Thoughts float by, lazily like clouds
and with practiced fingers I
snap my chopsticks and catch them
just to release them again on paper,
to see what they will do.
—Dominique M. Snedeker
Recent Posts
Dreams Really Do Come True
One of my earliest memories is of playing in the tub, throwing letters out at my grandma for her to reorder in her mind and tell me if I had spelled a word. I loved that game as a three-year-old and was thrilled when one of my combinations turned out to be something. I vaguely remember trying to play it with her again, but she told me, “No, now you have to know how the letters can go together. I’ll show you.” And then flashes in one last memory. I’m coloring pictures to pages of a book I’ve dictated to my grandma. I think it might have been about a bunny because I also remember that I learned how to draw a bunny in preschool. All very vague.
The Catharsis of Writing—The Journey Begins
I love that word cathartic. Catharsis—the emotional release after having gone through some crisis or tension (my definition). Aristotle coined the word catharsis (see I still love that word! Catharsis, cathartic, catharsis…has it broken down into its sounds and lost its meaning yet?) during the rise of the ancient tragic Greek plays. During those plays, a somewhat perfect hero with only one flaw—the tragic flaw—leads himself and everyone else into—you guessed it, tragedy!
Words, Those Lovely, Dangerous Things
Words. Weird shapes of lines and squiggles that represent and idea. Words. Words. Words. They disintegrate into letters—weird shapes of bumps and points—that represent sounds. If you say the same words over and over, they lose all meaning and distort themselves into air and breath.
Words.
I like words.
