So I didn’t forget to do a June documentary review. I am rebelling. I confess I have never been much of a documentary-watcher (did I already confess to that before? is this old news?). It’s true – sometimes I do not love the Real World. (Except I do love this Real World). I don’t listen to talk radio. Not even NPR really. I have enough voices in my head talking at me, I don’t need extra. I have failed numerous times listening to podcasts – the only ones I love right now are Welcome to Night Vale and The Coode Street Podcast, and oh hey – the former is fiction (or IS IT) and the latter is (pretty much) about fiction. As I’ve said, watching/reading/listening to News makes me barf in despair. So – don’t worry, I just need a bit of anarchy and she-lives-in-her-own-world right now and then maybe I’ll do a double feature documentary review later this month. Cuz it’s July! I know this because I am constantly sweating and the garden is growing too fast and threatening to go to seed. Also I just Stand Up Paddleboarded for the first time ever. Summer, huzzah!
I’m looking at these possibilities for July documentaries. (Feel free to post a Comment and vote.)
Dreamcatcher (no, not the horribly ridiculous Stephen King film adaptation) but THIS incredible woman.
The Overnighters Simply because the viewer comments on Netflix are so wildly differing – what the hell is this about? I will see.
Cartel Land Because I just read this review.
Mainly I’ve been reading books like a mother-effer. I am 5 books behind on my Goodreads Reading Challenge but I am gritting my teeth and gonna catch back up. I just read a Jonathan Maberry book in 24 hours. (This is not much of a brag, but still).
I decided to read a book about writing poetry – Richard Hugo’s The Triggering Town – because it’s got a low page count (ha! cheating) and it’s been on my list for a while. AND because I recently attended two separate poetry workshops that varied so astoundingly in their respective teachings that I’m feeling a need for some familiar ground.
I don’t like to be told that poetry should never contain fragments, should always have proper punctuation and complete sentences, should contain exceedingly perfect line breaks. Doesn’t this, Do that, Don’t do this. EXCUSE ME. Rules? Maybe if I’m rocking Terza rima Dante-style (NO. This will never happen). Otherwise…where I’m going I don’t need any rules.
Enter Richard Hugo, whose happy, knowing, conversational book stirs up all kinds of poet-y magical feelings in me. I am enjoying his anecdotes and lessons about “that silly, absurd, maddening, futile, enormously rewarding activity: writing poems.” He says: “I don’t know why we do it. We must be crazy.” Preach, Richard.
Photo of the Tetons from the Bar B C Ranch Road by me.