Writing for a Living

If you write every day and read every day, then you can consider yourself a writer. If you document your reading, viewing, and listening experiences, then you can consider yourself an active writer. If you extract from those experiences ideas for your next essay, story, play, or poem, then you can consider yourself a creative writer. If you receive on average a dozen rejections a week from publishers and simply file them away just as you would your far fewer acceptances, then you can consider yourself a dedicated, no-nonsense, self-possessed writer.

Writer Jeff Goins has something useful to say about the writing life in his highly recommended blog post "Everything I've Learned from 6 Years of Writing for a Living." It's a worthwhile read if you are considering a writing life, writing what you believe to be your magnum opus, or receiving countless no thank-yous for your submissions. 

On Dealing with Death, Part 2

John Donne reflected much on death. In the last post, I referenced his oft-quoted verse on triumphing over death. In the brief prose excerpt below, Donne keenly observes that while one death affects each individual, it also brings an entire community together. Again notice the well-known book titles of Thomas Merton (No Man Is an Island) and Ernest Hemingway (For Whom the Bell Tolls), bows to Donne's literary genius. I dedicate this post to Arlene O'Leary, social worker and educator extraordinaire, who passed away late last year.

From Devotions upon Emergent Occasions, XVII

By John Donne (1572-1631)

All mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated … As therefore the bell that rings to a sermon, calls not upon the preacher only, but upon the congregation to come: so this bell calls us all: but how much more me, who am brought so near the door by this sickness. … No man is an island, entire of itself … any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

On Dealing with Death, Part 1

Whenever a loved one dies, as several in my life have in this year alone, I turn to the comforting reflections of English poet John Donne. Below is one of his most quoted poems. If you have not heard of or forgotten Donne, you'll likely recognize some of his lines. I dedicate this post to the memory of John Pavone, educator, human services professional, educator, musician, chef, husband, friend, and much more, who passed away yesterday. 

Holy Sonnet X 
By John Donne (1572 - 1631)

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee 
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; 
For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow, 
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. 

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, 

Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow, 

And soonest our best men with thee do go, 

Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery. 

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, 

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell; 

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well 

And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then? 

One short sleep past, we wake eternally, 

And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

Surprising Sentences, Part 18: Rousseau on Humans and the State

Jean-Jacques Rousseau opens the brief first chapter of his monumental work The Social Contract (1762) with this sentence: "Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains." He follows this observation of incongruity with this equally contradictory second sentence: "Many a one believes himself the master of others, and yet he is a greater slave than they." 

Rousseau immediately arrests his reader's attention to contemplate whether a monarchy is possible in a free state and whether society imposes burdens on people that invariably and inescapably subject them to servitude. In the author's own introductory words to this volume, "I wish to inquire whether, taking men as they are and laws as they can be made, it is possible to establish some just and certain rule of administration in civil affairs."

  

Surprising Sentences, Part 17: Rainer Maria Rilke on Beholding Art

Du musst dein Leben ändern. (translation from German: You must change your life).

These five words conclude one of Rainer Maria Rilke's most famous poems, "Archaic Torso of Apollo"—a sentence that comes more as a shock than a surprise. The words are so powerful after those they precede that we will never look at ancient sculpture the same way. 

Throughout this brief poem (4 stanzas and 14 lines), Rilke contemplates a headless, legless sculpture of Apollo's torso. So much is missing from this work of art, yet what is absent illuminates what is present. The poet has us behold an unmistakable, almost unbearable light bursting with life and energy. Then we suddenly see that we are not the only ones looking, for Apollo is looking at us. 

The poem moves our imagination to creating a spectacular image of what once was, and it urges us to realizing a remarkable reality of what can be, which is the ultimate goal of art. 

Please read the poem many times: It must change your life. 

Surprising Sentences, Part 16: Hemingway on Broken Father-Son Relationships

With this sentence, Ernest Hemingway ends one of his briefest short stories, "I Guess Everything Reminds You of Something":

And it was sad to know that shooting did not mean a thing.

The sentence surprises because it follows a father's discovery, seven years after the fact, of his son's plagiarizing a published short story to win a fiction contest. Until this moment in the story, the son's writing seems secondary to his shooting skills, which his father had helped him to cultivate. It comes after a scene depicting the father's mentorship of his son on good sportsmanship, social etiquette, and the value of hard work. Immediately preceding that final sentence are two devastating ones describing the father's abhorrence of his son for his "vileness": "Now he knew that boy had never been any good. He had thought so often looking back on things."

With this final paragraph, Hemingway probes the complexity of father-son relationships, the  remarkable burdens fathers place on their boys, the inevitable damage of estrangement, and the deceptive nature of memory. 

    

Surprising Sentences, Part 15: Noam Chomsky on Language and Freedom

In a 1970 essay, linguist and political activist Noam Chomsky wrote this sentence:

Language is a process of free creation; its laws and principles are fixed, but the manner in which the principles of generation are used is free and infinitely varied.

This idea comes after Chomsky's deep dive into what freedom means and how it intersects with language. He spends a good part of his analysis on the theories of human freedom of philosophers Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Immanuel Kant, and Wilhelm von Humboldt to conclude that the study of language can offer some understanding of how freedom can exist within a system of rules. Language is, as Chomsky put it, a product of human intelligence and, therefore, a possible starting point for collective striving toward freedom and social justice. Remarkable! 

The question for us to answer, more than a half-century after Chomsky posed it, is how do we operate within such a flawed system and arrive at an equal freedom?