Sunday, March 02, 2008

20/50



Our front yard: Sunflower circle in the snow.
Tonight it was the strangest thing. Tonight I wrote a brand new story, an entire story from start to finish. I wrote it by hand. I wrote it in my bathtub by hand, inside a book of short stories because I had no other paper, because the book had several blank pages at the back. Then I typed the story. I just finished typing the story and reading it, and I know it's a good story. It needs a bit of work, but it is a good story, a story that really works. Tonight it was the strangest thing.

4 comments:

GreenishLady said...

Strange and wonderful! Well done on going with the impulse.

emmapeelDallas said...

It sounds as if the muse was with you...and that is always a good thing...

Peter Rogerson said...

Hello there, I am a writer, and have penned some 17 books, im generally looking for fellow minded people to discuss and chat with, many thanks


peterrogerson5.blogspot.com

ggw07 said...

That's the way it works.
Gretchen

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"I was no better than dust, yet you cannot replace me. . . Take the soft dust in your hand--does it stir: does it sing? Has it lips and a heart? Does it open its eyes to the sun? Does it run, does it dream, does it burn with a secret, or tremble In terror of death? Or ache with tremendous decisions?. . ." --Conrad Aiken

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Fave Painting:  The Three Ages of Man and Death
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The Secret of Hurricanes : That article in the Waterville Scout said it was Shake- spearean, all that fatalism that guides the Kennedys' lives. The likelihood of untimely death. Recently, another one died in his prime, John-John in an airplane. Not long before that, Bobby's boy. While playing football at high speeds on snow skis. Those Kennedys take some crazy chances. I prefer my own easy ways. Which isn't to say my life hasn't been Shake-spearean. By the time I was sixteen, my life was like the darkened stage at the end of Hamlet or Macbeth. All littered with corpses and treachery.

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