This narrative called Life keeps tossing us in both, at times simultaneously. During intense periods, that unseen Writer might even arc completely through several short stories. Forget slow chapter development. Pages fill with the magnificent and the mundane. The preposterous and the poignant. The heart warming and the heart breaking. And that fragile, bewildered character in the middle of it all? I think we all recognize him/her.
Given the number of surprise twists in my story, my author must have reveled in sharpening the quill and draining the inkwell. That is ... until I took hold of the quill. Enter deus ex machina -- the setting is changed! For after a decade in the West Coast, we decided to hitch our wagon for Washington DC. And we are loving it.
So here I am, having walked off my own pages to write my new story. And that blank page, with my quill poised upon it, is pregnant with Hope.
We are settling into our little stretch of forest right off the Beltway. While not as spartan as Henry David Thoreau's experiment when he "went to the woods", we also hope to "live deep and suck out all the marrow of life".
And so I am savoring
butterflies in the bushes,
|Eastern Tiger Swallowtail in the garden|
dancing fireflies and hooting owls,
my treetop nook (where I curl with my book),
all the while, engulfed by the Capital
|iPhone snapshot of|
Degas' Little Dancer
National Gallery of Art
|Exploring literary life in the MidCity Revival district|
Dodging plot twists has kept me from being a consistent presence on friends' blogs in recent months. But I sincerely hope to reconnect and wish for our paths to cross here in Washington, DC, virtually or physically. Perhaps together we can enjoy music, literature, art, dance and all those wonderful things that make Life worth living and inking into our personal Anthology.
What shall we write now?