The Furious Spinner

It is not actually midnight, but it is mid-night. It's a bit after 3:00 a.m. so I will make no claim at coherence. As you know, I've been writing quite a few essays, and they've been "published" (posted) on Alternet.org and Commondreams.org. I have been getting some interesting letters. So far, my essay "Communication Breakdown" has engendered the most variety of letters. What do I mean by that? If it was daytime, I probably would have rewritten that last sentence. But what I mean is that I've gotten many letters saying "thank you for your essay but..." and then the author of the letter proceeds to tell me I'm wrong because of this, that, or the other. That's not the curious part, however. What's strange is that most of the time the letter writer is reiterating something I said in the essay! So either I did not articulate my thesis well, or people don't read carefully, or both. However, these misunderstandings prove my thesis, unfortunately: we don't communicate well with one another. I think this happens for a variety of reasons, but one of the main reasons is that we don't listen well. I know I don't. I'm working on that. That's one reason I haven't been posting very much. I'm trying to learn to listen instead of talk, talk, talking.

I think another reason I'm getting lot of mail regarding "Communication Breakdown" is because I admitted my failings: I get angry, I have bad thoughts, I am soooo imperfect. These kinds of admissions often trouble readers. When I was publishing my fiction magazine Daughters of Nyx, where Furious Spinner first appeared, I wrote about the incident where I almost hit the teenaged girl (I talk about it in the essay below). One woman wrote and said, "I thought you were above all that." It was meant as a rebuke, I believed. I wrote back and inquired, "Above all what? Getting angry? Having feelings? Being human?"

This time one person wrote and said she couldn't understand how I could mourn the victims in Madrid and then go and rent a movie. That seemed a strange comment to me. This was the same letter where I was screamed at for being a stupid narcissistic imperialistic American. I probably should not have responded, but because the essay was about communication, I tried to communicate. I wrote, "What I have learned...is that there is no value in suffering. Martyrdom and longing
for suffering is religious claptrap that I certainly do not buy into. For me, being able to do ordinary things and to find any joy that I can honors all those who have lived—and died. If we don't feel joy, if we don't love, if we don't dance, then evil has prevailed."

You can link to the essay above, but I'll also post it below, in case you're curious.

I've put some soup on. I've already gotten two stories and one essay ready to send out tonight, plus taken a long bath. Did I say I'm hoping to start a new novel on March 25 (which is also my b-day)? I'm a little nervous. I haven't written a novel in a while. I've been concentrating mostly on nonfiction. I hope I can still do it. I wonder if that doubt ever goes away? It's a strange thing. I don't doubt that I could go into a library and run it, but I still worry about my writing. I've been doing it since I was five years old, so why would it suddenly go away? Because it did once. When I first got sick, I could not write fiction for a couple of years. It was very strange. Gradually it came back, but it was different. I don't know that my abilities as a short story writer ever came back fully.

The toast just dinged. Better go eat.

May you walk in Beauty and Joy. Really. I wish this for all of you. 0 comments

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