such a fine line between homage and plagiarismA Poem by Philip GaberThey say writers are shameless sons-of-b*****s, filled with hubris. Or maybe it was just Norman Mailer, who used to say that. I dunno. Anyway, I got a little lazy. My non-tenured writing instructor was telling me I needed to lie down 1000 words a day, 5 days a week. I was stuck. I’d taken a job at a drive-through cleaners making two hundred bucks a week, and I was just too damn tired to sit down at the old Underwood and commit that kind of language to the page. So I ended up taking a tape recorder to the streets with me. I’d record whatever I could. Let the tape roll. Arguments, diatribes, monologues, didacticism, laughter, tears, rambling, mumbling, cursing, petitioning, prayers, proposals, seductions, propositions, levity, brevity, serenity, insanity. I was after something I couldn’t create or recreate it. I was tired of my voice on the page; it sounded too much like my father and every other ne’er-do-well I knew. It had become hoarse, course, full of remorse, everything I’d been fighting against since my undergraduate days at Ball State University, where I’d won a Dave Letterman scholarship for maintaining a C average. What my writing teacher didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. So I’d go to Washington Square Park in New York City, sit under a tree, light a Marlboro, turn on the recorder, and watch poverty and art f*****g in public again.
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2 Reviews Added on June 12, 2024 Last Updated on June 12, 2024 AuthorPhilip GaberCharlotte, NCAboutI hate writing biographies. I was one of those kids who rode a banana seat bike and watched Saturday morning cartoons and Soul Train. But my mother would never buy any of those sugary cereals for us k.. more..Writing
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