Tags: Ernest Hemingway, life, literary life, literature, quote
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
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.
Unfortunately, it took me years to learn this. I was brought up to be polite, to give the benefit of the doubt, and to forgive, and I still believe in all those things, but if I’d followed my gut in certain situations I wouldn’t have had some of the pain I experienced in life. You can be nice and still say no, thanks. You can be generous and still have healthy boundaries. You can help others and still practice self-care. You can feel something is off and leave. You don’t need an excuse. You don’t need to give an explanation. Trust your intuition. And it goes the other way too: Society, family, and friends may have strong opinions about matters, and they may even have your best interest in mind, but sometimes breaking free of conventional wisdom is the wisest thing you can do. Sometimes your gut will tell you the risk is worth the reward. Sometimes doing the wild, weird, impractical thing is the right move. Blaze your own path. Follow your dreams. Dance with the whale. Live the life of your dreams, not someone else’s. Take to heart the Greek maxim “Know thyself.”
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