last friday night i had a moment of reflection and realization.  and due to that moment this blog was born.  i'm still struggling with the birthing pains (i can't imagine what birthing democracy would feel like)...

i have looked forward to the new yorker festival every year since i've been in new york for one main reason: zadie smith.  i love her and her writing, but seeing her in person is an amazing experience.  the first time i saw her speak, she gave a lecture on reading and writing, from both the novelists' and critic's point of view, and i avow that it changed the way i look at literature (you can download it from amazon.com, it's called how to fail better or something like that).  unfortunately, no zadie this year.  instead i went to a panel discussion on race and class in american politics, mostly to see cornel west, a personal favorite.  and, despite the overwhelmingly white and unbelievably self-important audience (it IS the new yorker festival after all), the panel was inspiring, not necessarily because novel topics were being discussed, but largely because the panelists were all excellent writers whose talent translated into the spoken word.

there was barbara ehrenrieich, author of nickled and dimed, the aforementioned dr west, as well as a surprisingly eloquent leftist columnist for the wall street journal (who knew that such a thing existed?  i guess after the times hired william kristol, the journal had to follow suit with an ideologically opposed columnist).  these speakers made me think, made me laugh, made me angry, and most of all, made me want to write. 

it's been a long time since i've had to write everyday.  being a graduate student in biochemistry means i get my hands wet a lot (quite literally) but i rarely have to sit down in front of a word processor.  at those rare moments where i am reacquainted with microsoft word, i stumble around for a week, trying desperately to find the paper-writing-machine that was once nicely located in the easily accessible part of my brain.  it makes me miss college, and not in an 'old school' i want to do a beer bong sort of way.  

the written word is important to me.  this is why i read.  and one of the most important people in my life constantly tells me that writing is like any other activity; it is a skill that comes largely through practice, practice, and more practice (unless you're nabokov, in which case you can learn a language and write enduring literature only years later.  i hate nabokov).  so this blog is more for me than anyone else (not that i'm self centered or anything; also i have an annoying habit of injected unnecessary parenthetical statements into sentences.  i'm working on it).  

for those of you who will actually read these posts every now and again, you'll see that i have a couple of favorite writers that i will often cite.  so in that spirit i will end this post with a thought from james baldwin.  in the introduction to his memoir 'notes if a native son' baldwin talks about the importance and difficulty of finding a space for writing.  he ends with,

'i want to be an honest man and a good writer'

it's the simplest of sentences, yet it relates two goals that are terribly difficult to achieve.  lately i don't think i've been working hard enough on either front.  this blog will be an attempt to reverse course, to write honestly about topics that are important to me, to share with you my thoughts, hopes and fears, and hopefully to hear a response or two.  

here's to being an honest man/woman.  and a good writer.

jso