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...

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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. 

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Study break

Three full days devoted to writing--in this case, an essay--and what bliss to enter that zone. That timeless present of words, phrases. Voice, figures of speech. Figuring out what you need to say, then threading the needle to stitch it. The piece itself a cushion, tastefully embroidered. A silk-tasseled, lighter-than-air cushion to cradle the reader's reading. Not to pad or embellish, but to aid in absorption. The darning of bumps and thumps, and every little tear.
The mending of emotion offered up.

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