[And or Flannery O'Connor.]
I received my Assistantship assignment information today. Alongside attending classes, reading for Arts & Letters and consulting in the Writing Center--it appears that a good part of my time will be spent working with/as office staff for the Flannery O'Connor Review.
My "fear" and "excitement" has mixed to form something yet to be named [suggests welcomed].
While leaning over the grave of Ms. O'Connor on March 25th (her birthday, for those keeping track at home) or visiting her farm at Andalusia, little did I know how close we were destined to become...
I used the (very strong) word (or concept) "Destined" because everything seems to be so--and I don't mean to suggest that at the tender age of 3 this was all "meant to be." I've obviously played a part in the path I am on.
And maybe the craziest part of it all, is I've "felt" something pulling at me since the very first time I logged onto the program's website--PRACTICALLY a year to this date. *shiver shiver shiver*
See how that all works?
I feel the need to thumb through my copy of The Violent Bear It Away, which was read for my American Gothic Literature class in the Spring of 2009 and share a few underlined passages:
"Tarwater clenched his fists. He stood like one condemned, waiting at the spot of execution. Then the revelation came, silent, implacable, direct as a bullet. He did not look into the eyes of any fiery beast or see a burning bush. He only knew, with a certainty sunk in despair...He tried to shout, "NO!" but it was like trying to shout in his sleep. The sound was saturated in silence, lost.
He would experience a love for the child so outrageous that he would be left shocked and depressed for days, and trembling for his sanity. It was only a touch of the curse that lay in his blood.
The love that would overcome him was of a different order entirely. It was a love without reason, love for something futureless, love that appeared to exist only to be itself, imperious and all demanding, the kind that would cause him to make a fool of himself in an instant."
M. F. O.