Johnny Cash's advice for writers...

In a letter Johnny Cash sent his daughter Roseanne, he urged her:
"Write. Write. Write. And don't care what anyone thinks."
— Johnny Cash (1932 - 2003)

Is there any better advice than that?

a lump in the throat

Frost said, "A poem begins with a lump in the throat; a homesickness or a love-sickness. It is a reaching out toward expression, an effort to find fulfillment. A complete poem is one where an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found the word."

barefoot boy

Blessings on thee, little man,
Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan!
With thy turned-up pantaloons,
And thy merry whistles tunes;
With thy red lip, redder still
Kissed by strawberries on the hill;
With the sunshine on thy face,
Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace:
From my heart I give thee joy—
I was once a barefoot boy!

O, for boyhood's painless play,
Sleep that wakes in laughing day,
Health that mocks the doctor's rules,
Knowledge never learned of schools,

O, for boyhood's time of June,
Crowding years in one brief moon,
When all things I heard or saw
Me, their master, waited for.
I was rich in flowers and trees,
Humming-birds and honey bees;
Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond,
Mine the walnut slopes beyond,
Mine, on bending orchard trees,
Apples of Hesperides!

Cheerily, then, my little man,
Live and laugh, as boyhood can!
Though the flinty slopes be hard,
Stubble-speared the new-mown sward,
Every more shall lead thee through
Fresh baptisms of the dew;
Every evening from thy feet
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat:
All too soon these feet must hide
In the prison cells of pride,
Lose the freedom of the sod,
Like a colt's for work be shod,
Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy,
Ere it passes, barefoot boy!

"The Barefoot Boy" by John Greenleaf Whittier.
1855. Public domain.

Coney Island signs

I love Coney Island--wonderful, old world place with huge boardwalks, old rides, sea side food and cool signs like this one. (the photo: it's a polaroid transfer.)

a nose tour

it's true (if you don't believe me or need more information or want to explore up someone's nose for yourself, click here.)

running fast

"God made me fast. And when I run, I feel His pleasure."
— Eric Liddell (1902-1945)

Gold medal winner in the 400-metre run and a bronze in the 200 metres at the 1924 Olympic Games in Paris and missionary to China and one of my heroes. (A very favorite quote from a very favorite hero in a very favorite movie, Chariots of Fire.)

In fact, since it's the Olympics, NYT's A O Scott just did a video review of the film and it's his critic's choice. To see the clip, click here.

only one way to go: up

Since the Olympics start today... 08/08/08... More on hills and running (and a bit about writing) and what great training they are—The New York Times did a fascinating article on one in particular. Such a hill is it, that the Olympians of all sports train on it. See that thing reaching up in the distance? That's just the halfway mark.

“It’s the one workout where people truly have to face something that is unbeatable,” the speedskater Apolo Ohno said. “It is you against yourself.”

Sounds a bit like writing, to me. Half the battle, as far as I can tell, is getting yourself out of the way to let the story through.

Read more: here.

running and writing: hills

Photo shows Cat Hill. A portion of the park (Central Park) that slopes up hill nastily and half way up there is this glorious cat sculpture looking down at you, ready to pounce on you like you're a mouse. Unfortunately I only ever see this cat when I'm sweating, gasping for air and feel like I might die. (Actually, exactly how a mouse must feel.) They (The Running Experts) say, "Hills are speed work in disguise." And, fortunately—or unfortunately—depending on how you look at it, Central park is full of them (hills, that is—although definitely Running Experts, as well. I often see Bob Glover running in the park). So Cat Hill is speed work—even though you're going the slowest pace ever and it feels like the exact opposite—despite all appearances, you are in fact training to go faster. To run more efficiently. To be a better runner. You're sprinting. You just don't see it. Sometimes you're writing and it is all up hill. But lately I've been thinking. Maybe that's just part of your training regimen, how you're becoming a stronger writer. The hard days are training to go longer, further, faster. The challenges, the uphill days are not obstacles. They are spring boards. They are speed work in disguise. Because the thing that slows you down may just be what makes you faster.