Monday, April 30, 2007
Puke of Conciousness
We're well into stream of conciousness writing in both Lit classes, and my 212 instructor, Nadine Arndt, let us know that she has noticed bloggers utilizing this form, "just puking whatever is in their heads onto the screen." I instantly thought, this woman has been reading my blog! Sneeaky! So my brain has sufficient punctuation? So what? It's still mind vomit -- I see it sort of sliding its way down the screen, smelling a little like moldy cheese, a little like an overripe mango -- not too chunky, but slimy. I know it's not steel, I know it's just blather and musings and...well. I was called on my blog technique. It's so humiliating when sweet ladies know the truth about naked things -- and then get to stay sweet!
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3 comments:
I just won't have it. Nonsense. A blog is just a bunch of words. Like a note, or a memo, or The Sound and the Damned Fury! The medium has nothing to do with it. And so I say again--write.
Thanks for the support. Yeah, that post recalling the conversation I had with my sister-in-law's sister was pretty Sound-ish.
Sometimes I feel tethered to the now to such an extreme that I find it hard to make things up. In the past couple of months I have had people describe me as "down to Earth," and I know it's meant as a compliment, and I take it as such, but sometimes I feel like I don't want to be down to Earth simply because I'm afraid to be an astronaut.
I was walking my sister-in-law's (I have three of them, brothers, and sisters-in-law) Weimeriner. Actually, I was roller blading, and I got to a steep hill and the dog, who is full of energy, is galloping, and really running fast, and I got scared, and tried to slow down, and eventually crashed onto someone's lawn. I totally looked like a pretzel when I finally stopped skidding, and it's a shame no one appeared to behold this spectacle -- but writing is kind of like that. Sometimes I'm afraid of where the free run will take me. Anyhow, I've got to get over it. The thought occured to me today, that aside from people, writing is the most important tangible thing in my life. I think it's time I stopped whining about it.
I don't know--Chekhov (who is one of my favorite people)--kept bitching and whining about writing (and denying that he had tuberculosis, even though he was a medical doctor) right up until he died (of t.b. of course).
The whining: it kind of helps. But you also need people to tell you to get back to work and that you're doing great.
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