...or keyboard.
I haven't done a lot of serious writing in a long time, but when I did, I had a very definite playlist I chose from.
1. "Braveheart" soundtrack. Nice and long album of stirring Celtic music.
2. My personal Enya mix. Ebudae was perfect for my scenes on Kyle (that's ky-lee) Island, where the longboats cut fearlessly through the mist, bringing warriors to defend the far-flung shores from their fierce neighbors... I think the best tracks, though, were from her album "The Celts".
3. "Gladiator". Not so much as the other two, but some. I had that album for years before finally watching the movie...
4. On occasion, the "Anna And The King" soundtrack, though oddly enough I found it better for math class. I don't know why, but I'd breeze through an otherwise near-impossible class if I was playing it. "Tuptim" was my favorite track for writing, I think.
Last day... what will I write tomorrow? I'm not sure. I've had a lot of things banging around in my head, but haven't had the brain time to put them to paper or keyboard. I suppose we'll see.
Until then, the Lord bless you and keep you.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Day 14- Favorite quote(s)
"I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library." - Jorge Luis Borges
"And further, by these, my son, be admonished: of making many books there is no end; and much study is a weariness of the flesh." Ecclesiasties 12:12
As you can see, I have two that come directly to mind. The first was written on the wall of a library I visited. I know nothing of the author, but I'm inclined to agree that there must be a libraryish part of heaven...
The second is Biblical! My younger sister had no qualms about pointing it out and quoting it whenever schoolwork became too much for her. Right there in the Bible. Too much study is bad for you. :-P
Of course, that's not exactly what Solomon is saying there...
Rather (as I read it), all earthly pursuits are worth less than dust. Only that which serves God is worth anything, and even then it is God working through us that gives it worth.
I seem to be drawn to The Great Divorce (C. S. Lewis) quite a bit today. Specifically the spirit who thought all his earthly talents would be "needed" in heaven, and thought himself a great Tool For God, when in reality none of it was needed or wanted. God was sufficient for all, and there was nothing he could add to make Heaven better.
Not quite sure where I'm intending to go with this... I think what I've said is sufficient. It is up to the reader to remember that apart from God, life isn't worth living.
"And further, by these, my son, be admonished: of making many books there is no end; and much study is a weariness of the flesh." Ecclesiasties 12:12
As you can see, I have two that come directly to mind. The first was written on the wall of a library I visited. I know nothing of the author, but I'm inclined to agree that there must be a libraryish part of heaven...
The second is Biblical! My younger sister had no qualms about pointing it out and quoting it whenever schoolwork became too much for her. Right there in the Bible. Too much study is bad for you. :-P
Of course, that's not exactly what Solomon is saying there...
Rather (as I read it), all earthly pursuits are worth less than dust. Only that which serves God is worth anything, and even then it is God working through us that gives it worth.
I seem to be drawn to The Great Divorce (C. S. Lewis) quite a bit today. Specifically the spirit who thought all his earthly talents would be "needed" in heaven, and thought himself a great Tool For God, when in reality none of it was needed or wanted. God was sufficient for all, and there was nothing he could add to make Heaven better.
Not quite sure where I'm intending to go with this... I think what I've said is sufficient. It is up to the reader to remember that apart from God, life isn't worth living.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Day 13- My favorite book about writing
Say what? My favorite... WHAT?
Well, let us bend the rules slightly.
I have a nonfiction and a novel.
http://www.amazon.com/dp/0938978136/?tag=googhydr-20&hvadid=7720347431&ref=pd_sl_6gjcrmw92c_e
(Currently out of print. Get it while you can!)
My sister gave me this book for my birthday. It chronicles the history of the written word, the alphabets that have been created throughout the years and how they all work. Extremely fascinating for an armchair linguist like myself.
...Can one be an armchair linguist? It's not like it's a physical pursuit. Hrm.
As it is presented by the JAARS Museum of the Alphabet (JAARS being tech support for Wycliffe Bible Translators), it also delves into the necessity of alphabets when translating the Scripture. :-)
Four little chests all in a row,
Dim with dust, and worn by time,
All fashioned and filled, long ago,
By children now in their prime.
Four little keys hung side by side,
With faded ribbons, brave and gay
When fastened there, with childish pride,
Long ago, on a rainy day.
