Person of colour? Ever identify with the label of “other”? You need to see I, Too, Am Oxford.
I took a quick trip through the archives today, and it moved me in ways I didn’t expect. So much that resonates with my own school experience, and other experiences since. Simple idea, powerful collective statement.
GARCÍA MÁRQUEZ: That’s a journalistic trick which you can also apply to literature. For example, if you say that there are elephants flying in the sky, people are not going to believe you. But if you say that there are four hundred and twenty-five elephants flying in the sky, people will probably believe you. One Hundred Years of Solitude is full of that sort of thing. That’s exactly the technique my grandmother used. I remember particularly the story about the character who is surrounded by yellow butterflies. When I was very small there was an electrician who came to the house. I became very curious because he carried a belt with which he used to suspend himself from the electrical posts. My grandmother used to say that every time this man came around, he would leave the house full of butterflies. But when I was writing this, I discovered that if I didn’t say the butterflies were yellow, people would not believe it.
“Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air, a tiny string of letters, maybe…”
- Mary Karr, from Lit: A Memoir (Harper, 2009)
“The writer should never be ashamed of staring. There is nothing that does not require his [or her]…”
- Flannery O’ Connor (via apoetreflects)
“For me, the writing life doesn’t just happen when I sit at the writing desk. It is a life lived with…”
- Julia Alvarez, quoted in 1998 in The Writer magazine, with the quotation republished in “Great Writing Tips from 125 Years of The Writer,” in the magazine’s April 2012 issue. (via apoetreflects)
HAROLD RAMIS: That about sums it up. But part of my smile is also about how absurd it all is. I think I got in touch with that absurdity quite young. Sometimes it’s hysterical irony and sometimes it’s a painful irony. Life has all of these contradictory feelings and contradictory results. People spend their whole lives struggling to get what they think they want, and even if they get it, they find that it’s either not what they wanted, or it comes with so many unwanted consequences. We’re always shut off from pure joy.
“All things pass, and it feels like the time of the blog has in some sense passed too. Who has time…”
I’d like to believe that personal/individual blogging is still a popular form of expression, but I certainly appreciate the sentiment of the extract above (and the entire article). Who needs to think their way through a long-form piece of writing when they can reblog1 something that’s popped up on a dashboard (“me too!”) or tap out a 140 character statement of the moment and move on?
I started blogging in the early noughties, inspired by Josh Santangelo of Endquote.com, the first blogger I can remember reading with any regularity. Josh wrote about his hopes and aspirations, loves and losses, and all the messiness of his inner thought and experience. I was a bright-eyed wannabe writer with a penchant for the web, confessional poetry and any other writing that gave me insight into the inner workings of people I didn’t know. But Endquote was less an opportunity to practise voyeurism, more a reminder of the way that emotive writing can show us how different we are from the other people we share the planet with, and yet how un-alone.
Last time I checked, the Endquote.com I knew was gone, replaced by a generic (professional) holding page. Checking again today, I find that Endquote is now a Tumblr property, complete with images of sharply styled young women, selfies, nods to sartorial inspiration and Soundcloud embeds. I miss the old Endquote (though I wonder if the writing as it was would have the same impact on me now) but this new iteration is still Josh. An absolutely contemporary expression of self.
Nothing against reblogging here. Reblogging may as well be the new common intertextuality. ↩
This started out as a much longer piece. Honestly. I’d love to say I edited it down from flabby imperfection, but the truth is I committed the schoolboy error of drafting the original through a web back-end in Safari on an iPad, while switching between tabs, as if taunting the god of all things technological to swallow everything I’d written. Which s/he did. D’oh. ↩
Could be just me, but it looks like Tumblr doesn’t like Markdown footnotes. Grrr. ↩
I have three goals for each day that I come to work:
—Learn something new
—Have a good time
If I am not accomplishing most of these on most days then it is time for me to find something else to work on.”
“Language is the element of definition, the defining and descriptive incantation. It puts the coin…”
- Charles Wright, The Art of Poetry No. 41 (via bostonpoetryslam)
- Odd Thomas
Very true. I’m reworking my “professional” website at the moment, and one of the time-consuming jobs is having to go through my history and decide which projects are appropriate for my portfolio. There’s so much I’ve done that I’ve forgotten, regardless of scale or prestige. And that’s the value of this kind of exercise. I hate updating résumés and CVs, but it’s necessary— not only do these documents serve your own professional efforts, but they’re useful reflections on everything you’ve achieved, challenges for you to think about what you define as important.
I’ve just recently returned from a week out leading an Arvon course. If you’re not familiar, Arvon is a residential creative writing institution founded by Ted Hughes, with a number of different centres in remote locations around the UK. There was a period of time when I used to run Arvon weeks quite regularly, but it’s been a while since I was last there, so a recent burst of Arvon invitations has been welcome. The week I’ve just returned from was different from any other Arvon week I can remember leading. The participant group consisted of foster-children and their carers; an age range spanning from six to mid-sixties, split between three rough bandings— adults, teens and little’uns. It was an intense week (lack of internet and mobile network notwithstanding), but so rewarding.
Everyone wrote. Even the adults, those with English as a second language, who may have been forgiven for thinking they were just there to chaperone the kids. And what stories they all had. What poems they wrote. For an afternoon, I sat with the group of adults and spoke with them about life stories— how the children in their care need to document their lives so they have something to look back on. I’d like to think that I gave them a few tools and techniques for compelling writing, but I know they also left me with a reminder of how important our writing practise is.
