faulk you
I am almost finished with Light in August. It is good. Oprah just proclaimed Faulkner’s big three as her pick for her book club. Oprah, honey, I love ya.
What does it mean that I just said “Oprah, honey,?” I say these things and I know they are part of some sort of real, already talked about, discussion of power dynamics. I called her honey without knowing her. She is African American, I am white. I am chumming her for picking something I like. “I know part of her: I have no idea who she is.”
This kind of thing happens a lot and I don’t know what to do next. I want to know what thread I am following, what historical discussion am I sort of aligning myself with. I can’t just google that shit. I can ask someone smarter than me, but that always is too nerve wracking for me.
What ends up happening is two months later I read something that has something to do with it and I think, “Wow. That’s awesome. I’m somewhat smart.” I then want to make notes of it and have, for some time now, wanted to write some sort of story about a kid who, as a late bloomer, comes to know all the historical movements (romanticism, etc.) through experience and then realize his own naiveté. I realize, however, that there is that part of me that turned away from the process of finding out about the historical dialogue when I first recognized it. Like now.
This is quite, you know, frustrating.
What does it mean that I just said “Oprah, honey,?” I say these things and I know they are part of some sort of real, already talked about, discussion of power dynamics. I called her honey without knowing her. She is African American, I am white. I am chumming her for picking something I like. “I know part of her: I have no idea who she is.”
This kind of thing happens a lot and I don’t know what to do next. I want to know what thread I am following, what historical discussion am I sort of aligning myself with. I can’t just google that shit. I can ask someone smarter than me, but that always is too nerve wracking for me.
What ends up happening is two months later I read something that has something to do with it and I think, “Wow. That’s awesome. I’m somewhat smart.” I then want to make notes of it and have, for some time now, wanted to write some sort of story about a kid who, as a late bloomer, comes to know all the historical movements (romanticism, etc.) through experience and then realize his own naiveté. I realize, however, that there is that part of me that turned away from the process of finding out about the historical dialogue when I first recognized it. Like now.
This is quite, you know, frustrating.