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thedarkagesBeth is working on the computer at night, so I finally have time to read. I just finished Little, by Louis Zukofsky, in the Dalkey Archive edition. It's a wonderful book about a child prodigy violinist, patterned on Zukofsky's son Paul, and his adventures with his eccentric family. The book is written with a love of puns and puzzles which reminds me of Joyce, and I took a great deal of pleasure in unscrambling the names of famous musicians who make an appearance as their alter-egos à clé. Some of it was beyond my powers -- the Welsh poetry or Zukofsky's simulation thereof had me completely stumped.
I've been working so hard I can't seem to write; in point of fact, I am now, by definition, a non-writer. (LJ doesn't count.) I was listening to a lecture by Ron Carlson, and he was giving advice left and right; his most important piece of advice was "Stay in the room." By which he meant, keep working. Don't get up. I get up. When I've written a good sentence, I do a little victory dance. According to Carlson, this is fatal. Right now, though, I have a considerable distance to go before I get to the writing-good-sentences part; I have to get to the writing-sentences part.
I've been working so hard I can't seem to write; in point of fact, I am now, by definition, a non-writer. (LJ doesn't count.) I was listening to a lecture by Ron Carlson, and he was giving advice left and right; his most important piece of advice was "Stay in the room." By which he meant, keep working. Don't get up. I get up. When I've written a good sentence, I do a little victory dance. According to Carlson, this is fatal. Right now, though, I have a considerable distance to go before I get to the writing-good-sentences part; I have to get to the writing-sentences part.
