Future's wide open. What I want most of all is to be published: She told me about her first published story, then about her slow journey upward--publication in The Kenyon Review, then being contacted by some random publisher to do a collection of short stories, then being reviewed in The New York Times, etc. etc. If only talent were so guaranteed, but more and more I really do think it's all just a matter of taste and whether or not someone important has the same aesthetic sense as you.
So maybe what I really need to do is develop my aesthetic, which is to say: develop myself. (It always comes back to this.) Do some experimenting. I admire my professor for her fearlessness--she told me about sending a snarky letter to an editor that hadn't gotten back to her about her work (only to find an acceptance letter in her mailbox that same day), but I'm far too timid for my own good.
I know right now exactly what sort of story I want to write (think: the emotional restraint of "Your Ex-Lover Is Dead," with the same undertone of disgust/calculated insouciance--taking my cues from Stars), but I don't know if I could pull it off. It'd be a perverse little thing, but that's how I like them.
God that was strange to see you again:♫ "Your Ex-Lover Is Dead" (Stars, Set Yourself On Fire)
Introduced by a friend of a friend,
Smiled and said "Yes I think we've met before."
In that instant it started to pour.
Captured a taxi despite all the rain,
We drove in silence across Pont Champlain.
And all of the time you thought I was sad,
I was trying to remember your name.
No comments:
Post a Comment