thank god it's friday. er, monday. er...
Sep. 5th, 2005 10:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7Well, whatever. My work week is over. This week I've sort of had my spare time sucked up in reading the journal of New Orleans writer Poppy Z. Brite, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
docbrite. She hasn't updated much since Katrina forced her to evacuate (leaving behind almost all her worldly possessions, and almost all of her pets, most of whom are probably dead or fled by now, much to the devastation of all who knew said pets and her relationship with them). I know almost nothing about New Orleans, and knew next to nothing about Poppy Z. Brite, but the entries on the page I viewed were interesting enough that I clicked over to check out some of her earlier ones-- and have become as absorbed in reading the journal as I would be were I reading a novel. I still haven't read any of her books or stories, but I have spent three days reading her blog. I don't know why, but besides the familiar tone (she whines about writing in a way I understand very well), and a certain sense of identification (although not exactly) with her on certain political and gender issues, there's also something beautiful and horrible in reading about her obvious love for her native city.
Take this entry, for example:
Also heartbreaking is the Places page of her website, showing all the places where her characters hang out or where events take place.
What will happen to New Orleans? I find I can't muster any strength to puzzle through the news and find out what the hell actually happened (or is happening, for that matter); discussions with customers at the bar left me near-tears enough times today. But I can't stop that painful burning-blinking manoever when I think about it. It's been lovely to immerse myself in PZB's blog, but I'm getting closer to up-to-date and I'm eventually going to have to face the present again.
In other news, I have tomorrow off, and absolutely need to get some writing done. We'll see if it happens.
docbrite. She hasn't updated much since Katrina forced her to evacuate (leaving behind almost all her worldly possessions, and almost all of her pets, most of whom are probably dead or fled by now, much to the devastation of all who knew said pets and her relationship with them). I know almost nothing about New Orleans, and knew next to nothing about Poppy Z. Brite, but the entries on the page I viewed were interesting enough that I clicked over to check out some of her earlier ones-- and have become as absorbed in reading the journal as I would be were I reading a novel. I still haven't read any of her books or stories, but I have spent three days reading her blog. I don't know why, but besides the familiar tone (she whines about writing in a way I understand very well), and a certain sense of identification (although not exactly) with her on certain political and gender issues, there's also something beautiful and horrible in reading about her obvious love for her native city. Take this entry, for example:
Harry is a fabulous raconteur, as all criminal attorneys should be, but I think I spent most of the dinner nodding and smiling vaguely; it had been a long, full day of the sort it would be impossible to have anywhere else in the world.
Also heartbreaking is the Places page of her website, showing all the places where her characters hang out or where events take place.
What will happen to New Orleans? I find I can't muster any strength to puzzle through the news and find out what the hell actually happened (or is happening, for that matter); discussions with customers at the bar left me near-tears enough times today. But I can't stop that painful burning-blinking manoever when I think about it. It's been lovely to immerse myself in PZB's blog, but I'm getting closer to up-to-date and I'm eventually going to have to face the present again.
In other news, I have tomorrow off, and absolutely need to get some writing done. We'll see if it happens.
