“Juice, I Must Take Exception”

(July 7, 2018)

Must take Exception –

facility not a gift

it’s hard-won ‘twixt ears!*

 

  • (My esteemed friend whose writing long has given me great enjoys recently declaimed my gift of narrative.  I must disagree.  First: I am but a partial struggle as a writer of any form.  Second, what I do do (and, yes, I mean the pun-at-play most royally), if wonder whether ’tis nobler to call it facility or faculty and wonder most assuredly which would be umbraged foremost, the ability or the flock? Were I to claim either as bestowed upon my eight type-pads and two most-revered thumbs I would be wrong.  No gift but skull sweat and the willingness to look at that pretentious bastid in the mirror and say: go sweat some more. This drek won’t make fruits from my tomatoes.  Reading to get better writing is a beloved chore, true, but just think of all the unscratched ‘nads or nose-ventures unassailed.  No, my great and good friend Bruce Jewett, whom Roger named Juice, I think you toiled for every participle.  I think you whittled ever end-line rhyme.  I think you grinned quietly into the night when that last syllable slipped sideways into perfect place.  But none of that took place by gift or grace but by guts and gumption.  Poetry is a blood sport, Phat Phrog.  And I just have some surfaces scratched. Skillfully sometimes.  I treasure your – and others’ – praise.  But take it not amiss if I scuff the toes (even if unshod) and say shucks. Alot.  There’s lots of you out there who make me blush in pretension.  And I spend too little time reading your stuff.  And for that I blame me.  I steal time for other pursuits: possibly poking a handy-dandy hand-held spell checker book (with syllabalization) sent out from the presses in its third iteration in 1967.  I distrust any device that corrects my deliberate and not spelling with red squiggly lines!  That’s my gift!)