it's a great life, if you don't weaken (matociquala) wrote,
it's a great life, if you don't weaken
matociquala

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these windows make a perfect frame for new england leaves like painted rain

One of the great joys and sorrows of a writer's life is that one cannot control anyone else's reading of one's work, and the author's intention only counts so far. Because there are valid readings of what I write that run counter to what I wanted the story to say, and sometimes those hurt people or make them angry, and every time that happens it saddens me and makes me wonder what I'm doing with my life.

Sometimes, of course, what I write is good for people, and that reminds me that this is a calling. And sometimes what I want a story to do is make somebody go, "Hey, that ain't right" and start asking their own questions. Because I believe literature is about raising questions, not offering answers.

It doesn't make it suck any less when I get it wrong for any given human being, though.

Being an artist in public is an exercise in endless humility.

All I can do, I guess, is fail better next time.

There was climbing today, and it was good. I felt strong. I came back at a 5.9 I climbed some time ago and did it--not as well as last time, but it's been a while. On the other hand, I did a really good job (for me) on a different 5.9+, one I've only climbed once. And I came back at my project 5.10, and while I did not quite send it, I got the top and the bottom clean, and the first half of the crux, which is a brutal three-move sequence. After trying the damned thing umpteen times and not even being able to figure out what I needed to do, I just cheated past the next move so I could try the top.

Back at it next time. Blah.

Then I did a couple of 5.8s, and we grocery shopped and came home.
Tags: falling off perfectly good rocks, the glamour!
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