Four little names, one on each lid,
Carved out by a boyish hand,
And underneath there lieth hid
Histories of the happpy band
Once playing here, and pausing oft
To hear the sweet refrain,
That came and went on the roof aloft,
In the falling summer rain.
Meg on the first lid, smooth and fair.
I look in with loving eyes,
For folded here, with well-known care,
A goodly gathering lies,
The record of a peaceful life
Gifts to gentle child and girl,
A bridal gown, lines to a wife,
A tiny shoe, a baby curl.
No toys in this first chest remain,
For all are carried away,
In their old age, to join again
In another small Meg’s play.
Ah, happy mother! Well I know
You hear, like a sweet refrain,
Lullabies ever soft and low
In the falling summer rain.
Jo on the next lid, scratched and worn,
And within a motley store
Of headless dolls, of schoolbooks torn,
Birds and beasts that speak no more,
Spoils brought home from the fairy ground
Only trod by youthful feet,
Dreams of a future never found,
Memories of a past still sweet,
Half-writ poems, stories wild,
April letters, warm and cold,
Diaries of a wilful child,
Hints of a woman early old,
A woman in a lonely home,
Hearing, like a sad refrain
Be worthy, love, and love will come,
In the falling summer rain.
My Beth! the dust is always swept
From the lid that bears your name,
As if by loving eyes that wept,
By careful hands that often came.
Death cannonized for us one saint,
Ever less human than divine,
And still we lay, with tender plaint,
Relics in this household shrine
The silver bell, so seldom rung,
The little cap which last she wore,
The fair, dead Catherine that hung
By angels borne above her door.
The songs she sang, without lament,
In her prison-house of pain,
Forever are they sweetly blent
With the falling summer rain.
Upon the last lid’s polished field
Legend now both fair and true
A gallant knight bears on his shield,
Amy in letters gold and blue.
Within lie snoods that bound her hair,
Slippers that have danced their last,
Faded flowers laid by with care,
Fans whose airy toils are past,
Gay valentines, all ardent flames,
Trifles that have borne their part
In girlish hopes and fears and shames,
The record of a maiden heart
Now learning fairer, truer spells,
Hearing, like a blithe refrain,
The silver sound of bridal bells
In the falling summer rain.
Four little chests all in a row,
Dim with dust, and worn by time,
Four women, taught by weal and woe
To love and labor in their prime.
Four sisters, parted for an hour,
None lost, one only gone before,
Made by love’s immortal power,
Nearest and dearest evermore.
Oh, when these hidden stores of ours
Lie open to the Father’s sight,
May they be rich in golden hours,
Deeds that show fairer for the light,
Lives whose brave music long shall ring,
Like a spirit-stirring strain,
Souls that shall gladly soar and sing
In the long sunshine after rain.
Well, let us bend the rules slightly.
I have a nonfiction and a novel.
"The Alphabet Makers"
http://www.amazon.com/dp/0938978136/?tag=googhydr-20&hvadid=7720347431&ref=pd_sl_6gjcrmw92c_e
(Currently out of print. Get it while you can!)
My sister gave me this book for my birthday. It chronicles the history of the written word, the alphabets that have been created throughout the years and how they all work. Extremely fascinating for an armchair linguist like myself.
...Can one be an armchair linguist? It's not like it's a physical pursuit. Hrm.
As it is presented by the JAARS Museum of the Alphabet (JAARS being tech support for Wycliffe Bible Translators), it also delves into the necessity of alphabets when translating the Scripture. :-)
"Little Women"
No, it's not strictly about writing, but Jo has a pen in her hand more often than not. When I was younger, this was my favorite book. I had a lot in common with Jo- neither of us quite felt as though we fit in our families, both of us suffered from lack of good (or even interested, in my case) actors and resources, and both of us had a huge inclination to storytelling.
When I was in elementary school, my friends and I had an American Girl Club. We made foods and crafts from the American Girl books, and learned about the various eras.
One Christmas, we had a talent show. For my talent I wore my Kirsten dress (as close to Civil War as I could get), carried my beautifully large copy of Little Women, and recited "In the Garret". Even today it stirs my heart with familiar comforts.
Dim with dust, and worn by time,
All fashioned and filled, long ago,
By children now in their prime.
Four little keys hung side by side,
With faded ribbons, brave and gay
When fastened there, with childish pride,
Long ago, on a rainy day.
