Wednesday, September 02, 2009
The Case Of Anna O
For a brief time as a fifth-grader, I hated books that weren't true, not understanding that all books are true on a certain level, that the stories we tell say something about who we were, are, or wish to be. Instead of consenting to do a book report on a novel, I insisted on reading the biography of Freud. This, I'm afraid, explains a lot. The librarian feared that it might be too adult, my teacher was fed up with my constant campaigning, and in true Taurean fashion, I got my way.
After a while, I decided I wanted to write about crazy people, not treat them. And that stories where far more interesting than facts. Facts could tell you part of the narrative, but they weren't more than a dry bone in the valley of stories. I liked Freud, liked the darker elements of his personality. But I especially liked the case studies, the real patients he couldn't entirely explain. That's when I began to like fiction again, the only thing that could fill in the details.
Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Being a writer is like being a martial arts expert, there's a certain stance and alertness that is required." Kate Braverman
Drinking website suggestion: www.stuffwhitepeoplelike.com
(really funny tongue-in-cheek look at hipster culture)
Benedictions and Maledictions