2-24-11

Donald Barthelme: "The aim of literature . . . is the creation of a strange object

covered with fur which breaks your heart."

 

When I have a story, I feel as if I have been given something to carry. The

longer I work on the story, the more aware I am that my number one job is Not

To Drop It. I think of writing as running (okay, walking) down a dark road, holding

this mysterious thing out in front of me, thinking: oh man, please don't let me trip.

Sometimes, the story glows and this makes it easier to find my way down the

road. And sometimes, I am aware of the story as something warm in my arms, a

strange object covered in fur. Those days, the days of light and warmth are gifts.

Yesterday was one of those days. I wish I had a picture of what that feels like,

but I don't. In any case, that's the news from here.