Continuing to take a pounding, the writer writes. Knowing that somewhere, someone is reading who is bound to be seriously pissed off or bound to tell someone about what they read here who is going to be pissed off. Either way.
I'm so tired of feedback on my blog. ( to be clear: not talking about commenters. talking close to home situations. ) I am feeling pounded into the pavement. Maybe I should simply post naked pictures of myself and strings of random curse words in front of a symphonic soundtrack and drive away everyone until I can have this space back to myself, in the big black eye of the internet.
Look. I told you when I was growing up, if you don't want to to be immortalized in words, don't be a fucking asshole!
And this: I promised you a rose garden. No one ever promised me one, that's for fucking sure. I never got one either, until I dug the dirt up with my own bare naked hands and teeth and made one.
As it is, I'm leaving out everything. And everyone who was there knows this is true.
List of Things I Am Not Writing About That I Want To But I'M NOT:
details. paragraphs. entire chapters.
I can't demand anything. I can keep it real though. That's what I do best. And what is real, right now, is that I'm letting you, and you, and especially you know that I'm going to keep writing what I write the way I write it. I'm really saying this to myself of course. A mantra. A reminder. Slightly desperate. I can't be quiet NOW, for godsakes. I made it out of the endless winter and the reason I did was because I had a voice in writing.
All the way up. All the way out.
Dave Eggers wrote it. Sylvia Plath wrote it. Anne Sexton wrote it. Erica Jong wrote it. Henry Rollins wrote it. Ayelet Waldman wrote it. Anais Nin wrote it. Henry Miller wrote it. Anne Lamott wrote it.
Write it, damn you! Write it! What else are you good for? -James Joyce
My Published Memoir
About The Writer
Connect
"What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life? The world would split open " M.R.
she's precocious / and she knows just what it takes / to make the pros blush
The Mr. & Mrs.
what i thought love was is so much less than what it is
Our Pack: Dakota Wolf, Lola Moon, Ian Oliver and our baby, Ever Elizabeth
Someone may have stolen your dream when it was young and fresh and you were innocent. Anger is natural. Grief is appropriate. Healing is mandatory. Restoration is possible. -Jane Rubietta
you can stand under my umbrella
the light is on for you
My dear child, who can tell? One can only tell that, by remembering something which happened where we lived before; and as we remember nothing, we know nothing about it; and no book, and no man, can ever tell us certainly.
Some couples don’t ask much of one another after they’ve worked out the fundamentals of jobs and children. Some live separate intellectual and cultural lives, and survive, but the most intense, most fulfilling marriages need, I think, to struggle toward some kind of ideological convergence. Norman Rush
Pray For Kate McRae
click for link
I Believe In Nationwide Health Care
E Pluribus Unum ( Out of Many, One )
"I pay no attention whatever to anybody's praise or blame. I simply follow my own feelings." - Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart