Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Bless this blog and all who sail in her
A chilly February day, sitting in the study, surrounded by piles of papers (in no discernable order), curtains closed, the debris of a novel (almost completed) all around me. Having used up all my good grammer teaching and writing, am now reduced to what Word would call 'scentence fragments'. But at least I have - with this - entered the blog age.
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1 comment:
Thanks for the comment Manu. It's a strange thing - when we write, the experience can be intensely personal and solitary. But there is always the ghost of an imagined reader with us. When that reader becomes real - when we know someone has actually filled that role - it is the consumation of the process.
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