Here are the links to the five parts for the full interview Thomas Whyte did with me over at poetry mini interviews. I'm so appreciative that he talked with me. Thomas has a great thing going over there.
PART 1
PART 2
PART 3
PART 4
PART 5
Thanks so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed.
Friday, March 27, 2020
Thursday, March 26, 2020
I noticed it's quiet around here again
Noticed from the stats that it's slowed down here some. That's fair. It's all fair. But every time it does, I become compelled to stretch and walk around a little.
I'm always talking about writing. I tweeted recently the only time I get to talk about it is with the folks on there, but I'm always having a discussion with myself about writing, storytelling, literature. I've been doing it every day since I was ten years old. That's thirty-four years this April. Now, walking around in here in this emptier space, I wonder why for the first time. The very first time, if you can believe that.
The thing is, I'd always thought it was general hubris to a certain extent. It was something I could do pretty well and I wanted people to see that I could do it well. But all these years later I've accomplished more than I would have thought I would. I'm not famous or rich due to my writing, but I have published numerous books I believe were as good as a could write at the time they appeared. Before 2009, not one word I'd written had been published anywhere. So to go from that low status to seeing seven books, nearly 200 short stories, a host of poems and essays published is more than I ever figured would happen.
So hubris ain't it. I've got nothing else to prove to myself. Or anybody else, as far as that goes.
So why am I still having conversations with myself about this thing called literature? Still working for hours each day in hope of creating it at some level worth someone reading?
At this writing, I still don't know. Lately I've come to the basic realization that I'm driven forward by it. I still remember the first time I sat down to write a story, a real story. I found a spiral bound notebook and a pencil and cleared off the coffee table in my grandparent's living room. It was winter and dark. The house was quiet, exactly the way it is here now. I don't remember thinking before I started writing. All I know is that I started that December night and have not stopped since.
Saying it that way, though, I feel I should explain that there's nothing magical about it. I long ago stopped romanticizing the act of making literature. So now, without hubris and without romantic notions, I just keep going. In an empty room, forever alone, I would write and keep writing and keep writing because I simply enjoy it. Why do you?
I'm always talking about writing. I tweeted recently the only time I get to talk about it is with the folks on there, but I'm always having a discussion with myself about writing, storytelling, literature. I've been doing it every day since I was ten years old. That's thirty-four years this April. Now, walking around in here in this emptier space, I wonder why for the first time. The very first time, if you can believe that.
The thing is, I'd always thought it was general hubris to a certain extent. It was something I could do pretty well and I wanted people to see that I could do it well. But all these years later I've accomplished more than I would have thought I would. I'm not famous or rich due to my writing, but I have published numerous books I believe were as good as a could write at the time they appeared. Before 2009, not one word I'd written had been published anywhere. So to go from that low status to seeing seven books, nearly 200 short stories, a host of poems and essays published is more than I ever figured would happen.
So hubris ain't it. I've got nothing else to prove to myself. Or anybody else, as far as that goes.
So why am I still having conversations with myself about this thing called literature? Still working for hours each day in hope of creating it at some level worth someone reading?
At this writing, I still don't know. Lately I've come to the basic realization that I'm driven forward by it. I still remember the first time I sat down to write a story, a real story. I found a spiral bound notebook and a pencil and cleared off the coffee table in my grandparent's living room. It was winter and dark. The house was quiet, exactly the way it is here now. I don't remember thinking before I started writing. All I know is that I started that December night and have not stopped since.
Saying it that way, though, I feel I should explain that there's nothing magical about it. I long ago stopped romanticizing the act of making literature. So now, without hubris and without romantic notions, I just keep going. In an empty room, forever alone, I would write and keep writing and keep writing because I simply enjoy it. Why do you?
Saturday, March 21, 2020
Part three of the interview with me @ poetry mini interviews
The third part of my interview at poetry mini interviews, very short interviews with poets, curated by the generous and enterprising Thomas Whyte.
Sheldon Lee Compton: part three
Sheldon Lee Compton: part three
Monday, March 16, 2020
Saturday, March 14, 2020
poetry mini interviews: Sheldon Lee Compton: part two
The second part of my interview at poetry mini interviews, very short interviews with poets, curated by the generous and enterprising Thomas Whyte.
Sheldon Lee Compton: part two
Sheldon Lee Compton: part two
Thursday, March 12, 2020
Read this book by José Angel Araguz
Just follow the yellow brick link: The Book of Flight. And because Goodreads is awesome, here's the Goodreads page.
Saturday, March 7, 2020
Friday, March 6, 2020
poetry mini interviews: Sheldon Lee Compton : part one
poetry mini interviews: Sheldon Lee Compton : part one: Sheldon Lee Compton is a short story writer, novelist, essayist, and poet from Kentucky. He is the author of seven books, most recently t...
Among other things, I am a poet. But I'm feeling insecure about that. Also, I'll have an interview going up soon at a poetry website.
So a writer I have been aware of in my periphery for over a decade wrote a hate piece about me a couple years ago. Or a year ago. Doesn't matter. Still hurts, but it doesn't matter for the purpose of this update.
Shockingly, the hate piece has nothing to do with what I've come to call The Great 2015 Online Attempted Social Murder of Sheldon Lee Compton. Well, it's possible it does tangentially have something to do with it. Sideways relating to. Tangential, that favorite catch word from a few workshop semesters ago.
There's a reason for going into all this. So yeah, I guess is matters for the purposes of this update. I was freely given unsolicited advice to not engage in social media in a way that, well, I tend to engage with most people when I'm wrongly challenged or accused or understood.
Crux: This hate piece by this writer I don't really know but know of that included two other writers (one of whom is incredibly, incredibly famous) who I won't name in a journal I won't name stated that I was a joke as a poet. Not in those words; in funnier words.
Today, I'm told, an interview with me will be published at poetry mini interviews by curator Thomas Whyte. I know I did the interview I just don't know if it will for sure go up today. Point is, I'm feeling insecure because of the aforementioned hate piece, which I do mention in the interview. I hate that I feel that way, that I'm allowing this peripheral writer who I would love to name but won't have that effect on me, but it's what it's.
I'll update with a link when the interview is published.
Shockingly, the hate piece has nothing to do with what I've come to call The Great 2015 Online Attempted Social Murder of Sheldon Lee Compton. Well, it's possible it does tangentially have something to do with it. Sideways relating to. Tangential, that favorite catch word from a few workshop semesters ago.
There's a reason for going into all this. So yeah, I guess is matters for the purposes of this update. I was freely given unsolicited advice to not engage in social media in a way that, well, I tend to engage with most people when I'm wrongly challenged or accused or understood.
Crux: This hate piece by this writer I don't really know but know of that included two other writers (one of whom is incredibly, incredibly famous) who I won't name in a journal I won't name stated that I was a joke as a poet. Not in those words; in funnier words.
Today, I'm told, an interview with me will be published at poetry mini interviews by curator Thomas Whyte. I know I did the interview I just don't know if it will for sure go up today. Point is, I'm feeling insecure because of the aforementioned hate piece, which I do mention in the interview. I hate that I feel that way, that I'm allowing this peripheral writer who I would love to name but won't have that effect on me, but it's what it's.
I'll update with a link when the interview is published.
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