Four little names, one on each lid,
Carved out by a boyish hand,
And underneath there lieth hid
Histories of the happpy band
Once playing here, and pausing oft
To hear the sweet refrain,
That came and went on the roof aloft,
In the falling summer rain.
Meg on the first lid, smooth and fair.
I look in with loving eyes,
For folded here, with well-known care,
A goodly gathering lies,
The record of a peaceful life
Gifts to gentle child and girl,
A bridal gown, lines to a wife,
A tiny shoe, a baby curl.
No toys in this first chest remain,
For all are carried away,
In their old age, to join again
In another small Meg’s play.
Ah, happy mother! Well I know
You hear, like a sweet refrain,
Lullabies ever soft and low
In the falling summer rain.
Jo on the next lid, scratched and worn,
And within a motley store
Of headless dolls, of schoolbooks torn,
Birds and beasts that speak no more,
Spoils brought home from the fairy ground
Only trod by youthful feet,
Dreams of a future never found,
Memories of a past still sweet,
Half-writ poems, stories wild,
April letters, warm and cold,
Diaries of a wilful child,
Hints of a woman early old,
A woman in a lonely home,
Hearing, like a sad refrain
Be worthy, love, and love will come,
In the falling summer rain.
My Beth! the dust is always swept
From the lid that bears your name,
As if by loving eyes that wept,
By careful hands that often came.
Death cannonized for us one saint,
Ever less human than divine,
And still we lay, with tender plaint,
Relics in this household shrine
The silver bell, so seldom rung,
The little cap which last she wore,
The fair, dead Catherine that hung
By angels borne above her door.
The songs she sang, without lament,
In her prison-house of pain,
Forever are they sweetly blent
With the falling summer rain.
Upon the last lid’s polished field
Legend now both fair and true
A gallant knight bears on his shield,
Amy in letters gold and blue.
Within lie snoods that bound her hair,
Slippers that have danced their last,
Faded flowers laid by with care,
Fans whose airy toils are past,
Gay valentines, all ardent flames,
Trifles that have borne their part
In girlish hopes and fears and shames,
The record of a maiden heart
Now learning fairer, truer spells,
Hearing, like a blithe refrain,
The silver sound of bridal bells
In the falling summer rain.
Four little chests all in a row,
Dim with dust, and worn by time,
Four women, taught by weal and woe
To love and labor in their prime.
Four sisters, parted for an hour,
None lost, one only gone before,
Made by love’s immortal power,
Nearest and dearest evermore.
Oh, when these hidden stores of ours
Lie open to the Father’s sight,
May they be rich in golden hours,
Deeds that show fairer for the light,
Lives whose brave music long shall ring,
Like a spirit-stirring strain,
Souls that shall gladly soar and sing
In the long sunshine after rain.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Day 12- A Song About Writing
When I saw today's challenge, only one song came to mind.
I don't know the origins of this song. I believe it was writen by a NaNoWriMo participant, and is part of a larger work. I would credit him if I knew his name. It was introduced to me by way of some internet friends who are also NaNoers.
http://thelionscall.com/temp/they_die.mp3
A struggling novelist tries his best to finish a scene in which a man comes home to find his wife guilty of something or other. While it may sound oddly disturbing to some, I think every writer can relate to the poor man at some point in his/her career.
And it's hilarious.
EDIT: Thanks to the efforts of our intrepid Rhoswen, I have been reminded that this is sung by The Playwright in the little-known musical "Enter The Guardsman". Full apologies to author, composer, and performer for my misrepresentation of their work.
She was kind enough to link me to this YouTube video of the same song performed by a contestant from American Idol. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=um2rnjLBBuU Enjoy!
"They DIE!"
I don't know the origins of this song. I believe it was writen by a NaNoWriMo participant, and is part of a larger work. I would credit him if I knew his name. It was introduced to me by way of some internet friends who are also NaNoers.
http://thelionscall.com/temp/they_die.mp3
A struggling novelist tries his best to finish a scene in which a man comes home to find his wife guilty of something or other. While it may sound oddly disturbing to some, I think every writer can relate to the poor man at some point in his/her career.
And it's hilarious.
EDIT: Thanks to the efforts of our intrepid Rhoswen, I have been reminded that this is sung by The Playwright in the little-known musical "Enter The Guardsman". Full apologies to author, composer, and performer for my misrepresentation of their work.
