Mary Kate Tankard
About
Said & Done
Social
statement on writing
I have no desire to write. None at all. When I think about writing I think I cannot imagine anything worse. When I create sentences what I learn is that I should not write. There is a voice that says you must not write, you can not write. Since I can only do anything out of spite, when I hear this voice, I write. Briefly and with great discomfort. Please do not mistake my intention. I do not want to write. I’ve tried to stop. That's all I’ve done. In fact I’ve barely done any writing at all. That's how hard I’ve tried. Yet, here I am writing again. Nothing exhausts or bores me like writing. To try to write. It is a condition. It produces only discontentment. All day long I walk around like dreams. Words, Images, Ideas. All day long. I think this is perfect, someones got to write about this. Then I think: I cannot imagine anything worse than writing about this. It’s a process of gathering that results in either combustion or rot. If I do write, out of combustion or spite, I enter a fugue state where words are arranged like tiny tea cups placed with drunken hands. There's a kind of clanking. When it’s done I feel better off knowing cups have become one with saucers. Nestled into proper cupboard corners they serve no purpose other than host to dust. Yes, my words are like tiny teacups. Mostly useless, they serve only as marker of time. When it's done and the words have settled I wake from my state. I think: never again. I will never do that again. Then a day passes. Again, I begin to gather. Words, Images, Ideas. I think about the words. I think about their shapes. How I long to clank. How dust needs artifice to make time visible. How I might arrange them. It’s a condition. Like other things. That's all it is. That being said, if you'd like me to pay me for my writing I could become interested in that. Yeah, it wouldn't be pretty or fun, but, like spite, I am also motivated by vanity and money. So let me know. Like I said, I won't enjoy it. I’ll work very hard to not get it done, but if you want my words, if you’d like to use me for my gatherings, please, just write. Please just use your words. With urgency: marykatherine.tankard@gmail.com
“Like every writer, he measured the virtues of other writers by their performance, and asked that they measure him by what he conjectured or planned.”