I’m for uncertainty. As soon as you think you know, you’re done for. You don’t listen and you can’t hear. If you’re certain of anything, you shut the door on the possibility of revelation, of discovery. You can think. You can believe. But you can’t, you mustn’t, ‘know’. There’s the real entropy.
The Water and the Page
Some New Year’s encouragement (well, I’ll read it as such) from this interview with Zadie Smith:
“You read my work and think I don’t have anxiety every day about being a writer? Incredible! Of course, yes, I don’t come from a background in which being a writer was even a conceivable fantasy. Of course. But the way I deal with things is to focus on the page I’m writing. Otherwise I’d find it impossible to work at all.”
“…That’s why I understand why they should feel that way, because reading is a magic thing. But writing, I actually feel, is considerably less magic. It’s a lot of work and a lot of daily grind, where reading is a true pleasure.”
2012 found me finally understanding the value of hard work - or, I guess, to sound less like your dad, the power of my own will. I can’t quite believe I lived 27 years thinking the only things worth my time could be done with natural talent and minimal effort. I guess everything I’d learned before had been by force or by accident? Teaching myself to swim freestyle this year was a revelation. Now all the things I can’t do (whistle, cartwheel, play an instrument, run a mile, finish a novel, find a full time job) are just facts waiting to be changed.
It’s my unspoken religion, writing. When I haven’t written, it’s like not going to church. I get confused and bad things happen.
Hello, babies. Welcome to Earth. It’s hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It’s round and wet and crowded. At the outside, babies, you’ve got about a hundred years here. There’s only one rule that I know of, babies—God damn it, you’ve got to be kind.
Something saccharine about how she used to climb all over me on the living room floor, giggle like a demon child, break hearts with a pout, how her life’s ambition was to “be a tiger” and she did have claws, and a clever mind, and a bleeding heart. Dearest little Julia, you are 20 today and still adorable and strong and alive. I love you.