Could Anais Nin really keep such detailed notes of her daily activity?
You never know what we'll churn up in cleaning a stall
Could Anais Nin really keep such detailed notes of her daily activity?
As the Red Barn delves into my earliest journals, I’ve mentioned that we’re skipping over many of the entries that have already been distilled into my previously published poetry, fiction, and non-fiction prose. I do hope you find what’s turning up to be brilliant and, uh, let’s back up, somehow engaging. It was a unique time and journey.
Still, I’m coming across material that seems more suitable for a different typographic and visual presentation apart from a straight Red Barn post, and that’s led me to create a Chronicles category at my Thistle Finch editions free digital editions “bookstore.” Offerings at that site allow me more flexibility in formatting, especially for you to download or print. Quite simply, it often feels more “literary,” with its own satisfactions.
Initial posts there as an outcome of my journals review are now available as free PDF downloads. Among them are New Novelists Back Then, notes from a lively contemporary fiction course, meaning cutting-edge novelists back in the ‘60s; Hitching, drawing on thumbing-on-the-road encounters in the hippie era; and The Past Still Speaks, three literary quotes that still resonate.
Another presentation there is a photo album, Mulberry Row, with images of a dormitory quad that prompted much of the action in my novel Daffodil Uprising. Collecting those images, which become this “lookbook” or “storyboard” was helpful in re-envisioning the narrative. Perhaps it will help readers, too, in internalizing the scene.
Welcome to another Rabbit Hole on the Internet.
Here are some more examples.
Journalist? Perhaps a very special secretary, in the old aristocratic sense of personal aide, except on behalf of the people …
Often, writers’ advice can be extended to life beyond writing itself. Here’s a sampling.
Contributors’ notes at the back of a literary quarterly or toward the beginning of a glossy magazine can sometimes be among the most entertaining reading in the entire volume.
Or they can be among the most deadly, as I’ve been thinking while scanning those in the Paris Review, where they run along the line of so-and-so is the author of the new insert-title-here book of poetry or fiction. It’s so one-dimensional.
Don’t know about you, but I definitely want to know what makes a writer tick – unique details help. Hopefully, something more than where they’re also teaching.
Yes, I know as writers we’re all hustling our books, but ultimately, we’re the brand, like it or not. (God, it hurts to admit that, but it’s true.)
The celebrity Proust Questionnaire at the closing of Vanity Fair magazine issues is a great prompt.
So here I am, pushing a whole lineup of volumes while hoping at least one of them jumps out at you and makes you get it, free or at a price – yes, I’m shy about asking for money – but still!
This matter of self-identity came into play with my poetry collection Hamlet, a village of gargoyles, which built on exercises where I found it much easier to say who I’m not than who I am.
So here I am, with a few potential contributor notes I may have sent out:
While we’re at it, let’s ponder the faces on back dust jacket or cover.
How few seem like people I’d like to meet. How much anger, hatred, envy, darkness – brooding – comes through? How little serenity, how little joy? Multiplicity of personality. Just who am I? Who are you? Empathy. Discomfort. All the rest.
Who are you in relation to all this?
The Four Noble Plants [and a quest for American equivalents]
Too bad those book collections are still in storage.
As for “noble,” in America? Even that needs an equivalent.
The odd syllable counts of my poetry lines: quite female! And quite flexible. Contrast to “maleness” of iambic pentameter or other club-feet.
The luxury of wasting a whole notebook, an entire sketchbook. [Oh? Did I pitch that out already?]
Good poetry takes leave of tight meaning … pointing to “lunatics” as “originals” … the way flames do.
Here we are again, another new year, another new calendar to fill. As if that should be any problem? Let me guess that you, too, never seem to have enough time to do so much of what you’re hoping to accomplish, day, week, month, or more. Right?
No matter. This time of the year is typically a moment for reflection of what’s happened in the previous 12 months of our lives and also for planning for our next 12.
Blogging, and my writer’s life in general, are no exception.
Blogging was, I believe, envisioned as a place for “live” journaling, or logging, in a ship captain’s sense, though my flagship Red Barn and four affiliated sites over the past 14 years have always put twists on that by scheduling long in advance. Even with that, each year has somehow always taken on a fresh emphasis.
The Barn started out with a huge backlog of previously published poems and related pieces to share, giving the blog essentially a literary focus. To my surprise, digital photography, especially once I retired from the newsroom, came to the forefront, too. As the pace picked up, marriage, family life, and our “city farm” in Dover provided fresh waves of inspiration, and there were files of unpublished poems and essays to add to the mix. Excerpts from my widespread correspondence and my Quaker writings also came into play. On top of that, publication of my novels and their subsequent revisions widened the perspective, including outtakes, as did my history Quaking Dover and the spirituality investigation Light Seed Truth.
More recently, the focus shifted to Way Downeast Maine where I’ve resettled.
So far, that adds up to more than 6,000 posts.
~*~
In addition, we’ve had the emergence of my quartet of affiliated WordPress blogs, which have undergone their own evolution.
Much of my Quaker-related writing led to establishing As Light Is Sown.
The photography has joined the Talking Money and New England Spirit entries at Chicken Farmer I Still Love You.
Poetry in chapbook presentations, especially, now appear at Thistle Finch editions.
And Orphan George Chronicles make my research findings available to genealogy investigators who share some of my linage.
It’s a lot, but it’s not sitting in dusty files or some editor’s sludge piles.
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In the year ahead here at the Barn, you’ll be seeing excerpts from my physical journals, which started nearly six decades ago. Last year, having wound up on this remote island in Maine, I finally hunkered down revisiting the earliest decade of the books and found much of merit that hadn’t been distilled into my novels or poetry, so we’ll give them a final airing here.
It has me thinking of a poet I’ve dearly loved and his remark that nobody since could pursue the life he did. That remark came after he saw recent real estate prices for marginal properties around the lands he and his cohorts had purchased dirt cheap decades earlier in the Sierra Nevada range of California and then built upon and then realizing they couldn’t afford to buy their places now.
I wish I could advise kids today setting forth some advice for moving ahead.
All I can say is I’m glad I’m not in their place.
Looking back, though, I’m seeing ours was often a difficult journey, too.
Here’s how things unfolded for me. It really was a merry-go-round, something of the continuing nature of this blog.
Much of what’s ahead promises to be more confidential, subjective, off-guard than what you’ve seen from me before.
As always, I do enjoy hearing your comments and sharing your company.
Sometimes my own writing goes beyond anything I can explain. For instance:
Meanwhile, over the years:
Remember, you can find my works in the digital platform of your choice at Smashwords, the Apple Store, Barnes & Noble’s Nook, Scribd, Sony’s Kobo, and other fine ebook retailers. You can also ask your public library to obtain them.