I even I, am he who knoweth the roads
Through the sky, and the wind thereof is my body.
I have beheld the Lady of Life,
I, even I, who fly with the swallows.
Green and gray is her raiment,
Trailing along the wind.
I, even I, am he who knoweth the roads
Through the sky, and the wind thereof is my body.
“
The idea of narrative or fiction, the idea of creating verisimilitude based on characters and plot situations – completely hokey Victorian notion. The creative writing people are generally, you know, total, total hacks. You know, they are living in another, that are living in some previous century, or living in some previous planet. They’re still involved with this therapeutic, crappy ideology about letting students express their inner selves and these little epiphanies of lyric blubble, you know, I mean, it’s a joke, it’s a terrible joke.
“
Bruce Andrews