She was kind enough to link me to this YouTube video of the same song performed by a contestant from American Idol. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=um2rnjLBBuU Enjoy!
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Day 11- Favorite Female Author
Oh you WOULD ask.
When I first read that, I thought, "Female author? Do I even read female authors?" Then they slowly started coming into my mind and I consistantly headdesk'd through the list.
Books written by women are rather hard to come by on my shelves (I say "shelves", because there are several).
Let me see if I can list all the female authors. The longer I look, the more I see.
Jane Austen
Natalie Babbit
Charlotte Bronte
Agatha Christie
Kate DiCamillo
Jennifer Freitag
Karen Hancock
Abigail Hartman
Kristin Heitzmann
Liz Curtis Higgs
Lorna Hill
Dorothy Sayers
Rosemary Sutcliff
Linda Windsor
And I think that's all.
The reason I had such a time of it is that most of them only have one or two volumes to their name, as far as my collection is concerned, whereas male authors sprawl out sometimes to the point of owning a shelf of their own.
Once more, this is a tough answer, because my favorite book and favorite author do not match.
My favorite book is Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte. I can't say she is my favorite author, though, because that is the only work I've read, and so cannot judge her abilities and artistry in general.
"Oh, comply!" it said. "Think of his misery; think of his danger, look at his state when left alone; remember his headlong nature; consider the recklessness following on despair--soothe him; save him; love him; tell him you love him and will be his. Who in the world cares for you? or who will be injured by what you do?"
Still indomitable was the reply--"I care for myself. The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will keep the law given by God; sanctioned by man. I will hold to the principles received by me when I was sane, and not mad--as I am now. Laws and principles are not for the times when there is no temptation: they are for such moments as this, when body and soul rise in mutiny against their rigour; stringent are they; inviolate they shall be. If at my individual convenience I might break them, what would be their worth? They have a worth--so I have always believed; and if I cannot believe it now, it is because I am insane--quite insane: with my veins running fire, and my heart is beating faster than I can count its throbs. Preconceived opinions, foregone determinations, are all I have at this hour to stand by: there I plant my foot"
The story of Jane is a good one. Though her worldview is a mixture of paganism and Christianity, Jane recognizes the problems and hypocrisy of the church of her time, knowing that it doesn't match the scriptures. As she has no one to teach her properly, she muddles through at times, but she holds to that which she does know when times are tough. No matter how much she wants to toss the Bible and God wholesale out the window to follow Rochester, she "plants her foot" and keeps to the laws of God and man. She may only have a faint understanding of Christ, but she believes him.
And in the end, having surrendered her dreams to Him, she receives back a hundredfold more than she could have ever imagined.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As for storytelling, Dorothy Sayers wins by a mile.
Lord Peter Wimsey is my favorite detective of all time. Better than Sherlock Holmes. Better than Miss Marple. Miss Sayers had the ability to write a character who was Sherlock Holmes and Bertie Wooster rolled into one. No small feat, that.
She wrote other characters, too. All of them are brilliant. She even wrote a radio drama of the Easter story. I wish I could get hold of a copy.
I think my favorite of her books is "The Documents In The Case". It isn't a Lord Peter story. It stands alone. But what makes it so unique is the lack of a detective. What you hold in your hands is more or less a dossier of the case- statements, evidence lists, etc. No detective to follow around. You have to notice the important things yourself. The storyline is that one officer has sent it to another, because he needs fresh eyes on it. I can't recall if it's a cold case or what, but the second officer writes his answer in the end, giving you the solution to the tale. I think it was also accompanied by a confession from the killer.
And those witness statements aren't as helpful as you'd expect. People forget things, misremember them, think irrelivant things are important and don't talk about the important stuff...
It's brilliant, that's what it is.
Well, life goes on a pace. I have a business to tend to today, so I shall say farewell and God bless.
EDIT: Of course, there is an Austen Quote for everything, as proven earlier in this post...
When I first read that, I thought, "Female author? Do I even read female authors?" Then they slowly started coming into my mind and I consistantly headdesk'd through the list.
Books written by women are rather hard to come by on my shelves (I say "shelves", because there are several).
Let me see if I can list all the female authors. The longer I look, the more I see.
