Writing Quote for June 12, 2013

Every secret of a writer’s soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind, is written large in his works.

 —Virginia Woolf

No Gwendolyn

and no.

So I guess those stories go out somewhere else:-P

Before You Suffocate Your Own Fool Self

Have one story to go before I finish this collection.  The reviews were (as my son says) "off-the-chain" for this book.  The Washington Post reviewer said that hopefully Danielle Evans was a "very nice person because that might be her only defense against other writers' seething envy. . . "

The short story collection is good.  It's won several major awards, so there you go.

I admired how Evans made the familiar "new" and "new" familiar.   "Harvest" is a wonderful story about an uncommon practice becoming quite common.  "Someone Ought To Tell Her There's Nowhere to Go" is about lost love and things getting way out of hand. 

The story "Snakes" is the one I was truly envious of.  The last line is magnificent. To me, the last line is what a writer ought to be working for-- and the last line of this story blew me away as a reader and writer.  Kudos.

Creative quote for June 9, 2013

In music the passions enjoy themselves.

Friedrich Nietzsche 

Trying to get some writing done

but I keep having to stop and hit the replay button on Leon Russell's "Lady Blue."

Quote for June 4, 2013

Who wants to become a writer? And why? Because it’s the answer to everything. … It’s the streaming reason for living. To note, to pin down, to build up, to create, to be astonished at nothing, to cherish the oddities, to let nothing go down the drain, to make something, to make a great flower out of life, even if it’s a cactus.

 —Enid Bagnold

This Is How You Lose Her Redux

Loved the use of second person.  Loved the daringness.  Loved the stories looking at Yunior (and his family) from various angles. 

"Indian Summer"

This short story by Erskine Caldwell was reprinted in one of the journals that I'm going through.  The story seems familiar-- maybe I read it in junior high or high school.  If not, well, I'm glad I got the chance to read it now. 

Parables by Joseph Somoza

There's no way to mimic
someone else's life,
have someone else's childhood
watching you
for authenticity.
Children can sniff that out,
you know, even if they can't
express it.  Maybe because
they can't express it.
Yet every year, you travel farther
from your childhood
trying to become
adept with words in order to
articulate
who you no longer are.
Parable of a log
burning to ashes.
Parable of a sweatshirt
with a hood to hide in.
Parable of autumn, in which
the leaves display their
hidden colors
before they drop.
Everything around you
is articulating
wordlessly.

April was poetry month

And because I'm trying to get back into writing poetry, I wrote a work most every day.  All bad.  But that's okay. 

But in honor (very belated, but hey I had a job) here is a poem by a friend, former prof and wonderful poet.