moods

[bronze_ribbons]

On the one hand:

The times are strange and evil, round us and within us we may see without searching all the signs that hitherto have preceded great revolutions in human history. . . . To those who hope for and work towrads human progress, whether or not they call themselves by the name of Socialists, the outward aspect of the time is full of profound discouragement. . . . Cinder heaps smoulder where there once were beacon fires. Everywhere is re-action triumphant.

-- J. W. Mackail (1900, on William Morris); quoted in Edwardian Occasions (Samuel Hynes, 1972)

On the other hand, I opened a literary journal during lunch yesterday -- and the winner of its poetry prize was the child of a longtime fandom friend. Which goosed me into texting the friend, leading to a lovely bit of catching up.

Another bit I liked from Hynes is his report on E. M. Forster's assessment of his own novels as "good but not great . . . But though he was critical of his own work, he was not self-denigrating. He was certain that he had written good, substantial fiction, and he was frank to admit that he re-read his novels with pleasure."

Comments

[plaid_slytherin]

Another bit I liked from Hynes is his report on E. M. Forster's assessment of his own novels as "good but not great . . . But though he was critical of his own work, he was not self-denigrating. He was certain that he had written good, substantial fiction, and he was frank to admit that he re-read his novels with pleasure."

I like that. It makes me feel a little better about myself in that regard.

[bronze_ribbons]

Not gonna lie, it's been helpful when the brain weasels want to taunt me about comparative lack of talent/popularity/what-have-you. Intellectually/spiritually I know full well that they're bankrupt, but weasels will weasel, and it's sometimes hard not to hate myself for maundering/wibbling instead of working harder.