(she always loved) larking

a life of words.

[egocollatisviribus]

“The End,” Now We Are Six. 

-A.A. Milne.

[shealwayslovedlarking-blog]

This age is like magic.

[austinkleon]

Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life, and it is the main obstacle between you and a shitty first draft. I think perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping-stone just right, you won’t have to die. The truth is that you will die anyway and that a lot of people who aren’t even looking at their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot more fun while they’re doing it.

Anne Lamott, “Shitty First Drafts,” in Bird By Bird  (via austinkleon)

[shealwayslovedlarking-blog]

You know how your brain turns to mush? How it starts when you're pregnant? You laugh, full of wonder and conspiracy, and you chide yourself, Me and my pregnancy brain! Then you give birth and your brain doesn't return? But you're breast-feeding, so you laugh, as if you're a member of an exclusive club? Me and my nursing brain! But then you stop nursing and the terrible truth descends: Your good brain is never coming back. You've traded vocabulary, lucidity, and memory for motherhood. You know how you're in the middle of a sentence and you realize at the end you're going to need to call up a certain word and you're worried you won't be able to, but you're already committed so you hurtle along and then pause because you've arrived at the end but the word hasn't? And it's not even a ten-dollar word you're after, like polemic or shibboleth, but a two-dollar word, like distinctive, so you just end up saying amazing? Which is how you join the gang of nitwits who describe everything as amazing.

Maria Semple, Today Will Be Different

[kevincannonart]

Inktober Day 31: Magers & Quinn Booksellers

[shealwayslovedlarking-blog]

One of the millions of reasons I miss the Twin Cities - such a great bookstore.

[gentlewave]

Night Visitors

At night, a bird arrived at my door,

Knocked with its wings

On my window and door.

— Come right in, fiddle-bird, musician of my youth,

I still put aside bread and water for you.

Come right in, and be my honored guest.

We’ve both been decreed this life and this death.

And then a cat strayed in from the night,

Scratched with its claws,

Scratched and scraped.

— come right in, dread childhood beast, kitty-cat,

I’ve never, not once, grabbed a broom and said, “Scat!”

Come right in, and be my honored guest,

We’ve been given the fate to be homeless and lost.

A goat came next with its pointy goatee,

Knocked with its hooves,

Ground with its horns.

— Come in, goaty-bloaty, beard, milk from a ladle.

To this day, your song transforms bed into cradle.

Come in, and be my honored guest,

We’ve both been decreed a schoolteacher’s lot.

At night a person came, stood by my door,

And I was befallen with

Such anxious fear.

— Who are you?  Are you holding a knife in your hand?

Are you hiding betrayal? Do you hold smoldering brands?

And I slammed the door shut, turned the lock, threw the bolt,

Fell to the floor, put my face in my hands.

The night grew dark, then, as blindness is dark.

My floor became hard as stone,

And he stood on the other side of the door.

From the other side I heard sobs and a moan.

Kadya Molodowsky (1894-1974) [קאַדיע מאָלאָדאָװסקי]

  Translation from the Yiddish by Kathryn Hellerstein

  Baynakhtike Gest

Baynakht iz gekumen a foygl tzu mir,

un geklapt mit di fligl,

in mayn fentzter un tir.

— Kum arayn, foygl-fidl, gutter klezmer fun mayn yugnt-lid,

ikh hob broyt nokh un vaser far dir opgehit.

kum arayn, zay mayn gast, zay ge-ert.

S’iz undz beydn dos lebn in dos shtarbn bashert.

Un a katz iz gekumen farblonjet fun nakht,

gedrapet mit negl,

gedrapet, geshart.

— Kum arayn, kitzl-ketzl, fun mayn kindheit strazhner vizltir,

ikh hob nit eyn mol dem bezim bazukht tzulib dir.

kum arayn, zay mayn gast, zay ge-ert,

s’iz undz beydn tzu blonken, ne-und zayn bashert.

Un a tzig is gekumen, dos berdl farshpitzt,

geklapt mit di kloen,

mit di herner gekritzt.

— Kum arayn, tzigl-migl, kurtze berdl, milkh in krigl.

Dayn lid nokh biz-haynt makht mayn bet far a vigl.

kum arayn, zay mayn gast, zay ge-ert.

s’iz undz beyde a melamedishe dolye bashert.

Baynakht, a mench is gekumen, zikh geshtelt bay mayn tir,

un an angstike shrek

iz gefaln oyf mir.

— Ver bistu? Tzi du trogst  nit a meser in hant?

Tzi du tayest farrat? Tzi du tliest a brand?

Un di tir kh’ob farshlosn, farhakt un farklemt,

un gefaln, dos ponim fardekt mit di hent.

Iz di nakht geven finster, azoy finster, azh blind,

Un mayn dil iz geven azoy hart, vi a shteyn,

un fun yener zayt tir is geshtanen der mench,

un fun yener zayt tir kh’ob gehert a geveyn.

  בײַנאַכטיקע געסט

בײַ נאַכט איז געקומען אַ פֿױגל צו מיר,

און געקלאַפּט מיט די פֿליגל,

אין מײַן פֿענצטער און טיר.

- קום אַרײַן, פֿױגל-פֿידל, גוטער קלעזמער פֿון מײַן יוגנטליד,

איך האָב ברױט נאָך און װאַסער פֿאַר דיר אָפּגעהיט,

קום אַרײַן, זײַ מײַן גאַסט, זײַ געערט.

ס’איז אונדז בײדן דאָס לעבן און דאָס שטאַרבן באַשערט.

