Emails

Posted on 29 February 2004

I’ve been answering emails for two hours. I love having the time. I feel as if my little house is a refuge and that I am a “real” writer here. Strange in the morning, my writing flows whether it’s in response to others or simply for myself. When I went to a writing workshop in Dublin many years ago, an American journalist gave a talk in which he said that a writer should try writing at different times of day and night, that the hour affected the pen. I think this true. Again, many years ago, I used to write in the evening after a glass of wine loosened my tongue. I find my tongue doesn’t need the wine these days.

I realize, at this moment, that I have become more courageous in regards to my writing. What scared me almost to death in the past now seems banal. I wonder how far I can go? Am I challenging myself?

Now that’s a scary thought.

Again, in regards to writing. I received an email from Vaughan in which she quotes Pat Schneider: “If we refuse to write the truth of what we see and what we remember, we have to work hard to keep the door closed. We call that refusal “writer’s block.”

I think it more than writer’s block. I think it a betrayal of self and life. Does that sound too grand? The wonderful part of writing is that it shows life as grand. It can turn the simplest gesture into a metaphor.

Last night we had dinner with our neighbours. We have lived beside them for over twenty years and last evening was the first time we dined together. Imelda is Irish. Ken is English. I asked Imelda if she knew what a “hooley” is and she took my arm and swung me round the room. The food was amazing. I will slip down to Capers soon and buy her some tulips and buy us some fancy sausages.

This is Academy Award day. I will go to store with Gill. Walter will go with his three offsprings and we will count every item in store. After, we will all return here, order pizza, and watch the awards although I admit, the only time I watched them all the way through was when I was actually in the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion. (Now it has moved to a larger fancier facility.)

February is a drab drab month. I’m glad this is the last day.


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