The Writer's Notebook

“A writer’s notebook is not a diary. Writers react. Writers need a place to record these reactions. That’s what a writer’s notebook is for. It gives you a place to write down what makes you angry or sad or amazed, to write down what you noticed and don’t want to forget. A writer’s notebook gives you a place to live like a writer.” - Ralph Fletcher

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To see gathered here together this great body of human beauty and fineness and nobleness is to realize what glorious humans have already existed, do exist, and will continue increasingly to exist until all the world beautiful be made over in their image. We know how gods are made. Comes now the time to make a world.

Jack London

(Source: kindle.amazon.com)

# Protest

# Literature

And if some of the things seem to the reader the mere unchaining of furies, I would say, let him not blame the faithful anthologist, let him not blame even the writer—let him blame himself, who has acquiesced in the existence of conditions which have driven his fellow-men to the extremes of madness and despair.

Upton Sinclair

(Source: kindle.amazon.com)

# Protest

# Literature

Umbrellas in Portugal

“When you get out of bed, your scent lingers on the 500-count Egyptian cotton. As soon as I hear you step into the shower, I roll over and stuff my face into your pillow. It’s a musky combination of Old Spice and Giorgio Armani. Sometimes I cry giant, happy tears that slide down my cheeks and flop onto my clavicle. That smell is a reminder of how you brought me back to life.” -Becky Tsaros Dickson

# Poet

# Writer

# Literature

When I first started blogging, my best friend made a flyer for me. #poet

We should be conscious of the irreducible complexity of each life the war touched.

Christian Appy, Working Class War

(Source: uncpress.unc.edu)

The Way of My Working-Class Mom OR My Theory of Poetic Blogging! And Remember: #ows

(Source: charlesbivona.com)

I learned, by bitter experience, to hold my tongue; I learned to sit in silence, and even smile, when actually I was foaming at the mouth. I learned to shake hands and say how do you do to all these innocent-looking friends who were only waiting for me to sit down in order to suck my blood.

Henry Miller

(Source: charlesbivona.com)

I was lonely in a word of things lit up by phosphorescent flashes of cruelty.

Henry Miller

(Source: charlesbivona.com)

In Trouble: a prose #poem

I got in trouble once, in school, for getting a D on some quiz. My teacher, fired years later for abuse, a town scandal, my teacher made me stand next to my desk as she circled, her heals clacking, as she berated, with her witch eyes staring: They said you’re supposed to be so smart, Charlie. So, what’s this? This quiz is just pathetic! When I finally started crying, she turned to my shocked classmates and declared: At least HE cares about his grades! Second Grade was a long year.

via @CharlesBivona

(Source: charlesbivona.com)