Oscar night. I had the television on as I worked out and puttered around the place. I did see one movie up for an award after all. Spirited Away was nominated for best full length animated film. And it won. I saw that movie on Thanksgiving. I wish Disney movies were that imaginative. I've seen many Miazaki (sp?) movies and I have loved every one.

Also, I saw Michael Moore win an Oscar for his documentry Columbine, and heard his--can't call it a "thank you speech"--rant on George Bush and the war. My only suprise was how most of the audiance (the celebrities) just sat there. Some cheers, some boos, but otherwise stunned expressions, some smiles. Well, I think they wre trying to keep the war out of the ceremony, except for some innocuous jokes.

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The problem with having e-mail and Internet on my writing computer, and having this journal and reading other online journals (plus reading comment boards) makes good fodder for writing avoidance.

I've read some things in journals and comment boards about writing and art. There was talk about revising old stories and when to let a story go. Talk about how not all stories are worth telling. The same old argument about fast vs. slow writing. There was also talk about sending out a new short story every week.

There seems to be a belief there is a seperation of product and art, or more accurately, I think, a belief that art takes time.

I believe the best work comes from the subconcious and if I can learn by craft, internalize what I learn, what I produce will not be trite, mundane, or shit, but will be me. It will be my voice, my stories. It will be my view of the human condition, life, the world, the universe. The product will be art, although I won't be the judge. That's for someone else. I only want to write stories and bring out what I have in my head.

That's the theory anyway. I feel like a hypocrit when I pop into the comments board and give my spiel. I'm no where near where I want to be yet.

More on this in another entry perhaps as I think about this some more.