Reading more Anne Lamott... well, re-reading, to be exact. I've already read every one of her non-fiction books. Maybe, just maybe, I will one day open up some of her fiction, but right now, I just love HER. I love how she looks at the world, and only want to hear her voice ringing clear and concentrated.
I think [my father] believed that our job, the job of a writer, is not to get up and say, "Tomorrow, in battle, most of you will die..." Instead, a writer must entertain the troops the night before. I think he believed that the best way to entertain the troops is to tell stories, and the ones that they seem to like the best are ones about themselves. You can tell sweet lies or bitter truths, and both seem to help, but it's like Czeslaw Milosz said when he won the Nobel Prize for Literature, "In a room where people unanimously maintain a conspiracy of silence, one word of truth sounds like a pistol shot."
Kind of a weird week, so far. I had an emotional day with my brother on Monday, and an emotional night last night. Silly me... I was working on playlists for a special friend of mine, trying to make a mixture or two of songs that move and inspire me. During the selection process I played some songs that I haven't listened to in awhile due to my inability to appreciate their beauty without blubbering like an idiot. I certainly hope I'm not the only one who crumbles at the sound of certain songs, because then I'd feel more like a fool than I already do. Making mix CDs in one of my most favourite things to do, though. Giving someone a gander at the music I love is like giving them a glimpse right into the core of me. If you've received a CD from me, it means I really, really like you. It means I like you enough to trust you with something so very important to me - music. My music. The music that makes me cry, and sing, and lament, and remember, and dream. Strange to think about it, but I truly am intertwined with the contents of my iPod.