A word from Bukowski and I

I’m currently reading Charles Bukowski’s On Writing, and am trying to find a tiny bloody passage that I think you might like…if I can just locate it.

Ah here it is, an excerpt regarding the writing of poems, but which can be expanded to writing in general.

“[…] It’s when you begin to lie to yourself in a poem in order to simply make a poem, that you fail. That is why I do not rework poems but let them go at first sitting, because if I have lied originally there’s no use driving the spikes home, and if I haven’t lied, well hell, there’s nothing to worry about. I can read some poems and just sense how they were shaved and riveted and polished together.”

Now, not to plug my pie own hole (or crawl up my own ass, as mentioned above), I coincidentally put a piece together the other day that spoke directly to this. Also outlining a possible path that allows for a reduction in the time spent deliberating on what to publish and whether or not to even publish that.

It’s here I’ll highlight where you ask yourself if your unpublished words will ever see the light of day, or if they will stay in an almost quantum superpositioned state of trash and not.

Clearly you’re an established writer here on Medium, or perhaps not, depending upon how many real people you can dig up, or that wiggle to the surface. With the former in mind I’ve not a leg to stand on, regarding what should or shouldn’t be accepted practice, but I for one would like to see some of this other material — if only just to confirm it’s trashiness.

Perhaps the greatest gift that we can give to each other is a greater understanding of ourselves.

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