In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Singular Sensation.
I was told by editors that my weird auto-didactic style and reference points…basically my lack of a college or journalistic education meant the quirks in my writing hadn’t been bred out of me when I went on to be a full-time writer. I was told that again and again until I was like, oh, perhaps that’s my calling card: I’m a little bit rough around the edges. I do not have this critical framework … I did not come in with anything more than a high school education and an absolute devotion to music and a very sincere desire to give everyone my opinion about everything at all times.
– Jessica Hopper, Jessica Hopper is the author of The First Collection of Criticism by a Living Female Rock Critic, editor of The Pitchfork Review and a legend in her own right.
“A little bit Rough on the edges.” It’s so true, and that’s what I got as comments, sometimes, on my posts. After reading the passage above, it felt like living your own proper experience of broken roads, and the one not taken put aside, like the broken English that not been bred out of you, all the books that you read about writing and editing, reviews and all the rejects, and by putting, time and again, the work on the loom. I still have that very sincere desire to give everyone my opinion about everything at all times. And having the same devotion to music that never faded. And still waiting for that calling…
So, if you like my adoxography*, dare you come back for another Janis Joplin, or may be Joan Didion, by the way,
in respose to The Daily Post’s prompt above: what to tell her, him or them…
I enjoy your blog, thank you for swinging by and dropping a like on my blog
No worries, for the quicks of your writing, just cross them pass on, and go forward
Enjoy your day, and write,write, write even in a dialog that you have right now with your cat, in old English Sheakspeare language, if you can, who cares? Of being flawless and weird, we are all at that, more or less,
as log as he purrs, it’s alright: he showed it to you it’s liked; and it is your first admirer that all that counts.