This week:


flowers, poetry prompts, thrift store visits, new books and journal issues in the mail.

Also, a house I can’t seem to keep ordered or clean to save my life, restless children, pent up on rainy day after rainy day, and overtime for the hubby.

Words slide in, get folded up in, fall out of all the myriad interactions and tasks. Written words. They always appear, are suggested, or remembered at least expected moments.


Like the words of Oscar Wilde, who once said that good writers borrow and great writers steal.

My thoughts are:

I wonder if Wilde realized that it is actually impossible to “steal” another’s work (short of actually plagiarizing it, obviously), meaning that once a writer goes about trying to do what another writer has done, his individual talent and impulses and experiences and what have you kick in and what is produced is, inevitable, different. Original. A sort of subconscious dismissal and adoption happens in the act of writing, even though intentionally, you are “taking” another’s cues.

Jim Jarmusch sad a similar thing about originality and his quote is included in this great blog post by Austin Kleon. Check it out.

Is there nothing new under the sun? Write and see.




2 thoughts on “Stealing

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