Writing Advice

from Bukowski

Beautiful Sunday morning. The temperature hit the high eighties before noon and the sun shone brightly through the Spanish Moss. After gulping down a Bloody Mary and some eggs at my favorite morning spot downtown I came home and retired to the the shadiest spot in my yard. My grass is desperately in need of cutting, and I need to tear up some corners so I could start planting flowers, I’m dreaming of vines covered in Confederate Jasmine, but for now, my corner umbrella underneath hanging moss does the trick.

I poured myself a pint of black coffee over ice, lit a cigar, and spent the morning reading Bukowski. Back in my twenties I had no time for poetry, I had no interest in any of it. Now, rolling into middle age the drunken obscene ramblings of an old pervert from Los Angeles speaks to me.

I came across this poem. It’s about writing. The best writing advice I’ve ever come across.

air and light and time and space

“—you know, I’ve either had a family, a job, something

has always been in the

way

but now

I’ve sold my house, I’ve found this

place, a large studio, you should see the space and

the light

for the first time in my life I’m going to have a place and the time to

create.”

no baby, if you’re going to create

you’re going to create whether you work

16 hours a day in a coal mine

or

you’re going to create in a small room with 3 children

while you’re on

welfare,

you’re going to create with part of your mind and your

body blown

away,

you’re going to create blind

crippled

demented,

you’re going to create with a cat crawling up your

back while

the whole city trembles in earthquake, bombardment,

flood and fire.

baby, air and light and time and space

have nothing to do with it

and don’t create anything

except maybe a longer life to find

new excuses

for.

I think I’m going to take my daughter to the pool, swim a bit, read a bit. Maybe when I get back, I’ll write. We shall see.