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. 

Thursday, August 26, 2010

If just one person gets it....

Seems like after a book's initial buzz, the thing disappears down a deep black hole--until, sometimes years later, miracle of miracles, you find that a whole bunch of people you don't know have been reading it and living inside it and doing all the wild and wonderful things readers do with books that engage them. Never underestimate the currency of the imagination, or the fact that, no matter how subjective the whole process of "judging" books and authors is or can be, books do have legs. They never stop being like kids acquiring lives of their own. Some more strong-willed and muscular than others, but that's quite okay. So it goes with art in all its forms and permutations. Reminders of the mysterious mechanics at work without our knowing it; dumb luck or karmic? Regardless, the nudges that banish acedia.

No comments:

Post a Comment