…is to write is to write. ~ Gertrude Stein
Two years ago, the author, a long-time paper-purchaser and occasional writer of parodies, poems, stories, book reviews, essays, and scholarly articles, decided to morph into a novelist.
She is still morphing.
One night, while not writing what she was supposed to be writing, she ran across Gertrude Stein's definition of writing. It seemed a perfect title for a blog about writing, so the next morning, she set this one up.
(Her other blog, intended to be eclectic, has become, at least at times, catcentric.)
to write is to write is to write explores what happens before, during, and after "the daily miracle"* that Stein said comes to all writers.
And if a cat strays in from time to time, so be it.
* For the complete quotation, see About Kathy, where the author refrains from referring to herself in third person.
Tag Archives: poetry
For Maryellen ~ The Soul selects her own Society — Then — shuts the Door — To her divine Majority — Present no more — Unmoved — she notes the Chariots — pausing — At her low Gate — Unmoved … Continue reading
For my mother born in Martindale, Texas, 1917 In all her seventy-five years, she never grew old. * The courage that my mother had Went with her, and is with her still: Rock from New England quarried; Now granite in a granite hill. The golden … Continue reading
I spent the evening at a performance of Gilbert and Sullivan’s Patience or, Bunthorne’s Bride and feel compelled to share. Patience is the story of two poets–Reginald Bunthorne, an idyllic poet; and Archibald Grosvenor, a fleshly poet–both of whom love Patience, the milkmaid. … Continue reading
“Had he and I but met By some old ancient inn, We should have set us down to wet Right many a nipperkin! “But ranged as infantry, And staring face to face, I shot at him and he at me, … Continue reading
In Flanders Fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the dead. Short years ago We … Continue reading
After yesterday waiting for the plumber, plus today waiting for the doctor, plus anticipation of tomorrow again waiting for the plumber, I have run out of steam. I therefore turn the blog over to the greatest American poet. * * … Continue reading
Out on the porch it’s August, But it’s cool inside and dim, one bulb suspending from a cord. A slim brunette holding a bottle of Royal Crown Cola Smiles down from above the mirror. In the back, where it’s dark … Continue reading
I taste a liquor never brewed, From tankards scooped in pearl; Not all the vats upon the Rhine Yield such an alcohol! Inebriate of air am I, And debauchee of dew, Reeling, through endless summer days, From inns of molten … Continue reading
I thank you God for this most amazing day, for the leaping greenly spirits of trees, and for the blue dream of sky and for everything which is natural, which is infinite, which is yes. ~ e. e. cummings ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ … Continue reading
Having much to do, including catching up with these posts, I welcome today’s guest blogger, Emily Dickinson. Image via Wikipedia Whenever anything is done for the first time, it releases a little demon. ~ E.D.