I wrote one poem in my adult life, five or six years ago. I think I might try writing another. This may seem unusual, seeing as I know nothing about poetry. But, I do know about writing… and what is poetry but a lyrical, condensed form of writing? I hate rhyming and repetitive patterns, though so… we’ll see what kind of poetry it turns out to be…
I haven’t read many. I got a couple books of poetry (English Romantic Poetry: An Anthology, and Edward Fitzgerald’s Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam) to get a taste of it. What else is recommended?
What a big part of literature I know nothing about!
Another one written, and I think I will probably send it somewhere, so that makes number 2 for the year, already 1/3 of my goal for the year!
Now if I can just start editing my novel… eek…
As some of you may know, I write short stories. I’ve got quite a few that no one has read, and they just sit around doing nothing. So, I’ve decided to start posting some of them somewhere they might actually get read. Maybe…
Wattpad is a social writing site? Or something? All the youth are using it, and it looks to be a fairly active writing community–which is terribly hard to find in itself.
It may(read: will) all likely come to nothing, and after I get no views and am still posting stories into a silent void, I’ll probably delete the profile. But for now, it’s here:
There is one story there now, but I’ll be adding some others over time.
Check it out!
I’m listening to My Name is Red by Orhan Pamuk, and so far there has been a chapter narrated by a dead man at the bottom of a well, and one narrated by a stray dog. These attention-grabbing narrators are fun to read, and I think they might be fun to write, too, so I plan to do something strange like that in my next writing, if it fits the theme…
There are so many ways to tell the story you want to tell, why go for the obvious one?
This fun, funny, and darkly interesting novel is another masterpiece in the seemingly endless line of masterpieces from Nabokov.
This book has made me decide that I will no longer listen to any Nabokov books, and will read them all instead, because I am endlessly wanting to highlight things.
This story is about a woman’s affair with her nephew, Franz, and her husband, Dreyer’s, blissful ignorance of her, the nephew, and anyone’s needs or desires or thoughts other than his own. It’s about the Franz’s, inability to make decisions on his own, and his increasingly autonomous life. It’s about the woman, Martha’s, greed and distaste for her husband that consumers her both literally and metaphorically.
It’s also about the delicious, lyrical, humorous prose that always shines in every Nabokov novel I’ve had the pleasure of perusing.
So excited that I’ve got more Nabokov in my future…
I saw a bunch of people I haven’t seen in years the other day, and it made me think about how you never know which time is going to be the last time you see someone. Say hi to your friends more often, you’ll thank your self in the future.