As a writer— as someone who’s supposed to chase the writing day in, day out— it’s perhaps too easy to lose sight of what the individual poems actually mean; how much they weigh, what place they carve out or impact on beyond the paper or screen they’re written on. But experiences like this serve as a reminder of how powerful and valuable this work with words can be. And how that power doesn’t have to be manifest on a spotlit stage with an audience of thousands. That value doesn’t have to be attached to publication in a journal or anthology. I’m talking about what poetry can do (or be) for everyday people who push (or are pushed!) to write it, nudged to engage with parts of their experience they didn’t think it was possible for them to capture in words. And what happens when they succeed, when they stand back from what they’ve written and see themselves or people they know there, recognisable and yet unfamiliar. Even if they never pick up the pen again.
And so, on to the next opportunity.
“The way to develop good taste in literature is to read poetry… For, being the supreme form of human…”
The way to develop good taste in literature is to read poetry… For, being the supreme form of human locution, poetry is not only the most concise, the most condensed way of conveying the human experience; it also offers the highest possible standards for any linguistic operation — especially one on paper.
The more one reads poetry, the less tolerant one becomes of any sort of verbosity, be that in political or philosophical discourse, be that in history, social studies or the art of fiction.”
- Joseph Brodsky on how to develop your taste in reading — a brilliant 1988 essay, all the timelier in the age of linkbait. (via explore-blog)
“Learn how to use e-mail. Decide why you are on the planet. Have fewer meetings with fewer people for…”
If you’re not checking in on Nicholas Bate, regularly– rectify, stat. It’s for your own good.
“I’m still asked, what good is science fiction to Black people? What good is any form of literature to Black people? What good is science fiction’s thinking about the present, the future, and the past? What good is its tendency to warn or to consider alternative ways of thinking and doing? What good is its examination of the possible effects of science and technology, or social organization and political direction? At its best, science fiction stimulates imagination and creativity. It gets reader and writer off the beaten track, off the narrow, narrow footpath of what “everyone” is saying, doing, thinking - whoever “everyone” happens to be this year. And what good is all this to Black people?”
- Octavia Butler, POSITIVE OBSESSION 
“But experts believe the success at keeping the death toll relatively low– 40 cyclists have died at…”
But experts believe the success at keeping the death toll relatively low– 40 cyclists have died at the hospital in 10 years- is masking a lack of focus on preventing collisions.
They called on the Mayor and Transport for London to help build a comprehensive database of cyclist injuries. This would record factors such as whether the crash involved a HGV, car or pedestrian, the personal details of the cyclist, what happened before the collision, and if helmet and high-visibility clothing were worn.”
Ross Lydall, Evening Standard, Thurs 6th Feb
Makes sense, and in a data-driven society, only a matter of time. It may sound morbid, but as a cyclist, whenever I hear news of yet another fatal traffic accident, I find myself wondering what actually happened, and whether there was anything the cyclist could have done to protect themselves.
I’d imagine a database like this could have an impact on cyclist safety, provided people actually took the time to examine the findings and stats. Cue call for sexy data-visualisation. And iPhone app.
“The tablet couldn’t possibly shoulder all the expectations people had for it. Not a replacement for…”
Some fair arguments made, but I respectfully disagree. True, I’m can’t put money on the future of tablets in mainstream markets (although it could be argued that as an owner of each major revision of the iPad that’s been released, I already have). Are tablets laptop replacements? No, although so many people I know with tablets set them up with keyboard cases, with the effect of replicating that laptop form factor. However, I’m also not convinced that tablets simply represent a hardware bubble destined to burst as large screen smartphones gain traction.
I’d like to believe that there’s room for the tablet as third device pitched somewhere between the smartphone and desktop/laptop computer, in much the same way as prosumer cameras exist as a niche between affordable point-and-shoots and high end professional equipment. The fact that tablets severely dented sales of netbooks surely indicates that there’s a market for reasonably powerful computing devices that are bigger than phones and yet small and light enough for easy transport. And can we really discount the pervasive nature of a large touchscreen? When you think about the number of children being raised with tablets as pacifiers, there’s definitely room to imagine how tablet computing might have a firm grip on the future…
“Nhất Hạnh teaches that you can wash your bowl with the objective of having a clean bowl, or you can…”
Beautiful reminder of presence, of appreciating the moment for what it is. Lots of thoughts about time and how my time is used, recently. And the thought that mindfulness, like this, surely serves (creative?) writing well.
“Today brings some sad news: Editorially is closing its doors. The application will remain available…”
Speaking of collaborative writing apps, sad news that Editorially has fallen.
I drafted a post elsewhere about the alarmingly short-lifespan of some of these tools. I say alarmingly as no slight to any of the developers or forward-thinkers involved— it must be a tough thing to have to write an apologetic letter to your existing loyal userbase on the basis that it simply isn’t big enough to keep the lights on. But I’m certainly more wary about the tools I recommend these days, having spent a month convincing an entire community of young poets to abandon our Facebook group in favour of an alternative solution that promptly posted a death notice a few weeks later. I’ve since gone on to roll my own solution, using Wordpress— it’s open source (read: free), albeit carrying a higher price tag in terms of an investment of my development time, but at least my new solution sits on a platform I own, and I can tweak it to my heart’s content, rather than firing off feature requests to an already beleaguered developer.
Hate to be one of those guys, but if the shiny new tool you’re looking at doesn’t seem to have some solid way of generating revenue for its owners/developers, experience suggests thinking twice before betting the farm on it.