און אַ קאַץ איז געקומען פֿאַרבלאָנדזשעט פֿון נאַכט,

געדראַפּעט מיט נעגל,

געדראַפּעט, געשאַרט.

- קום אַרײַן, קיצל-קעצל, פֿון מײַן קינדהײט סטראַשנער װיזלטיר,

איך האָב ניט אײן מאָל דעם בעזעם פֿאַרזוכט צוליב דיר,

קום אַרײַן, זײַ מײַן גאַסט, זײַ געערט,

ס’איז אונדז בײדן צו בלאָנקען, נע-ונד זײַן באַשערט.

און אַ ציג איז געקומען, דאָס בערדל פֿאַרשפּיצט,

געקלאַפּט מיט די קלאָען,

מיט די הערנער געקריצט.

- קום אַרײַן, ציגל-מיגל, קורצע בערדל, מילך אין קריגל.

דײַן ליד נאָך ביז הײַנט מאַכט מײַן בעט פֿאַר אַ װיגל,

קום אַרײַן, זײַ מײַן גאַסט, זײַ געערט,

ס’איז אונדז בײדן אַ מלמדישע דאָליע באַשערט.

בײַ נאַכט, אַ מענטש איז געקומען, זיך געשטעלט בײַ מײַן טיר,

און אַן אַנגסטיקע שרעק

איז געפֿאַלן אױף מיר.

- װער ביסטו? צי דו טראָגסט ניט אַ מעסער אין האַנט?

צי דו טײַעסט פֿאַרראַט? צי דו טליעסט אַ בראַנד?

און די טיר כ’האָב פֿאַרשלאָסן, פֿאַרהאַקט און פֿאַרקלעמט,

און געפֿאַלן, דאָס פּנים פֿאַרדעקט מיט די הענט.

איז די נאַכט געװען פֿינצטער, אַזױ פֿינצטער, אַזש בלינד.

און מײַן דיל איז געװען אַזױ האַרט װי אַ שטײן,

און פֿון יענער זײַט טיר איז געשטאַנען דער מענטש,

און פֿוּן יענער זײַט טיר כ’האָב דערהערט אַ געװײן.

[shealwayslovedlarking-blog]

[shealwayslovedlarking-blog]

From "Story" by Robert McKee

[shealwayslovedlarking-blog]

Difference for the sake of difference is as empty as slavishly following commercial imperatives. [... A] wise artist never does anything merely because it breaks convention.

Story, Robert McKee

[shealwayslovedlarking-blog]

Playing and fun are not the same thing, though when we grow up we may forget that, and find ourselves mixing up playing with happiness. [...] If playing isn't happiness or fun, if it is something which may lead to those things or to something else entirely, NOT being able to play is misery. No one stopped me from playing when I was alone, but there were times when I wasn't able to, though I wanted to --- there were times when nothing played back. Writers call it 'writer's block.' For kids there are other names for that feeling, though kids don't usually know them.

Lynda Barry, What It Is

[aseaofquotes]

Jane Yolen, Touch Magic

[shealwayslovedlarking-blog]

(Jennifer Laughran of Andrea Brown Literary Agency)

[amyoung-deactivated20171003]

I’m writing a first draft and reminding myself that I’m simply shoveling sand into a box so that later I can build castles.

Shannon Hale (via amyoung)

[shealwayslovedlarking-blog]

Every vocation, marriage, household, and job site exists in a fragile web of preconceptions and agreements about the nature of things. If I call it a dream or hallucination, it is not to denigrate the state or those who share it. It's the life we have. We may think it essential that our foundational beliefs are true - I've certainly defended the most bizarre constructions in order, unconsciously, to protect the web I was swinging in. But in fact it is in the nature of most dreams to unravel; usually a shocking cruelty or an insult to rationality pulls the first string. Then you are in for it. All the issues of human freedom and integrity come into play, all frailty and venality. What to do? Stay in the violated nest, clinging to shreds? Rebuild on a better plan? Go into freefall and land who knows where? I prefer the second alternative, but inevitably choose the third, or default into it.

Mary Rose O’Reilley, “The Barn at the End of the World”

[shealwayslovedlarking-blog]

'But if all else fails I can always write her a sonnet.' 'A sonnet?' said Hugh. 'No woman can resist having her name rhymed with a flower in iambic pentameter,' said Daniel.

Helen Simonson, The Summer Before the War

[shealwayslovedlarking-blog]

hang onto your hope.

North Brooklin, Maine 30 March 1973

Dear Mr. Nadeau:

As long as there is one upright man, as long as there is one compassionate woman, the contagion may spread and the scene is not desolate. Hope is the thing that is left to us, in a bad time. I shall get up Sunday morning and wind the clock, as a contribution to order and steadfastness.

Sailors have an expression about the weather: they say, the weather is a great bluffer. I guess the same is true of our human society—things can look dark, then a break shows in the clouds, and all is changed, sometimes rather suddenly. It is quite obvious that the human race has made a queer mess of life on this planet. But as a people we probably harbor seeds of goodness that have lain for a long time waiting to sprout when the conditions are right. Man's curiosity, his relentlessness, his inventiveness, his ingenuity have led him into deep trouble. We can only hope that these same traits will enable him to claw his way out.

Hang on to your hat. Hang on to your hope. And wind the clock, for tomorrow is another day.

Sincerely,

E.B. White

[dontbeanyoneswifey]

[shealwayslovedlarking-blog]

This photo from my-52-weeks-with-Christie is my dreeeeeeeeam.

[shealwayslovedlarking-blog]

There is nothing more exciting than to follow a live, candid mind thinking on the page, exploring uncharted waters.

Phillip Lopate, “To Show and To Tell”