Tags: Charlotte Bronte, feminism, quote, women writers
Yiasou!
Stephanie Nikolopoulos is a writer, editor, writing teacher, and speaker based in New York City.
She is the coauthor, with Paul Maher Jr., of "Burning Furiously Beautiful: The True Story of Jack Kerouac's 'On the Road.'"
You can email her at stephanie_701 {@} yahoo.com
Literature corrupts your life. It challenges you. It inspires you to think beyond the status quo. It makes you dream. Makes you believe. I read Saul Bellow, and I fed the voice that was tired of defining the day by if I ordered a second cup of coffee by upending my quiet, predictable suburban life and going in search of more. I read Jack Kerouac, and I thought, hey, I can hit the road too, and so I did.
I think I startled the security guard at the Guggenheim the other day because I suddenly stomped my foot and whisper-yelled “yes!” while reading the placard headlined “Pollack’s Vision.” Want to nerd out with me for a minute? I’ve attached a photo of it so you can read it for yourself. It essentially says that for years there was this great mythology that Jackson Pollock spontaneously created “Mural” in an impassioned night of creative vision. Except it wasn’t true! Or at least not fully accurate. Sound familiar? In “Burning Furiously Beautiful,” Paul Maher Jr. and I dispel the myth that Jack Kerouac spontaneously wrote “On the Road” in three weeks at his typewriter. As with Pollock’s abstract expressionist painting, there is some validity to the legend, but it doesn’t tell the complete story. And that does a disservice to both of these thoughtful creators, as well as to artists who may suffer blows to their self-esteem if they can’t replicate the experience in their own creative process. I’m going to be talking about this in my writing workshop next Saturday called Confessionals, Spontaneous Prose, Cut-ups, Jazz–Poetry, and Picture Poems: Writing under the Influence of the Beat Generation, which I’m teaching virtually through Writers in the Mountains. Want to join us? The link in my bio has registration info.
I am bundled up in the fleece I bought for my trip to Sápmi (the Lapland), but my mind is on the fizzy white foam of the Ionian Sea dancing over my bare feet, the deep purple of morning glories wildly climbing fences in the village where my father grew up, the smell of freshly cut grass and hyacinths, the sound of squirrels playing in the branches of the tree that grew outside my balcony in my childhood home in New Jersey, the sourness of unripe apricots because I’m determined to eat them before said squirrels get to them, the buzz of bees lofting too close to my ears, sitting in Central Park and reading delicious novels. What warm memories do you cling to in the bitter doldrums of March?
On the first of March, Greeks tie a braided bracelet of white and red around our wrists to celebrate the start of spring. White symbolizes the pale complexion of our winter skin. The red, though, symbolizes those rosy cheeks we get as we begin to spend more time tending to our gardens, meeting in the open-air cafes of the village square for frappes with friends, and, when it’s warm enough at last, venturing off to the beach.
Kalo mina, dear friends!
I went for a gelato break with my editor friend, and it was like stepping into a Wayne Thiebaud painting. What’s your favorite gelato flavor? Mine is hazelnut.
Twitter Updates
- #FreeAustinTice twitter.com/MarcATice/stat… 6 months ago
- RT @MichaelHyatt: You don’t have to see the end from the beginning. All you have to see is the next step. 7 months ago
- RT @PSLiterary: “You don’t start out writing good stuff. You start out writing crap and thinking it’s good stuff, and then gradually you ge… 9 months ago
- RT @GarySnyderQuote: I am intrigued by the sense that culture itself has a wild edge. As Claude Levi-Strauss remarked years ago, the arts a… 9 months ago
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