Reading Response Week 8

Mark Kramer's "Access" was an interesting read. I was intrigued by his personal involvement with the story - his use of the personal "I." I believe this is one of the first pieces we've read that follows the writer's journey, his own experience as an individual; Kramer is a not simply a guide through the piece, he is a fully-formed part of it, a character the reader is forced to deal with. Interesting.

In the midst of all his information concerning agriculture, economic structure, and Soviet vitality, I was pleased to find Kramer had an engaging voice. His descriptions are very detailed, but it never feels like he's trying too hard. For example -

"Vitaly Karpovich . . . [was] nearing sixty, he had a bit off fair hair remaining, framing tired blue eyes. A brown rumpled suit hung from his thin shoulders . . . his smile came slowly. He had a way of issuing it, first holding back, then relenting. It ended up warm when it finally arrived, which threw off the assumptions I'd been developing about his demeanor. A considerable smile." (Kramer 355).

I wonder how intently Kramer watched him smile; would he stare directly at the man and take notes, or is this something he noticed without much effort? I often wonder, in detailed descriptions like this, how accurate the descriptions are. For all I know, Vitaly never smiled - he hated smiling... but Kramer invented a description so telling that I believe his smile "ended up warm when it finally arrived."

I really enjoyed Orwell's "Why I Write." I always find myself wondering about various writers and their unique motivations. I think every famous/acclaimed/accomplished writer should be required to pen a similar essay. For so many writers, however, there seems to be some kind of inner conflict/issue that compels them to write. I wrote about this in a previous class:

Hemingway, man amongst men, blew his head off with a shot gun. Edgar Allen Poe had a lot of issues; he was found delirious in the streets of Baltimore, Maryland. No one really knows how he died but he certainly had problems. Charlotte Perkins Gilman suffered “exhaustion of the nerves.” She penned the short story, “The Yellow Wallpaper,” a piece illustrating the effects of “temporary nervous depression” – an window into her person. Kafka turned himself into a beetle. His family life was shit; he thought sex was gross and troublesome; he wasn’t comfortable in his own skin; he escaped into his pen and paper; he wrote stories we’ll remember. Coleridge penned “Kubla Khan” after an opium-induced nap. Crazy, depressed, bothered – how many artists were damaged and suffering? How many artists are damaged and suffering? I wonder if that’s what it takes to be a good writer; I think about it all the time. Should I be more crazy? Should I be bothered more often? If that’s what it takes, then I’ll expose myself to more depressing things – not a problem.
I must admit, it was refreshing to read Orwell's version. He might've been a little troubled, but not unusually so. Still, he knew from five or six years old that when he grew up he should be a writer. Who has thoughts like that? I'm sure some people have similar thoughts, and then fail altogether as an author or a producer or an actor... Crazy. I wish I had that kind of direction. I feel like I'm floating - I want to be an accomplished writer, but I don't KNOW I'm going to be an accomplished writer. What if fate plays me different cards?

I do love the way Orwell talks about writing, however. I really like his second paragraph on page 311:

"I wanted to write enormous naturalistic novels with unhappy endings, full of detailed descriptions and arresting similes, and also full of purple passages in which words were used partly for the sake of their sound." (Orwell 311).

Damn. George really knows what he's talking about. He's an artist, a master of the craft . . . "full of purple passages" . . . it's hard to dissect writing like this, but I can feel it. As I read it fills my head with images and immediate understanding, even if I can't express that understanding. That's how I want to write. Guess I have a lot of work to do. But is that kind of flow something you can work for? Even if I work at writing for the rest of my life, I may be able to trick some people into thinking I'm legit, but I'll never be able to convince myself. Sometimes I feel certain people are just blessed with a particular skill. Thank God some of those people - not all, but some - have realized their talent and utilized it efficiently.