Jane Austen
Natalie Babbit
Charlotte Bronte
Agatha Christie
Kate DiCamillo
Jennifer Freitag
Karen Hancock
Abigail Hartman
Kristin Heitzmann
Liz Curtis Higgs
Lorna Hill
Dorothy Sayers
Rosemary Sutcliff
Linda Windsor
And I think that's all.
The reason I had such a time of it is that most of them only have one or two volumes to their name, as far as my collection is concerned, whereas male authors sprawl out sometimes to the point of owning a shelf of their own.
Once more, this is a tough answer, because my favorite book and favorite author do not match.
The Gothic Novelist
My favorite book is Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte. I can't say she is my favorite author, though, because that is the only work I've read, and so cannot judge her abilities and artistry in general.
"Oh, comply!" it said. "Think of his misery; think of his danger, look at his state when left alone; remember his headlong nature; consider the recklessness following on despair--soothe him; save him; love him; tell him you love him and will be his. Who in the world cares for you? or who will be injured by what you do?"
Still indomitable was the reply--"I care for myself. The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will keep the law given by God; sanctioned by man. I will hold to the principles received by me when I was sane, and not mad--as I am now. Laws and principles are not for the times when there is no temptation: they are for such moments as this, when body and soul rise in mutiny against their rigour; stringent are they; inviolate they shall be. If at my individual convenience I might break them, what would be their worth? They have a worth--so I have always believed; and if I cannot believe it now, it is because I am insane--quite insane: with my veins running fire, and my heart is beating faster than I can count its throbs. Preconceived opinions, foregone determinations, are all I have at this hour to stand by: there I plant my foot"
The story of Jane is a good one. Though her worldview is a mixture of paganism and Christianity, Jane recognizes the problems and hypocrisy of the church of her time, knowing that it doesn't match the scriptures. As she has no one to teach her properly, she muddles through at times, but she holds to that which she does know when times are tough. No matter how much she wants to toss the Bible and God wholesale out the window to follow Rochester, she "plants her foot" and keeps to the laws of God and man. She may only have a faint understanding of Christ, but she believes him.
And in the end, having surrendered her dreams to Him, she receives back a hundredfold more than she could have ever imagined.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Lady Murder Writer
As for storytelling, Dorothy Sayers wins by a mile.
Lord Peter Wimsey is my favorite detective of all time. Better than Sherlock Holmes. Better than Miss Marple. Miss Sayers had the ability to write a character who was Sherlock Holmes and Bertie Wooster rolled into one. No small feat, that.
She wrote other characters, too. All of them are brilliant. She even wrote a radio drama of the Easter story. I wish I could get hold of a copy.
I think my favorite of her books is "The Documents In The Case". It isn't a Lord Peter story. It stands alone. But what makes it so unique is the lack of a detective. What you hold in your hands is more or less a dossier of the case- statements, evidence lists, etc. No detective to follow around. You have to notice the important things yourself. The storyline is that one officer has sent it to another, because he needs fresh eyes on it. I can't recall if it's a cold case or what, but the second officer writes his answer in the end, giving you the solution to the tale. I think it was also accompanied by a confession from the killer.
And those witness statements aren't as helpful as you'd expect. People forget things, misremember them, think irrelivant things are important and don't talk about the important stuff...
It's brilliant, that's what it is.
Well, life goes on a pace. I have a business to tend to today, so I shall say farewell and God bless.
EDIT: Of course, there is an Austen Quote for everything, as proven earlier in this post...
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Day 10- Time for Q & A
Q: What is the most important thing I should know about writing?
A: I'm betting Jenny will have the same answer, but honest, I came up with this on my own.
No, really. I did.
Read good books. And by good books I mean meaty classics, or as Jenny says, "dead people". In my experience, like it or not you will write what you read. So if you want to write a good book, read some. Learn the richness of the English language from authors whose works have stood the test of time. Shakespeare, Austen, Christie, Sayers, Lewis, G. A. Henty (track him down if you haven't heard of him)... Real authors, if I may be so snooty-sounding. That's not to say you can't read current works. Not at all. But if you want to write lasting books, read lasting books.
Books like Harry Potter and Twilight are extremely popular now. But do you know who Mrs. Radcliffe is? She was an extremely popular author during Jane Austen's life, yet I doubt you've heard of her beyond a few mentions in "Emma" and "Northanger Abbey". That a book is popular now does not mean it will continue so.
Choose your materials carefully. "What goes in must come out", as an old song says.
