November 11, 2020
  formerly verbose preface to a dialogue relative to Linda
  
 
 

This page was a long preface to a linked dialogue about our relationship, “writing truthfully,” Nov. 7. That “writing...” page itself indicated that this page “will go away.” Actually, this page is now archival, but won’t go away. The “writing...” page first indicated that it would be updated Nov. 21, but I’m turning it into a blog format this week, like below (mid-page to the end). That’s what I’ll be doing, time to time, with the other page.

The interview format there was a truthful (at times irreverent) narrative scaffold for later personalizing my conceptual interest in autobiography, beyond my own life which includes that interest, thereby narrating about a life that is interested in that kind of narrating
(a common literary feature, such that the narrating is characterological).

Also, the stage of life now called “emerging adulthood” interests me immensely. The stage wasn’t a discrete research area several decades ago. Even adolescence wasn’t distinguished within childhood until the early 20th century (noted in my “individuation of capability...” section of this discussion, mid-page).

Thinking and writing about college-through-mid-20s years—about mine in relation with conceptual/literary and others’ empirical work—is fun. Autobiographical writing is be-coming part of that.

You were an important part of my years. Getting more detailed about that is important
as well as fun.

I’ve deleted ambivalences here on Nov. 6 about linking to what I finally shared. I’m keeping other comments that followed up October’s “Meanwhile” note to you (now antedated).

As you saw earlier (maybe), I deal below with not knowing whether or not you’re here by writing about you instead, for another audience (so, “you” becomes a another reader of this page). This archival page will be useful later. The earlier-linked page is wholly about you
(no longer to you) and about me (characterizing myself). But the interview format isn’t generally interesting to me for autobiographical writing, though it’s good for storying.


November 7, 9:30 A.M.
I awoke this morning to girls yelling and screaming in the sorority house nearby, as if
some late-night party was happening. When I accessed the news, I understood. I got teary-eyed while making coffee. I’m almost crying. I’m such a girl. A band of boys at a fraternity are singing in harmony, like some sports team. Cars passing on the street are honking.

November 6
Here is my politics in a nutshell: two comments at Paul Krugman’s NYTimes article today.

[...]

Commonly in creative work, one gets to a point of just wanting to get the thing done
so she can move on to something else. If it’s later displayed, he’s ambivalent about it,
doesn’t want to explain anything, because they’ve moved on to new inspirations, thus
feeling somewhat averse to saying Meaningful things about what’s past.

Nov. 2—4
[...]

I’m kinda sorry I sent a post card to her in October, but that was apt, relative to the political situation two weeks ago: I was enthused about prospects for a Senate flip in Kentucky (fantasy—but if I’d stayed in Kentucky, McConnell wouldn’t have been in the Senate this century); and I was interested in Judge Barrett’s candidacy. That made me think of Linda, appellate attorney.

But “update”? I’m sick of the electoral season. Yet, my interest in autobiography—which
the “writing…” expresses (relative to Linda)—made the idea of a later update appealing, relative to a fantasy that Linda was interested earlier, which I had no good reason to have.

I could retain the fantasy, thus worry now about hurting her feelings unintentionally with “writing….” I don’t want to hurt her feelings, of course. And I don’t have reason to believe
that I unwittingly can. She may not be alive—a horrible thought for me, but really I don’t know. Besides, to me she was basically always funny in a loving sense of that. If I seem in “writing…” at times making fun of our relationship, it’s because I loved those times.

But I was discarded by her decades ago (funny story). Why not believe she discarded my card last month?

Anyway, so what? My past is trivial, except to me and you. Autobiographical interest is relatively marginal to, say, advancing intelligent life with humanity. (I did all of “writing truthfully” before election day.) Everybody’s past is trivial to most others, in the large scheme of things. After all, the planet’s story is so much that lives are disposable, forgettable, or never known, like flowers in some unseen field.

But you’ll enjoy what I’ve done.

OK, so you wanna know who Linda was. I can’t say. I can begin: no dismissiveness, just autobiographical pleasure writing truthfully [link deleted].

gary

November 11
I presume you already know that link. Again, contact is easy.