i've been attempting to focus on things that i'm actually good at here of late. like writing, for example. but i have to say that it isnt going well. i spent much of the past couple of weeks writing a short story that turned into a novella that chased its tail and wasnt worth a damn. it would appear that nothing really works.
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ferragosto )
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the only real point to writing (or any creating, really) is to try and convey and create experience for someone else. so that connection is really what matters.
well, the other point to writing is to annoy people, of course. but i've done plenty of that lately.
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But seriously, I appreciated this poem because at first I wasn't really sure where it was going, but as I went on, I realized it all made sense, and that sort of unsure-ness was a nice addition to the experience. Not sure if that makes sense, but it was cool. Also, who doesn't like a good wine stain?
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