A wedding at the desert
以下这段话，说的不只是写作，所有你在做的事都是这样。当时读完的时候只想说，太棒了。特别流畅，重新敲了一遍，依然觉得如此，把要说的都说了。我们大多数人都不会给这个世界留下什么，但是我们曾经闪耀过，虽然可能只有自己知道。想着最近的空难，如果真的有幸存者，那他只能靠自己了，没有人知道，就只是想一想那种孤独感，就已经让我不知所措了。我们摆脱不了渴望与人沟通，渴望得到别人的爱，这一生还有点活头，是因为我们还能彼此擦肩，问个好之类的，但你还是一个人得一个人飞行。 如果我们都以孤岛的态度去生活，是不是能带来不一样的专注？
没事的时候，沮丧的时候都可以拿出来读一读。
摘自《bird by bird》最后一章
Even if only the people in your writing group read your memoirs or stories or novel, even if you only wrote your story so that one day your children would know what life was like when you were a child and you knew the name of every dog in town-still, to have written your version is an honorable thing to have done. Against all odds, you have put it down on paper, so that it won't be lost. And who knows? Maybe what you've written will help others, will be a small part of the solution. You don't even have to know how or in what way, but if you are writing the clearest, truest word you can find and doing the best you can to understand and communicate, this will shine on paper like its own little lighthouse. Lighthouse don't go running all over an island looking for boats to save; they just stand there shining.
You simply keep putting down one dam word after the other, as you hear them, as they come to you. You can either set brick as a laborer or as an artist. You can make the work a chore, or you can have a good time. You can do it the way you used to clear the dinner dishes when you were thirteen, or you can do it as a Japanese person would perform a tea ceremony, with a level of concentration and care in which you can lose yourself, and so in which you can find yourself.
Sometimes, no matter how screwed up things seem, I feel like we are all at a wedding. But you can't just come out and say, we are at a wedding. Have some cake! You need to create a world into which we can enter, a world where we can see this. There was an old desert dog in a comic strip yesterday, sitting with his back against a cactus, writing a letter to his brother that said: at night the sun goes down, and the stars come out; and then in the morning the sun comes up again. it's so exciting to live in the desert." That's the wedding, right? To participate requires self-discipline and trust and courage, because this business of becoming conscious, of being a writer, is ultimately about asking yourself, as my friend Dale puts it, How alive am I willing to be?
没事的时候，沮丧的时候都可以拿出来读一读。
摘自《bird by bird》最后一章
Even if only the people in your writing group read your memoirs or stories or novel, even if you only wrote your story so that one day your children would know what life was like when you were a child and you knew the name of every dog in town-still, to have written your version is an honorable thing to have done. Against all odds, you have put it down on paper, so that it won't be lost. And who knows? Maybe what you've written will help others, will be a small part of the solution. You don't even have to know how or in what way, but if you are writing the clearest, truest word you can find and doing the best you can to understand and communicate, this will shine on paper like its own little lighthouse. Lighthouse don't go running all over an island looking for boats to save; they just stand there shining.
You simply keep putting down one dam word after the other, as you hear them, as they come to you. You can either set brick as a laborer or as an artist. You can make the work a chore, or you can have a good time. You can do it the way you used to clear the dinner dishes when you were thirteen, or you can do it as a Japanese person would perform a tea ceremony, with a level of concentration and care in which you can lose yourself, and so in which you can find yourself.
Sometimes, no matter how screwed up things seem, I feel like we are all at a wedding. But you can't just come out and say, we are at a wedding. Have some cake! You need to create a world into which we can enter, a world where we can see this. There was an old desert dog in a comic strip yesterday, sitting with his back against a cactus, writing a letter to his brother that said: at night the sun goes down, and the stars come out; and then in the morning the sun comes up again. it's so exciting to live in the desert." That's the wedding, right? To participate requires self-discipline and trust and courage, because this business of becoming conscious, of being a writer, is ultimately about asking yourself, as my friend Dale puts it, How alive am I willing to be?
