a different breed altogether


"Keepers of private notebooks are a different breed altogether, she’d say knowingly, eyeing the stacks of journals overflowing my lap, lonely and resistant rearrangers of things, anxious malcontents, children afflicted apparently at birth with some presentiment of loss."

"Doing what you love allows you to remember so well, to feel so closely how you have loved, that you can forget the space between yourself and the words you draw with. Forget the distance between you and everything, everyone, else. Love becomes transmutable. Freud knew this. Writing can be an effective replacement mechanism—and in its solitude, there is antidote for the deepest loneliness."

“It’s people trying to make sense of a fairly universal experience that most people don’t talk about,” Didion would spit back, as if to say, Yes, well, duh. Didion knows her writing provokes a very personal, often emotional, response from readers. Desperate, even."

"Is remembering, then—is writing—a way to respond to the promising threat of forgetting? A way to figure out what you might actually think about something, without coming to any confining conclusions? A release—or a holding on?"

Lucky Lucy McKeon on meeting Joan Didion.

And I'll forever love this picture, not least of all cause it reminds me of my trip round California deserts in a white Camaro, smoking out the window.

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