But back to Matt H. The new issue of Cannibal is out:
". . . The egomania and the self-loathing and the rage of the young poet are all qualities that no artist can afford to completely outgrow . . . I agree with Pascal that "one must have deeper motives and judge everything accordingly, but go on talking like an ordinary person." But I also believe that if the work is to survive it is at the height of accomplishment that one must feel one's failure most intimately, in the depths of self-doubt must burn with ambitions fiercest fires. It's not always pretty."
-Christian Wiman
Currently I'm ankle-deep into Norman Mailer's The Spooky Art. Purportedly it's a book on the art of the novel, but the insights into Lit Biz are candid:
"I was out of fashion and that was the score; that was all the score; the publishing habits of the past were going to be of no help . . . And so, as the language of sentiment would have it, something broke in me, but I do not know if it was so much a loving heart as a cyst of the weak, the unreal, and the needy, and I was finally open to my anger. I turned within my psyche, I can almost believe, for I felt something shift to murder in me. I finally had the simple sense to understand that if I wanted my work to travel further than others, the life of my talent depended on fighting a little more, and looking for help a little less . . . All I felt then was that I was an outlaw, a psychic outlaw, and I liked it, I liked it a good sight better than trying to be a gentleman . . . and for the first time in my life I knew what it was to make your kicks."
--Norman Mailer
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