Wednesday, September 23, 2009
I just want to say how grateful I am that some of you take time out to read my oh so long short stories. Your feedback really means so much to me, because I get so nervous about what people might think in my class. So, having a heads up from you guys about whether it's good or bad makes me feel better.
From now until next semester, I'll be posting a lot of short stories and poems and plays, maybe even non-fiction essays. I will be attempting to go to raw places in my life. And I will attempt to provoke emotions from you guys.
My goal as a writer is to make each word a gift to the reader. Something they can take with them and use as a way to feel better in one way or another.
So, keep reading. And please keep giving me feedback. It means a lot to me:)
Oh and P.S. the book The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison is fucking amazing and will blow your mind.
Here are some of my favorite parts:
"Love is never any better than the lover. Wicked people love wickedly, violent people love violently, stupid people love stupidly, but the love of a free man is never safe. There is no gift for the beloved. The lover alone possesses his gift of love. The loved one is shorn, neutralized, frozen in the glare of the lover's inward eye."
"And fantasy it was, for we were not strong, only aggressive; we were not free, merely licensed; we were not compassionate, we were polite; not good, but well behaved. We courted death in order to call ourselves brave, and hid like thieves from life. We substituted good grammar for intellect; we switched habits to stimulate maturity; we rearranged lies and called it truth, seeing in the new pattern of an old idea the revelation and the word."
This one is about the main character whose mind went off the deep end due to the cruelty of her peers and family. And it's about how these two sister tried to save her by planting marigolds.
"The damage done was total. She spent her days, her tendril, sap green days, walking up and down, her head jerking to the beat of a drummer so distant only she could hear. Elbows bent, hands on shoulders, she flailed her arms like a bird in an eternal, grotesquely futile effort to fly. Beating the air, a winged but grounded bird, intent on the blue void it could not reach- could not even see- but which filled the valleys of the mind.
We tried to see her without looking at her, and never, never went near. Not because she was absurd, or because we were frightened, but because we had failed her. Our flowers never grew. I was convinced Frieda was right, that I had planted them too deeply. How could I have been so solven? So we avoided Pecola Breedlove-forever."
Like I said, this book will blow your fucking mind. Not only is the plot suspenseful, but it's beautifully crafted with clear symbolism and valuable meaning and insight. The prose is stunning and rather unforgetable. It's about oppression, the need for physical beauty, the dark side of sex, and the power of shame. Depressing, oh hell yeah. But worthwhile? fuck yes.
Cheers to all and have a delectable afternoon!