Tuesday, June 28, 2011


Recently read "Something Gordon Never Thought Himself Capable Of" by Sal Pane, which is over at jmww. I would go into what I thought of it, but Sal Taught Me Things, so there is much bias. I will just say that I liked it very much and if you are reading this blog post and don't already know Sal (unlikely at this point), you should read his stuff. I love getting to read stories by people that I know because I can see the parts of them that come through in their fiction.

Here's some quotes from some things I've been reading:

"This pelting rain! The kind of rain that hammers at your head like unwanted thoughts."

"You tried to speak and he'd suck out your breath."

-from "So Help Me God" in The Female of the Species by Joyce Carol Oates

"Why are writers obsessed with math when we generally aren't very good at it?"

-from PANK blog

"Do not worry. You have always written before and you will write now. All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know."

-from A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway

I'm just going to keep reading A Moveable Feast over and over again and ignore all of my other Hemingway-related frustrations. That's my plan.


Monday, June 6, 2011

oh god oh god she said to him I can't handle this anymore

I'm painting my nails with gold glitter nail polish. Not that it matters right now because my hands are still gnarled and ravaged by eczema, which I just figured out is really difficult to spell. I need to go to the doctor, but for some reason I find going to the doctor the most inconvenient thing in the world, so I've just been living like this for months, my skin all fucked up. I need to go the optometrist too. My dad doesn't understand why I have trouble scheduling and keeping doctors appointments because he is the most organized and methodical person I have ever met. He doesn't have the trouble I do executing typical daily tasks.

I like having my desk lamp on, but it makes my room really hot.

I'm writing this to avoid my working-writing. Can you tell? I've been reading good things. I'm reading Affliction by Russell Banks. Slowly. I'm reading this book of Vogue food features too. I love food writing.

At my job, there are Areas of Responsibility that are divided between Sales and Execution. Sales is assisting customers and Execution is maintaining the floor set and things like that. At work, I'm probably better at Execution than Sales. But in the rest of my life, that's not true.

Shit needs done. I'm not a good executor.


Friday, June 3, 2011

"I'm not a fan of the woods. Bad things happen in the woods. I've read fairy tales. I've been in the woods."

I read Roxane Gay's Where I Write at the Rumpus. Fucking fabulous.

I am easing slowly back into my writing routine, adjusting to summer and being away from the constant writing-related stimulation of my life in Pittsburgh. I've been writing letters, too, and that's helped. It loosens me up.

I've been reading so much online that has caught my breath in my throat, given me visions, made me shiver and sweat and squirm in my skin. There is such immense talent floating around, and it makes me so glad.

I keep forgetting how old I am until people remind me that I'm turning 21 this summer. It's such a big thing to them, but for me everything's felt a little fuzzy since 18, like it doesn't really matter any more. I focused on my age a lot when I was a teenager because most of my friends were older than me, so they always got to milestones first. Being twenty doesn't have the same significance to me that being sixteen or seventeen did.