It just so happened that it was my turn to workshop in both poetry and fiction today,
and I got the literary shit kicked out of me.
My poem was so tight, the most fucking minimalist shit I could come up with. It was a fucking prose poem. It all hinged on one thing, all striving for one realization, for one moment. And they didn't get it. Well, 80
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but i do know that when i spend a week writing a short script, it usually ends up being shit, and when i do it in two hours, it can turn out pretty ok. so...write more. and literature can also be written in an hour, it doesn't necessarily turn out as mundane fiction.
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I really do not enjoy high vs. low art arguments, after you've heard yourself debate both sides enough times but it becomes pointless. the really outrageous thing is that the people whose opinions I value the least happen to correspond with the people whose stories I liked the least, who also unfortunately correspond with the people who are the most certain they are correct in their sprawling critiques.
but yeah, I can't help feeling a bit like a gambler when diving into a piece--it all too often feels like nothing I do will have any effect on whether people like it or not, and that their opinions are completely arbitrary.
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It's been too long.
Sean.
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yum dum diddily.
...my grandparents sent me the union tribune article on larry zeiger. heh heh.
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..f..
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