Tuesday, November 8, 2011
I talked about the future of young adult literature. I also continued to talk about sentences. Why they matter. How they are crafted. What we put at risk if we, as a nation, a culture, foist only plots upon one another, and not song.
Yesterday on this blog I shared some of my own sentences in the making—a beginning place, a mid place—as well as a reminder of a NaNo contest I am conducting. Last night, at St. Joe's, I read from that same James Wood essay in The New Yorker that I celebrated here not long ago—that lesson in beautiful writing.
Today I mean only to share these few words from a Pablo Neruda poem. These are simple lines, simple words. No pyrotechnics, no self-conscious gloss, no unnecessary intricacies. Good sentences, I am saying, don't have to be complex. But they must always be true.
Only the shadows
of closed houses,
only the forbidden wind
and the moon that shines
on the roof