By the way, I’m writing with a bunch of much smarter people over at the Back of Town blog about HBO’s Treme:

Who should tell your story? Who has the right to tell it? Who gets
to see it, to come inside, to take what they want? To skim from the
surface or drink deep? Can you even control that? Should you?

My answers to these questions are biased, because I tell others’
stories for a living, because in order to get out of bed and look in
the mirror every day I have to convince myself this is a worthwhile
endeavor, because I’m never able to separate how much of what I think
is important about what I do is justification and how much is actually
not total bullshit. And I fucking hate talking about process. I feel
like talking about process is what writers do when they’re too lazy to

But, question’s been raised. Who has the right to tell your story
and hear your story? Who has the right to be let in that deep? Telling
a story is letting someone into your heart, into the things for you
that are like the things of the church, the things you don’t talk
about, that are knit into your muscle and bone.


2 thoughts on “Treme

  1. Smarter people, my TUCHUS. Just a slice of the NOLA blogpocheh, of which you are an honorary member in perpetuity. So there.

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