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Writing is a solitary pursuit--the imagination guiding the hand moving the pen. I'm pretty old-school, valuing the work of good editors and the revisions process before letting my words go public. But life is short, right? And sometimes, just sometimes, we need to spout off.

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A writer, mother, teacher, friend, I love books, blizzards and beaches, music from Hildegard von Bingen to the Beatles to Bonnie Raitt to The Brood; I love medieval churches, red wine, creme caramel, and roasted beets, and walking the woods and coastlines of home. 

Thursday, January 28, 2010

Mark-making

Time flies when I'm marking...the temptation of a story chafing. A rough little seed in the folds of the brain. Just waiting for the last essay to be raked over, commented on, graded. The double life of a writer: what we do in the temporal world, and what goes on in the head. A bun in the oven that wants to bust outta the pan. The story behind the story of a certain painting what presently grips me. Curiosity. The more holes in the real story, the better. Note to head: some Googling, some scholarly searching just to explore the ground. Could be there's no room for the seed to sprout. But something to investigate. It's the wanting to know, the need to know more, that fuels writing, that keeps me smiling. The reward after the marks are filed. The deep grin of a secret.
If La Joconde could talk, right?

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