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.

About me...

My photo

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. 

Monday, January 18, 2010

No two flakes....

The perfect writing afternoon--even if writing time amounts to only (best case scenario) an hour. No wind, snow falling peacefully. A cup of tea. School work under control (for now). Imagination a pair of treadless boots attempting to scale a hill of black ice. But that's okay. Patience. It's the softness and the solitude that lulls me, that I trust will allow a toehold.
The fevered opposite of this a climbing gym. Plastic thingies to grip and fasten guy-wires to; places to anchor your feet. Every muscle engaged. The ideal place to be in your writing, maybe: that muscular, gripping, gripped mode--but you can't rush it.
So much of the work is listening, watching snowflakes fall and silently laying down tracks. Learning the horizontal landscape before you can even consider heights.

No comments:

Post a Comment