October 1, 2011
I just hovered over a button and threw my dawning blog into a language with beautiful, undiscipherable characters. Magyar? It took awhile to get back to plain old English. Characters in most languages are so pleasing. Once in a workshop I created twenty five new characters on huge sheets of brown manilla paper. It was a workshop run by a friend to give adults a second chance at kindergarten. There never was enough of it she believed. There was a psychiatrist there, I remember, who corraled a whole pile of wooden blocks on a large table, and announced, "These are all mine!" A man who was an ex priest built a chapel out of enormous tubes of cardboard. A woman who sat blocked through most of the day finally wound huge balls of multicolored yarn; another woman painted all over her clothes. The business of learning to add and subtract and read and write, it seems causes us to lose all of this too quickly. .
What a joy to be writing again. For the past three years after my lovely month at the Millay Colony where I wrote my final drawer novel...six is enough, I thought. Until I publish one, no more already! So I've been typing, polishing, correcting, adding bits...
"Typing is not writing," Truman Capote supposedly said.
I just hovered over a button and threw my dawning blog into a language with beautiful, undiscipherable characters. Magyar? It took awhile to get back to plain old English. Characters in most languages are so pleasing. Once in a workshop I created twenty five new characters on huge sheets of brown manilla paper. It was a workshop run by a friend to give adults a second chance at kindergarten. There never was enough of it she believed. There was a psychiatrist there, I remember, who corraled a whole pile of wooden blocks on a large table, and announced, "These are all mine!" A man who was an ex priest built a chapel out of enormous tubes of cardboard. A woman who sat blocked through most of the day finally wound huge balls of multicolored yarn; another woman painted all over her clothes. The business of learning to add and subtract and read and write, it seems causes us to lose all of this too quickly. .
What a joy to be writing again. For the past three years after my lovely month at the Millay Colony where I wrote my final drawer novel...six is enough, I thought. Until I publish one, no more already! So I've been typing, polishing, correcting, adding bits...
"Typing is not writing," Truman Capote supposedly said.
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