Wednesday, November 29, 2006
I Won't Show This To Anyone
If I kept a diary, I'd start it off by saying -- I dream of snakes every night. This, of course, is not strictly true. Last night I dreamed that I was at an airplane crash survivor's meeting and saw my dad. And many nights, my dreams are too boring to repeat. But a lot of times, it's snakes, pooled into themselves or on the river, swimming next to me. So there'd be an emotional truth to my statement, the kind of thing a diary records, I suppose. Don't know because I've never been able to keep one. A diary by definition is for yourself and, while I do many things for myself -- gorge on chocolate, drink endless vats of Dr. Pepper, drag broken glass over my skin (pick out the lie in that sentence, like a Choose Your Own Adventure book!), writing is not one of them. I've often tricked myself into saying, I won't show this to anyone, but if it turns out, I always do. There's no subject I won't write about as a rule, but I don't have much control over what I write -- it's always some obssessional interest that won't leave, like those guests on a Saturday Night Live skit, who stay way past the point of social fun.
My life, by and large, is not all that interesting. I'm not out hunting for big game or attending bullfights, not taking care of children, or even weeding a garden. If it was, I might be tempted to write it out in a traditional chronological narrative, tell the page how I got from point a to point b. Flannery O'Connor once said about the body and blood of Christ, the taking of the eucharist and whether it was symbolic, If it's not real, then to hell with it. That's my only guiding light when it comes to writing. The snakes, you see, are real, at least until I open my eyes, which I never do.
Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Thought and beauty, like a hurricane or waves, should not know conventional, delimited forms." Anton Chekhov
Drinking movie suggestion: The Last Night at the Alamo
Benedictions and Maledictions