how do you work?

How do you work? Do you make a lot of corrections, and of what type? Ann Goldstein, translator, US

The decisive point for me is to arrive, starting from nothing, at a dense, chaotic draft. The work on the draft is gruelling. It takes a lot of energy to get a text with a beginning, an end, and its own crowded vitality. It’s a slow approach, like tailing a life form that has no defined physiognomy. Occasionally I can keep rolling along, even without rereading, but that’s rare. More often I advance by a few lines every day, writing and rewriting. Frequently I fall out of love and put it all aside. 

But that painful condition I will ignore for now. I want to tell you instead, cara Ann, that only when this preliminary labour has had good results does the true pleasure of writing begin for me. I start again from the beginning. I remove entire sections, I rewrite a lot, I change the direction and even the nature of the characters, I add parts that, only now that there’s a text, come to mind and seem necessary, I develop episodes that were barely alluded to, I change the chronology of certain events, I very often retrieve pages that were discarded – early, longer, perhaps uglier, but more immediate versions. It’s a job that I do alone, I wouldn’t share it with anyone. 

At a certain point, however, I need attentive readers, but readers who will focus only on my carelessness: mistakes in chronology, repetitions, incomprehensible formulations. I fear suggestions that tend to normalise the text, such as: don’t say it like that, the punctuation is insufficient, this word doesn’t exist, it’s an incorrect formulation, that’s an ugly solution, this way it’s more beautiful. More beautiful? Editing that’s alert to respect for the current aesthetic canon is dangerous. So is editing that encourages anomalies that are compatible with popular taste. If an editor says: in your text there are good things but we have to work on it, you’re better off withdrawing the manuscript. That first person plural is alarming.

-Elena Ferrante, Guardian, Aug 29

the usual bad time

 “I don’t despair,” he says. “About politics or the disease or whatever. Things have been really, really shitty for ever, actually, in different ways. If you have any sense of history, you know people have frequently been saying: ‘This is the worst time that’s ever been. It’s all going to end in tears. The world’s probably about to explode.’ It’s always been like that. Therefore it always will be like that. Therefore, it isn’t like that actually.

“There’s a sort of narcissism about thinking we’re in some especially bad time. This is the usual bad time.”

-"In Real Life, People Aren't Heroic," The Guardian, Aug 28

book talk

The book group was larger last week, thanks to COVID-19 and Zoom. From my point of view, KW's sister E had especially interesting things to say. I did not agree very often with the two most effusive readers in the group. They do a lot of projecting, psychologically and emotionally. But that's not really the issue, since I'm sure I do a fair amount of projecting. The issue is that their sensibilities are different from mine. They tend to focus exclusively on the characters -- as opposed to genre, plot, narratorial devices, or narrative tone. And they talk about the characters as if they were patients in (need of) therapy.  

However, the conversation helped me figure out what I thought, as conversations so often do. Even though I often miss details until others point them out, I like to think of myself as the Hercule Poirot of book talk--picking away at clues that others have ignored. That's probably because I've been listening to Phoebe Reads a Mystery, and lately Phoebe has been reading an Agatha Christie mystery featuring Hercule Poirot. I usually have to listen to each chapter (or pair of chapters) more than once, because I fall asleep or get distracted by whatever I'm cooking or baking. This repetitive listening has a strangely calming effect. 

realism vs. nominalism

“Where are conscious ideas prior to their becoming conscious?” Rather than closing down the question, the answer—in the unconscious—opens a series of definitions of the unconscious and culminates in the unexpected assertion that “not all that is Ucs. is repressed.” That is, by posing his initial question, Freud is led to a momentous conclusion: there must be something more elementary than external perceptions, and more elementary, too, than the ego that emerges or differentiates itself from that prior instance. Undifferentiated and pre-individual, there must exist a reservoir of libido—of excitation or tension—that is never drained up by the differentiations of the ego that start out from it. Prior to the ego, this elemental instance cannot be repressed and thus can never “return” or express itself, as repressed unconscious material is wont to do.

. . . 

Nominalists hold that there is no unity other than numerical unity, that whatever makes a subject this particular subject makes her so per se; they rigorously deny the existence of universals, which they regard as mere fabrications of mind, and insist that all there is is individual, concrete existence. Freud argues, contrarily, that there is “something” not concrete, differentiated, individual, or actual from which individual existence comes. He names this prior instance “id”—borrowing from Groddeck not only the German term (which is impersonal and general, as in “it rains” or “one assumes”) but also the conviction that the “ego behaves essentially passively” toward it, implying that the ego is able to undergo infinite modulation as long as it remains open to it/id.

-Joan Copjec, "Sexual Difference," Political Concepts: A Critical Lexicon (2012)

hope is a discipline

So on the one hand, I’m not hopeful. Historically, . . . a big dislocation doesn’t usually resolve to the benefit of people without power. It’s not like we got more wealth equality after the ’08 financial crisis.

But on the other hand, I also realize that all the great changes in our society probably seemed impossible on the other side of the change. I think hope is a discipline. Because hope is a fuel that keeps you working. So I think I am hopeful. But I think you wake up every morning and you force yourself to be hopeful.

-Richard Buery, "How White Progressives Undermine School Integration," NYT, Aug 21, 2020

Things have taken a turn for the worse with m+d -- m fell and fractured pelvis and shoulder a week ago Friday. Was it only last weekend? Yes I think that's right. Spent two or three nights in the ER before they got her a room. Had some internal bleeding from the fractures that caused her blood pressure to plunge. Surgery ensued, eventually -- two screws were inserted in her lower back. She was moved to a rehab facility on Wednesday. May be there for six weeks (!). No visitors allowed, because of COVID. 

Meanwhile, d not doing well. Losing his grip on getting dressed, hygiene, and time itself. David is there with him until the end of the month, and then I will be there for a few weeks (maybe?). The idea is to move them to assisted living somewhere outside Chicago. I'm not sure we're going to get that far. It is getting to be the end. But it is better to have a plan. 

Went to see Patricia M today with nb. She is looking really good, and moving quite well. Only a few months younger than m+d. 

focus

I need to struggle more against lassitude. Develop some new good habits that might help me focus. On what? My inner thoughts? The people I know and love? The world around me? All of the above. 

The anxiety can be crushing. I ask myself what it is that I'm anxious about and of course there's no firm answer. But it is helpful to ask the question. 

I want more time but the prospect of having more time makes me anxious. I can't resist it, or stand up to it, so I guess I need to stand *with* anxiety. And doubt. Oftentimes, I interpret my anxiety as self-doubt. 

I feel better today because I slept well. I often wonder if I am addicted to the relief that comes with sleep. The heaviness that I feel when I go to bed on a night after a night of poor sleep, the certainty that I will sink into it. 

I've got Thelonious Monk turned up to drown out some music from outside. I can hear him humming more clearly when the volume is higher.