Richard and I were talking about this piece and the way it got made, starting with writing to a prompt during a workshop and then continuing to work on it. The thing I want to point out is that memory plays the tiniest role in a piece like this . . . it it almost entirely devised by the experience of writing the sentences and seeing what associations and other bits of memory or pretend-memories arise right then, in the moment of writing. Working this way, there is no planning. The idea of writing something according to an outline, because you've already sketched it out in your mind, isn't something I would ever do or recommend. Also, all the joy and pleasure of writing is in these solitary and completely surprising moments of invention. Anyone can do it with practice. You have to trust that your powers of invention can sharpen and deepen and become funnier and more freewheeling as you try working this way.
Oh how I loved this story. Successful neuro-coupling of this reader to your experience of the slow retrieval of the memory of this man and how you laughed at its recovery.
You wrote, "I’m capable of having fantasies about anyone I sleep with." I love how you write sentences that leap out and grab me. I'd forgotten that I used to do that, even though I shocked myself at the inappropriateness of some of/maybe many of my choices. I'd draw some kind of little picket fence around us and imagine a life together. Or maybe you're talking other kinds of fantasies. Had those too. The inability to recognize faces is prosopagnosia, and most interestingly, the neurologist Dr. Oliver Sacks had it. He wrote an article about it, I think published in the New Yorker. I sort of half-have it, but maybe I just don't pay attention. I had a boyfriend once who said "Of course you see this mole on my nose," and I'd never noticed.
Laurie began writing this yesterday during the zoom workshop we organized for paid subscribers and finished it this morning. She’s very efficient and effective.
I joined substack to write. I’m reading.. you’ve distracted me . Falling over rail a la Kubrick . Memories of viewing Mapplethorpe with my elegant mother . Her positive view. Surprising and wonderful. Faded faces and penises. Too many . I gave up random sex for Lent. Yes I will gladly pay for your words.
Plunging to your death from the goog walkway! Straight out Hitchcock. Your work continues to compel. The thing with the call-out from what's-their-faces, the erotic bad dream/memories really resonates. Thank you, again.
This brilliant essay of memory/revelation is more GUGG than all the HEIM in the world for its courage, insight, jaunt, and above all, TRUTH. Love it. Love you.
Richard and I were talking about this piece and the way it got made, starting with writing to a prompt during a workshop and then continuing to work on it. The thing I want to point out is that memory plays the tiniest role in a piece like this . . . it it almost entirely devised by the experience of writing the sentences and seeing what associations and other bits of memory or pretend-memories arise right then, in the moment of writing. Working this way, there is no planning. The idea of writing something according to an outline, because you've already sketched it out in your mind, isn't something I would ever do or recommend. Also, all the joy and pleasure of writing is in these solitary and completely surprising moments of invention. Anyone can do it with practice. You have to trust that your powers of invention can sharpen and deepen and become funnier and more freewheeling as you try working this way.
Oh how I loved this story. Successful neuro-coupling of this reader to your experience of the slow retrieval of the memory of this man and how you laughed at its recovery.
You wrote, "I’m capable of having fantasies about anyone I sleep with." I love how you write sentences that leap out and grab me. I'd forgotten that I used to do that, even though I shocked myself at the inappropriateness of some of/maybe many of my choices. I'd draw some kind of little picket fence around us and imagine a life together. Or maybe you're talking other kinds of fantasies. Had those too. The inability to recognize faces is prosopagnosia, and most interestingly, the neurologist Dr. Oliver Sacks had it. He wrote an article about it, I think published in the New Yorker. I sort of half-have it, but maybe I just don't pay attention. I had a boyfriend once who said "Of course you see this mole on my nose," and I'd never noticed.
The Jetty as the header is a killer move.
Laurie began writing this yesterday during the zoom workshop we organized for paid subscribers and finished it this morning. She’s very efficient and effective.
I joined substack to write. I’m reading.. you’ve distracted me . Falling over rail a la Kubrick . Memories of viewing Mapplethorpe with my elegant mother . Her positive view. Surprising and wonderful. Faded faces and penises. Too many . I gave up random sex for Lent. Yes I will gladly pay for your words.
So enjoyed this post. I look forward to reading more from you!
Plunging to your death from the goog walkway! Straight out Hitchcock. Your work continues to compel. The thing with the call-out from what's-their-faces, the erotic bad dream/memories really resonates. Thank you, again.
Art and sex. How can you get better than that? Maybe art, sex, and pizza : )
very well done, as always
This brilliant essay of memory/revelation is more GUGG than all the HEIM in the world for its courage, insight, jaunt, and above all, TRUTH. Love it. Love you.