The Writing Life
My younger brother says I’m determined. Other people have said I’m resilient. Perhaps. I err on the side of self-awareness and say I’m stubborn. Whatever the case may be, it has proven a trait, if kept in check, that helps me keep going no matter how bad the start or the day.
When I read Lia Purpura’s On Looking a year or so ago, I found three questions swilling around my head:
Writing, as an activity, often is a free-form sort of thing. Writers arrive to the work, and they work for a certain amount of time or until the words satisfy them. Such constraints can be enough, but for the writers who want to become better, deadlines are necessary.
I love salads. More specifically, I love spinach and kale, cherry tomatoes, cucumbers and zucchinis, and brightly colored bell peppers. I used to make my salads one at a time; that is, I’d slice just enough vegetables for a single salad. I’ve since changed that method, both for the sake of efficiency and having several projects requiring attention.
The attention which the poem pays to all that it encounters, its more acute sense of detail, outline, structure, color, but also of the ‘tremors and hints’ – all this is not, I think, achieved by an eye competing (or concurring) with ever more precise instruments, but, rather, by a kind of concentration mindful of all our dates…‘attention is the natural prayer of the soul.’ – Paul Celan, “The Meridian”
