Today I have been reading translations of the French Decadent poet, Arthur Rimbaud. A line from one of his poems struck me: “We know very well/how to waste our lives.” Even as I continue work daily on my writing, I am often seized with the sensation that time is running away from me, quite a bit more quickly than I can catch hold. I feel the need to maintain a strict regime of reading, writing, and study, but never cover quite as much ground as I want to, instead turning aside to tutor or to read period mystery novels. Each day is a constant tension between my desires – the desire to force myself into growth and the desire to lose myself in a movie, a light novel, sleep. These thoughts were exacerbated by the fact that Rimbaud produced all of his major work before he turned twenty-one. I’m already there. Excuse me, I have some work to do. . .


1 Comment »

  1. Rebecca Said:

    Oh, my! How well I can relate. Except on one point, at least, I differ from you: I feel the time I spend writing may also be a waste. Dressmaking is so much more tangible. I know I can make a garment, but can I write a novel? There’s a ready audience for my sewing, but will anyone but you want to read my work? As for producing major work before age twenty-one? Completely overrated!

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