
Originally Posted by
John Updike's Marching Through a Novel
“Each morning my characters greet me with misty faces willing, though chilled, to muster for another day's progress through dazzling quicksand,
the march of blank paper.
With instant obedience
they change clothes and mannerisms, drop a speech impediment,
develop a motive backwards
to suit the deed's done.
They extend skeletal arms
for the handcuffs of contrivance,
slog through docilely
maneuvers of coincidence,
look toward me hopefully,
their general and quartermaster,
for a clearer face, a bigger heart.
I do what I can for them,
but it is not enough.
Forward is my order,
though their bandages unravel
and some have no backbones
and some turn traitor
like heads with two faces
and some fall forgotten
in the trench work of loose threads, poor puffs of cartoon flak.
Forward. Believe me, I love them though I march them to finish them off.”
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