A: I'm betting Jenny will have the same answer, but honest, I came up with this on my own.
No, really. I did.
Read good books. And by good books I mean meaty classics, or as Jenny says, "dead people". In my experience, like it or not you will write what you read. So if you want to write a good book, read some. Learn the richness of the English language from authors whose works have stood the test of time. Shakespeare, Austen, Christie, Sayers, Lewis, G. A. Henty (track him down if you haven't heard of him)... Real authors, if I may be so snooty-sounding. That's not to say you can't read current works. Not at all. But if you want to write lasting books, read lasting books.
Books like Harry Potter and Twilight are extremely popular now. But do you know who Mrs. Radcliffe is? She was an extremely popular author during Jane Austen's life, yet I doubt you've heard of her beyond a few mentions in "Emma" and "Northanger Abbey". That a book is popular now does not mean it will continue so.
Choose your materials carefully. "What goes in must come out", as an old song says.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Day 9 - What's my what? (plus tangent)
Here we are at day nine of the Eat..Sleep...Write: 15 day writer's challenge!
Today's assignment: "What is your current writing project?"
I would have to say... This.
These blog entries and weekly letters to The Penslayer are my only regular writing of any kind at the moment.
I'm in the midst of The Comitatus Britanniarum (a story blog with Jenny, now labeled ` for some reason as yet unascertained), but as we are both almost in over our heads with other work, it's more or less paused.
If I may spiral off into a tangent...
I am enjoying weekly letter writing. It gives one another anchor into the passage of time. When you have a life that is more or less the same every day, it's things like that that remind you yes, time is passing on. Today is not the same as yesterday. It is coming on Autumn, soon it will be Spring. I think my visit with Jenny was the only real "Summer" I was able to experience this year. It flew by in a whirl of projects. Winter did the same, with rehearsals that took me through the beginning of March. In short, it is August, and I feel as though I've scarcely drawn breath since before Christmas.
So I think I was wrong. Rather than reminding me of the long, large passings (months, seasons, etc.) little things, marking small increments, help me remember the in-between. That there are a whole three weeks before September. That there are nearly two months before my October deadline. That there is time in between that exists outside of deadlines and goals. Time in the here and now to be noticed and enjoyed. It deserves our notice, does it not?
Someone once said "Every moment is a gift. That's why it's called 'the present'."
Diary writing, letter writing, these are ways to recount, remember, and enjoy the present and recent past. When I write my weekly letter, I look back and notice the things that made this week unique to all others. And as I know I will be writing at the beginning of next week, as I go about my days I think, "I must remember this, to tell Jenny".
So thank you, Jenny. Because of you I now have a reason to reflect on and recognize the small things that deserve notice.
Today's assignment: "What is your current writing project?"
I would have to say... This.
These blog entries and weekly letters to The Penslayer are my only regular writing of any kind at the moment.
I'm in the midst of The Comitatus Britanniarum (a story blog with Jenny, now labeled ` for some reason as yet unascertained), but as we are both almost in over our heads with other work, it's more or less paused.
If I may spiral off into a tangent...
I am enjoying weekly letter writing. It gives one another anchor into the passage of time. When you have a life that is more or less the same every day, it's things like that that remind you yes, time is passing on. Today is not the same as yesterday. It is coming on Autumn, soon it will be Spring. I think my visit with Jenny was the only real "Summer" I was able to experience this year. It flew by in a whirl of projects. Winter did the same, with rehearsals that took me through the beginning of March. In short, it is August, and I feel as though I've scarcely drawn breath since before Christmas.
So I think I was wrong. Rather than reminding me of the long, large passings (months, seasons, etc.) little things, marking small increments, help me remember the in-between. That there are a whole three weeks before September. That there are nearly two months before my October deadline. That there is time in between that exists outside of deadlines and goals. Time in the here and now to be noticed and enjoyed. It deserves our notice, does it not?
Someone once said "Every moment is a gift. That's why it's called 'the present'."
Diary writing, letter writing, these are ways to recount, remember, and enjoy the present and recent past. When I write my weekly letter, I look back and notice the things that made this week unique to all others. And as I know I will be writing at the beginning of next week, as I go about my days I think, "I must remember this, to tell Jenny".
So thank you, Jenny. Because of you I now have a reason to reflect on and recognize the small things that deserve notice.
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