Bukowski in a Sundress: Confessions from a Writing Life by Kim Addonizio

28110067.jpg– I was a writer who would never be a tenured professor, a throwback writer, the kind who came to conferences and drank too much and committed inappropriate acts with inappropriate people instead of chatting up somebody who might help my career. What career? I couldn’t really connect that word to anything I’d ever wanted as a writer. –

– It is crucial not to win the major award, because then you might feel too great a sense of achievement. Be a finalist, but not a winner. This will keep you forever unsure of the scope of your talent, and you will be able to continue the habits of excruciating self-doubt and misery that stood you in such good stead during the many years you received no recognition at all. –

– What necrophilia is, really, is this: sexual obsession for men who are incapable of having a real relationship because they have no heart in their chest cavity. What they have is an empty socket that will electrocute you if you try to get close and touch it or maybe just point a flashlight that way to see what’s wrong. These men can’t have feelings for anything but girl-on-girl porn, American League baseball, and the thought of the fortune they are going to make when their ship, which is lost at sea and listing badly with several leaks in its rotting hull, finally comes in. –

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