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Monthly Archives: February 2008
I’ve been trying to get my head organised this week. Last night, when I slept, I could hear it beating against my pillow. I’ve spent ten hours editing photos today. My bum hurts from sitting so much. I ate an ice cream sandwich, and two eggs. I haven’t been to the gym since Monday. I
Summer faded into fall and the leaves began to drop. To rot by the road and on the mountain side. Old Man Bishop killed a hog. Invited the whole town out for pulled pork and revival. The place needed a soul cleaning and a man from Alabama was coming to do just that. In a
“Young writers often suppose that style is a garnish for the meat of prose, a sauce by which a dull dish is made palatable. Style has no such separate entity; is nondetachable, unfilterable. The beginner should approach style warily, realizing that it is himself he is approaching, no other; and he should begin by turning
“I don’t see any use in having a uniform and arbitrary way of spelling words. We might as well make all clothes alike and cook all dishes alike. Sameness is tiresome; variety is pleasing. I have a correspondent whose letters are always a refreshment to me, there is such a breezy unfettered originality about his
She didn’t have much in life – mostly – but she had this. Authority bought by age. And she hated it. Hated the pain and the rigidness and the way life seemed to have left her, a bit at a time, until now….now nothing was left but tired old skin. Deflated and hanging. Folded all
I feel like I’ve been run over by a herd of elephants. Kicked in the head for good measure. And I have moths. How do you even get moths? They’re eating holes through my cashmere. Barring those smelly little balls that make your wardrobe reek of your grandmother’s mother…I have no idea how to get
Sometimes I take photos. Some people like to snap the mountains and the lake and the sun setting behind a grove of really spooky trees. But I’ve never seen a landscape that made me want to run home and grab my camera. I’d rather sit and take it all in and look up at a
The sister and I were talking about style last night. Not the ‘Fashion Week’ type. The Tolstoy, Faulkner and Hardy type. A family member once accused me of letting life pass by while my head was stuck in a book. Clearly, said family member didn’t understand me. At all. The sister did. Maybe it was
“I got a sense of the power of restraint from Hemingway, which is the smallest way to put it, because I got much more than that from him. I learned the power of simple language in English. He showed what a powerful instrument English is if you keep the language simple, if you don’t use
