Spring Lit Fest Stops My Heart

I walked home in a drizzle with my lit fest friend filled with a sense of hope after listening to the voracious drawl of Dorothy Allison tell us things about writing and being a writer like, " My moma loved terrible books. She consumed them like candy." She told us the airplane version of why she became a writer, "My career as a waitress wasn't going that well."

Allison went on to say, "Why am I a writer? Because I have a debt. Because a book saved my life." She followed this with a quote from Nabokov about wanting to write to produce, "that little sob in the spine of the artist/reader." My heart quivered with recognition as I thought, Oh yes, that's a worthy place to aim for. Then Allison said, "Fuck that. I want to stop your heart." 

I left with a book or two to read,  hoping my heart will stop.

I walked home in a drizzle with my lit fest friend filled with a sense of hope after listening to the voracious drawl of Dorothy Allison tell us things about writing and being a writer like, " My moma loved terrible books. She consumed them like candy." She told us the airplane version of why she became a writer, "My career as a waitress wasn't going that well."

Allison went on to say, "Why am I a writer? Because I have a debt. Because a book saved my life." She followed this with a quote from Nabokov about wanting to write to produce, "that little sob in the spine of the artist/reader." My heart quivered with recognition as I thought, Oh yes, that's a worthy place to aim for. Then Allison said, "Fuck that. I want to stop your heart." 

I left with a book or two to read,  hoping my heart will stop.