I talked with Jamaica Kincaid, a prolific writer who my teacher lUUURves, at length over at some anitbellum south mansion called Ivy Hall. I always enjoy hearing what writers that have written so much have to say, because I feel like I can through out a lame duck topic and they can turn into something of great interest (at least for me).
I felt as if I were an outsider. Everyone had seemed to be fans of her work and read some of her books. I had not. They made references to allusions in her writings and voiced opinions about the work being alluded to. I didn't and felt lesser for it. I love William Wordsworth but I failed to connect with her when it came to that reference as well, as I had not memorized 'Dandelions' a poem that persuaded her life.
I enjoyed my time there. She seemed to gravitate to talking with me (must be because I sat upfront hyuck-hyuck-hyuck) and I found it delightful that she reverberated the same lessons that college was trying to pound into my head. She dropped out of school to pursue a writing career (you don't know what you will eventually do, whether that entails your majors or your careers) and she says to write for yourself after telling us that when she first went to the New Yorker she tried to write prose that made her elder whiter peers pause in awe (eventually a writer learns to write for him/herself).
I wish more writers like her came through Atlanta to show us what fruits are in store for those that continue down path of composition.
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