Monday, August 07, 2006

but those are just stories

A few months ago, as I was laying in bed, listening to the npr morning chit-chat, I heard an interview with a professor at this or that college discussing the books he was currently reading. I guess this is a regular feature where we discover new works or rediscover the loveliness of known works through the book shelves of smart and/or famous people.

So the professor is chatting away and the host asks him what he is currently reading and the professor says that he is reading a short story collection to which the host responds, but those are just stories, what about books? not verbatim there, but you get the point.

I should've written a letter in response to the host's response. Just stories?!

Stories are infections that nibble our skin. We pick and pry at the scab that traces the rash that has developed because we can't help but scratch. Stories are the scar.

Back in my upstate New York days, or sometime around there, I began to send writing to my brother, an artist in Minneapolis. To my surprise, he put some of my words into his paintings. Knowing that something I created could in some way add or contribute to something to another person's art continually gets me up and writing. He asks me to send him stories, and sometimes I do. Sometimes he uses them, sometimes he doesn't.

This past weekend I visited a gallery that featured several of his pieces and lo and behold, we're a collaboration!

Visit Eddie's website.

I was just re-reading "Stories in the Worst Way" by Gary Lutz. I find this book amazing. Soul-infusing. A giant scar across my abdomen. You are entitled to your own opinion.

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