de chungara

The motherland, for me, is in every corner, it's also in the miners, in the peasants, in the people's poverty, their nakedness, their malnutrition, in their pains and their joys. That's the motherland, right? But in school they teach us to sing the national anthem, to parade, and they say that if we refuse to parade we aren't patriotic, and, nevertheless, they never explain our poverty, our misery, our parents' situation, their great sacrifices and their low wages, why a few children have everything and many others have nothing. They never explained that to me in school. (64)

de Chungara, Domitila (with Moema Viezzer). "Let Me Speak!" On Writing: A Process Reader. Ed. Wendy Bishop. Boston: McGraw Hill, 2004. 60-65.

moore

Why write? Where does writing come from? These are questions to ask yourself. They are like: Where does dust come from? Or: Why is there war? Or: If there's a God, then why is my brother now a cripple?

These are questions that you keep in your wallet, like calling cards. These are questions, your creative writing teacher says, that are good to address in your journals but rarely in your fiction. (10)

Moore, Lorrie. "How to Become a Writer." On Writing: A Process Reader. Ed. Wendy Bishop. Boston: McGraw Hill, 2004. 7-12.

moore

First, try to be something, anything else. A movie star/astronaut. A movie star/missionary. A movie star/kindergarten teacher. President of the World. Fail miserably. It is best if you fail at an early age — say, fourteen. Early, critical disillusionment is necessary so that at fifteen you can write a long haiku sequences about thwarted desire. It is a pond, a cherry blossom, a wind brushing against sparrow wing leaving for mountain. Count the syllables. Show it to your mom. She is tough and practical. She has a son in Vietnam and a husband who may be having an affair. She believes in wearing brown because it hides spots. She'll look briefly at your writing, then back up at you with a face blank as a donut. She'll say: "How about emptying the dishwasher?" Look away. Shove the forks in the fork drawer. Accidentally break one of the freebie gas station glasses. This is the required pain and suffering. This is only for starters. (8)

Moore, Lorrie. "How to Become a Writer." On Writing: A Process Reader. Ed. Wendy Bishop. Boston: McGraw Hill, 2004. 7-12.

hodgman

Though the hoboes are gone, there are those who still admire their lifestyle of unworried rambling and crusty pants. I do not understand these people and I cannot stop them. But I can insist that if you do decide to take to the rails, you should choose for yourself a proper hobo moniker. Here are seven hundred more known historical hoboes whose names you can steal. You should not feel guilty about this. If they were still at large, they would steal your name without hesitation. If they could manage it, they'd steal your reflection from the mirror and sell it to the still surface of a moonlit pond. And then they would drain the pond out of spite.

If you wish, you may append your hobo name with "Jr," "II," or "fils," after a custom of the more honorable hoboes, bearing in mind that the more honorable hoboes tended to be strangled on sight. (46)

Hodgman, John. "Best American Things to Know about Hoboes." excerpt from The Areas of My Expertise. The Best American Nonrequired Reading 2006. Ed. Dave Eggers. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2006. 43-54.