The fact that this male-ward, white-ward drift is not malicious or deliberate. Nobody says outright, ‘Men are better writers,’ or ‘Let’s just read white people.’ It not being malicious does not make this tendency okay, or not, in need of correction. Benign negligence—whether in a grassroots book club, or on a college syllabus, or in a publishing house or magazine’s list—cannot simply be excused and accepted as an innocent blind spot.
Rather it must be actively remarked upon as something that we should all cultivate the ability to notice, discuss, and remedy. I’m hardly the only one who feels this way.
My work is to write this sentence and revise it into that sentence. To take this word and replace it with that word.
My work is a novel I wrote from five to seven a.m. for more than two years and that will never be published.
My work is to be the person you trust to tell the truth, even though I…
Agnes Richter was a German seamstress held as a patient in an insane asylum during the 1890s. During her time there, she densely embroidered her straightjacket with words, undecipherable phrases and drawings which documented her thoughts and feelings throughout her time there. This remarkable object was collected by Hans Prinzhorn, a psychiatrist who ardently collected the artwork of his patients at a Heidelberg psychiatric hospital in the early 20th century.
As much as I wring my hands about writing, I also can’t deny the small satisfactions it offers me. Be it a turn of phrase, an image, a moment between characters — these are tiny but distinct pleasures that I can revisit anytime I flip through my work. It’s miraculous that these little darlings didn’t get killed in the rewriting process. My work never lives up to the dream I have of it in my head and that’s the way it should be; Martha Graham calls this “a queer divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others.” It’s the tension between this “queer divine dissatisfaction” and the fulfillment of writing something that pleases me, however minor, that makes me want to write at all. The flaws of my novel, California, are in conversation with its strengths.
Edan Lepucki, “Hug Your Darlings, Give the Moon the Finger: Writers On Delight”
This was so much fun to put together. Read about favorite lines, in-jokes, fake dissertations and more from Cecil Castellucci, Adam Wilson, Emily Gould, and many, many more!(via italicsmine)
When I think of myself as an old person, which is something I have begun to do only recently, I think of myself in a little house in the woods, making jam and shooting mason jars off a fence with a rifle, and making friends with the coyotes who live in the ravine behind my cabin
save frederick chilton → a mix for everyone hoping that the doctor can make it through this ordeal with his sass intact (thanks to mikksmadelsen)
hate that i love you / crazy / don’t leave me this way / i have nothing / actual cannibal / save me / howlin’ for you / livin’ on a prayer / fighter / save me / fuck it all
This is just a great playlist, really.
Dear online dude reviewers calling Mary MacLane “like the drunkest girl at the party” and “the kind of woman I love, kind of crazy”: you are exactly exactly exactly the problem, the kindling for her fire. You are boring and ugly. I curse you thus: may the devil never come for you.
Aspirations: female writer with the best eyebrows (heavyweight class)