“It is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top.”
English novelist Virginia Woolf (1882-1941)
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2 Comments
If this be true, then I should have plenty of extra submerged truth lying around. You’re welcome to some if it will help. Don’t worry: I’ll make more…
Right, and hey, as long as it’s not “truthiness” I’ll take it
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[...] I’m away from home, ostensibly idling. But still I’m on deadline, for a regular gig I’ve got here. As a result of research I’m doing for this job, I’m reading: The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down (A Hmong Child, Her American Doctors, and the Collision of Two Cultures). Visiting E. here, she notices the book, asks me about it, and after hearing what I’ve got to say about it, says I should post about it. Her suggestion makes me aware again of how regularly I don’t post about the stuff of my life. Of how, though I’ve kept blogs for a number of years, I haven’t come to (or perhaps “succumbed to,” says E.) filtering dailiness in terms of [blog] audience. Her suggestion leads me down the path of my continued work/theorizing about why lit fiction writers don’t blog. Poets, yes; fictones (as we call/ed them), no. Self-consciousness and “acceptable levels” thereof. Internal editors. First drafts and how, formally, fictones are taught no first draft is ready for anyone’s eyes… (Yes, my internal editor is well aware of the popular view on the use of ellipses in such instances as precedes this parenthetical. I am ignoring the internal editor.) [...]