanks so much for the blog plug and the kind, public words. Makes me feel like a true member of the community. What was the impetus for that last thought you had, when you were falling asleep? I love the phrase "currently the neighbors to the south have no known qualities" It makes the subjectiveness of the speaker appear like gathered fact. Like strict reportage when there's not yet anything to report. Any plans for that scrap?
........... when we hide nothing, especially what we most want to hide; when we find the never to go back into the fire again and again and again."...........
Perfect!
V
Yea, Beth! I love the description of your snippets as "shrapnel." I do my best writing in my head, often when I am hiking. The last thing I want to do is take out a piece of paper and stop my walking and wondering. And I think that's ok. Some remains with me, and some doesn't. I like your hypnagogic piece - now tell us about Ruby Shue!
Love, Vicky
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