Writing Life
This morning I have two chapters left to polish. Will this make the story flawless? Nah, I've learned that much. No matter how many times I go through it there's always something that could be improved. What it is--is the best I can make it at this point in time.
Learning to write well is a journey, not a destination. There's always more to learn, more to polish. Perhaps at some point an author reaches a personal pinnacle and the law of diminishing returns sets in, this is pure speculation on my part, since I'm nowhere near that point.
The official start of winter is a couple of weeks away but from my office window the white birch is leafless and the sound--a giant reflection pond from my viewpoint on the hill--is once again visible beyond. The trees are my favorite part of the garden. They act like silent sturdy sentinels, protecting, sheltering, and defining the environment.
All but a two of the trees in the yard are deciduous, so there are many leaves to gather each fall, the apple tree is the last to shed its leafy coat. By the end of next month the last of leaves will all be gone. The grass needs mowing but its too wet--a perpetual winter gardening problem.
Last weeks dinner still lingers and while it was delicious--I'm tired of it. I'm thinking about doing an enchilada sauce for the rest of the pork and some polenta along with some coleslaw and ignoring the remaining orzo, which was lovely in the beginning. Even the current/wine/brown pan bits sauce has lost its charm or perhaps it's just that I'm out of blackberry crisp and carrot raisin salad. Note to self: dinner for four in this recipe refers to four much hungrier people than moi.
Learning to write well is a journey, not a destination. There's always more to learn, more to polish. Perhaps at some point an author reaches a personal pinnacle and the law of diminishing returns sets in, this is pure speculation on my part, since I'm nowhere near that point.
The official start of winter is a couple of weeks away but from my office window the white birch is leafless and the sound--a giant reflection pond from my viewpoint on the hill--is once again visible beyond. The trees are my favorite part of the garden. They act like silent sturdy sentinels, protecting, sheltering, and defining the environment.
All but a two of the trees in the yard are deciduous, so there are many leaves to gather each fall, the apple tree is the last to shed its leafy coat. By the end of next month the last of leaves will all be gone. The grass needs mowing but its too wet--a perpetual winter gardening problem.
Last weeks dinner still lingers and while it was delicious--I'm tired of it. I'm thinking about doing an enchilada sauce for the rest of the pork and some polenta along with some coleslaw and ignoring the remaining orzo, which was lovely in the beginning. Even the current/wine/brown pan bits sauce has lost its charm or perhaps it's just that I'm out of blackberry crisp and carrot raisin salad. Note to self: dinner for four in this recipe refers to four much hungrier people than moi.
posted by Evanne Lorraine at 7:45 AM
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