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. 

Friday, March 12, 2010

We think, therefore we are

A few months back, while prepping a fiction-writing course, I came upon a quote by another writer on writing that basically said one learns to write a novel by pretending to write a novel.
In other words, if you allow yourself to try, after a while you'll no longer simply be faking it, but actually doing it.
A gentle spin on Descartes' "I think, therefore I am," with the proviso that the best writing mixes craft and openness, the willingness to play around, pretend, jam, improvise.
The same applies to living, I'd venture to say.
As it does to goodness, the saints suggest.
Aiming for the lofty, faking it if & when you must. The practice, the constant, continual practice eventually making it real.
The habit becoming us.

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