Write english literary essay

Looking back through the last page or two, I see that I have made it appear as though my motives in writing were wholly public-spirited. I don't want to leave that as the final impression. All writers are vain, selfish, and lazy, and at the very bottom of their motives there lies a mystery. Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven on by some demon whom one can neither resist nor understand. For all one knows that demon is simply the same instinct that makes a baby squall for attention. And yet it is also true that one can write nothing readable unless one constantly struggles to efface one's own personality. Good prose is like a windowpane. I cannot say with certainty which of my motives are the strongest, but I know which of them deserve to be followed. And looking back through my work, I see that it is invariably where I lacked a political purpose that I wrote lifeless books and was betrayed into purple passages, sentences without meaning, decorative adjectives and humbug generally.

In the rehab center,
most were not so lucky.
Their night racket echoed
along dark corridors.
Less roar, more low rumble.
Someone in a wheelchair
told me once that people
never look at them eye
to eye. As if downcast
stares will avoid a like
fate. Or perhaps skip past
guilty speculations
about how one arrives
in spaces where points of
view suddenly shift like
earthquake fault lines. When I
go out, cane poised, perhaps
cloak will extend to me
as well. I know the world
will hear me arriving.

Write english literary essay

write english literary essay


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