I stepped outside just moment ago for only the second time today. It's been rainy. I turned on my porch light and descended the steps. A shudder went through me as leaves sushed beside me. I know I'm safe here at FAWC but that doesn't keep the mind from racing.
I worked all day on the book. I'm up to 50 pages today and feel good about it. I'm at a point where a few decisions need to be made that will determine the make up of the rest of the book. I needed to stop and let my mind rest.
I had two sweet letters from Allen today. It's good to get mail from home.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
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Dreaming
About Me
- Theresa Williams
- Northwest Ohio, United States
- "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: Eden
Fave Painting: The Three Ages of Man and Death
by Albrecht Dürer
From the First Chapter
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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