This week I had two people cut articles out of the newspaper and give them to me. I find this delightful for many reasons. I will list a few now…
- I love paper.
Much to the chagrin of certain friends, I love words on pulp. I like something physical and real to hold onto. I completely agree that screens are powerful and convenient things, and yet there is something undeniably special about about a story on real physical paper.And newspaper clippings take time. You have to get out a pair of scissors and actually cut the article out of the paper. There’s something intimate about it. Something that makes it seem just a little bit like a gift.
- I love when people think of me.
Like, duh. But it’s worth mentioning. I always feel that slight warmth rise within me when someone has read something or found something that made them think of me. I like that there are things in the world that I’m tied to in this way. It’s an odd and beautiful connection. A part of me is captured in these things–be they words or a scene or a conversation overheard–that my friends experience.
- The clippings themselves.
Are interesting and fun and worth taking out a pair of scissors to cut and share.
Lets talk about them now eh? Unfortunately, I can’t send you all the clippings (they are mine after all and will soon be tacked to walls and filed away in journals and notebooks) but I can link to them because they’re all available online . (Somewhat ironic, considering reason number one above. But like I said, screens are convenient and wonderful.)
25 ways e-readers can’t beat the old-fashioned book
by M. Allen Cunningham
Sent to me by my grandmother with the words, “Maybe you are right!!!” written at the top. The two of us have an ongoing debate about the Kindle vs. the real book. My grandma loves her Kindle. I avoid Amazon whenever possible. Something about this seems backwards.
Dickinson gets inside you, through it can be hard to get inside her house.
by David Biespiel
A short piece also sent to me by my grandmother. I liked this…
Emily Dickinson steers inward, and then by going inward into fancy, mind and spirit, she reveals her spectacular segment of the cosmos.
And thought it was a great way to sum up Dickinson. (You know, if you had to.) And the featured poem was perfect for this time of year…
As imperceptibly as grief
The summer lapsed away, —
Too imperceptible, at last,
To seem like perfidy.
A quietness distilled,
As twilight long begun,
Or Nature, spending with herself
The dusk drew earlier in,
The morning foreign shone,–
A courteous, yet harrowing grace,
As guest who would be gone.
And thus, without a wing,
Or service of a keel,
Our summer made her light escape
Into the beautiful.
I had to look up perfidy. It’s one of those words that I’ve heard before and feel like I should know but I’m usually too lazy to look it up so I’ve never learned it properly. Until now. It means, deceitfulness; untrustworthiness.
Found in Translation
by Michael Cunningham
Left on my desk by my friend Camille. My favorite paragraph…
Here’s a secret. Many novelists, if they are pressed and if they are being honest, will admit that the finished book is a rather rough translation of the book they’d intended to write. It’s one of the heartbreaks of writing fiction. You have, for months or years, been walking around with the idea of a novel in your mind, and in your mind its’ transcendent, it’s brilliantly comic and howlingly tragic, it contains everything you know, and everything you can imagine, about human life on the planet earth. It is vast and mysterious and awe-inspiring. It is a cathedral made of fire.
A cathedral made of fire. What an awesome line.
Newspaper clippings are fun.