I carry around a lot guilt in that I do a good deal of writing and picture-making--and much too much thinking--but rarely, if ever, "do anything with it," as is often told me. I know I don't "do anything with it," because, for me, the self-promotion that is required to "do anything with it", I tell myself, is beneath me. I see myself coming from a long line of creative people, who did things but "never did anything with it;" they did what they did out of a necessity to do it, and doing something with it only distracted them from the doing. For me, it's easier for a heavy duty stapler and a fine grade of construction paper to perform the same task that Knopf performs for others. While walking home today from the Schomburg, I realized that I will never be like everyone else. Never. No matter how hard I try, so I had best try to figure out who I am; what I do, and act on that knowledge, to figure out, once and for all, the value of possessing the will to do and the will not to do anything with it.
I really liked this one !
ReplyDeleteThanks Anonymous. ;-)
ReplyDeleteupload a pic. by the way, what happened to that closed blog you had? you like it because it was inspired. just handed it over. not overworked, as I tend to do. I am really trying to define these blurbs, I call them, as a genre, and I am going to write something about the specificity of that creative process, a process that is not meant to understood as some general commentary about writing; rather, something that zooms in on the particular, singular self that alone is capable of elevate the product to some more encompassing and universal, and also something that is peculiarly suited for me, mine, and myself, not I.
ReplyDeleteno matter, the thinking and evolving is an end in itself. Insofar as the evolution of the species depends upon it. The ripple is real.
ReplyDeleteyou are in my head and it so so scary.
ReplyDelete