I have an uncomplicated relationship to blogging, meaning I’ve decided I don’t like doing it. But instead of leaving this space empty, I’m going to fill it with something that makes me smile every time I read it.
Eudora Welty, New York City, to the Editors, The New Yorker, March 15 1933
Gentlemen,
I suppose you’d be more interested in even a sleight-o’-hand trick than you’d be in an application for a position with your magazine, but as usual you can’t have the thing you want most.
I am 23 years old, six weeks on the loose in N.Y. However, I was a New Yorker for a whole year in 1930-31 while attending advertising classes in Columbia’s School of Business. Actually I am a Southerner, from Mississippi, the nation’s most backward state. Ramifications include Walter H. Page, who, unluckily for me, is no longer connected with Doubleday-Page, which is no longer Doubleday-Page, even. I have a B.A. (’29) from the University of Wisconsin, where I majored in English without a care in the world. For the last eighteen months, I was languishing in my own office in a radio station in Jackson, Miss., writing continuities, dramas, mule feed advertisements, Santa Claus talks, and life insurance playlets; now I have given that up.
As to what I might do for you–I have seen an untoward amount of picture galleries and 15c movies lately, and could review them with my old prosperous detachment, I think; in fact, I recently coined a general word for Matisse’s pictures after seeing his latest at the Marie Harriman: concubineapple. That shows you how my mind works–quick, and away from the point. I read simply voraciously, and can drum up an opinion afterwards.
Since I have bought an India print, and a large number of phonograph records from a Mr. Nussbaum, who picks them up, and a Cezanne Bathers one-inch long (that shows you I’ve read e.e. cummings, I hope), I am anxious to have an apartment, not to mention a small portable phonograph. How I would like to work for you! A little paragraph each morning–a little paragraph each night, if you can’t hire me from daylight to dark, although I would work like a slave. I can also draw like Mr. Thurber, in case he goes off the deep end. I have studied flower painting.
There is no telling where I may apply if you turn me down; I realize this will not please you, but consider my other alternative: the University of North Carolina offers for $12 to let me dance in Vachel Lindsay’s Congo. I congo on. Repeating that I am a hard worker.
Miss you none the less. Blog or blog not. Keep writing.
Mike
I’m trying, Mike. I will.
I just read your essay “Now That Books Mean Nothing,” so beautifully, painfully, and honestly written. I don’t know you at all, but I’ll be thinking about you all day today because of that essay and wishing you the very best. I won’t recommend a book; instead, try all the old re-runs of “Law & Order” and “Law & Order: SUV” if you ever lack for something to watch. The re-runs are broadcast over and over and you’ll never be without something to watch. Or, just watch whatever you feel like, whenever you feel like it. You’re a lovely person. No one can write like you do unless they’re a lovely person. And I know one day soon, you will feel just as lovely as you really are.
Thank you, Susan. I really appreciate that a lot. And you’re right: I think “Law & Order” is an excellent suggestion.
I’ve just read your piece in the Morning News where I got through longreads.com. My heart goes out to you as you heal from a life-changing surgery. Being Polish and a fan of Milosz’s poetry like you, there is something I have to recommend. One talented Polish contemporary jazz singer Aga Zaryan released an album featuring a couple of his poems. it’s callled A Book of Luminous Things and you can find bits and pieces on YouTube, e.g. A Parable Of The Poppy Seed (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bDasLPl4r2Y) or This Only (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H-CW2ovWg2Y). Good luck with everything.
Thank you, Michal. I am headed to YouTube now, these links in hand.
I just found you from your essay on The Morning News (via the browser). It is a wonderful piece of writing. As a cancer survivor (different kind) anxiety has become my constant companion. After reading your essay I understood why I have a hard time getting into long form reading (yours excluded
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As for TV watching… I watched “Brothers and Sisters” (netflix streaming) when I was recuperating. Now (no longer in recuperation) I am into “Mad men” (watch one episode every evening). I would also recommend “Flame trees of Thika” (netflix dvd, original BBC) to be taken to an entirely different time and place. “Six feet under” is good too.
Best wishes for your recovery.
Thank you for reading and for taking the time to write. I do love “Mad Men” and I will certainly give “Brothers and Sisters” a go on your suggestion. And my own best wishes for your continued health!
I empathize deeply on not reading. I was a ‘real reader’ all my life until it just kinda stopped. People just wouldn’t believe me when I told them that I wasn’t reading anymore; it didn’t compute for them. I found out that I preferred listening to some podcasts and became a fan of online TV series (I’m an expert now). It took a few years for me to stop feeling insecure about not reading and refusing to take books people insisted on lending to me. I felt like I had to remind people I wasn’t stupid. I saw that reading had kept me from really experiencing life–I used to read about other people experiencing life. It reminded me of a wedding I went to where it seemed that it was all about posing for photos. (I used to take a lot of photos too, that fell by the wayside before the reading.) I have been on facebook for years now and am constantly puzzled by others’ apparent guilt at how much time they spend on it. I find it an effective way to stay in touch with friends. I’ve developed friendships on facebook. I subscribe to people and publications which interest me–hence reading your article. Reading can be a way to anesthetize and isolate you from life. When life forces you to feel and really live in your body, reading seems a pale reflection of life. You’re really living now; this is being alive.
I’m glad the piece struck a chord with you, Nichola. I am not sure whether I agree with your sentiment that not reading means I’m now living, but I do think that we each need to find a way to live most fully and that that is an entirely individual process and set of decisions.
Loved your piece on The Morning News. Felt very close to it. I share much of what you express. Please keep writing.
Thanks too for sharing the Eudora Welty letter. Wonderful!
Thank you, Josh!
Also just read your piece about not reading – reached via Poetry Found on twitter. It resonated because I identify as a reader, a “book person.” And yet there are times when I can’t read.
After a miscarriage I couldn’t read. I sat in my bathrobe and watched the Cartoon Channel and Nickelodeon and TCM for two weeks before I got back into my real self. When I had double pneumonia and nearly died, I couldn’t read for a couple months afterward…recovery was slow, and reading was hard. It literally required too much energy; my body needed all my energy to heal.
I think this is what is happening to you. I wouldn’t assume you will never want to read again. Likely you will. One can’t be sure, but after a major insult to your body such as you have experienced, energy must go to healing the body. The brain just isn’t getting as much as it usually does.
By the way, I’m heading over to your piece on visiting Monticello ‘again and again.” I identify with that, too; until I was nearly 7, my family lived in Staunton, and made repeated visits to Monticello with visiting friends. One parent would go with the friends and the other would wait outside with me, to save money. We were there so often, the 3 of us, that Monticello gave my family a year’s free passes so we could all go through. Ten years ago I got to introduce my Texan husband to Monticello. I look forward to my next visit.
Give yourself some slack; this too shall pass, and you can move back to Brooklyn, or not. You do not need to decide now. Just heal.
And thank you for a lovely piece of writing.
Thank you, Cheryl. So much. You just made me a little teary. I hope you enjoyed the Monticello piece and that your next visit is not too far away. I find Monticello is just fascinating, fascinating, fascinating.
Congo On… is now official jargon… One of the best I ve read!