Telling it with straight lines


The old line: What happened is irrelevant, while how it felt and what happened to us matters. How far this can be perceived the limit of what can be described.

I have been very quiet over the holidays, in seclusion. I wrote next to nothing, read about half a dozen worthwhile books, thought some thoughts, talked as much as possible to my family, and not much else. I ought to apologise for ignoring every communication and only sending a couple of letters. I am still very unconfident of my ability to say or write anything accurate enough to be worth doing, so the long break in blog posts and general quietness will carry on.

My theory is that it is possible to find words only in proportion to how well we are aware what is going on. More clarity leads to saying more; less, and most words are chit-chat or defensive joking. My sonnet rate is dropping, for example last night and this morning, I couldn’t complete one and ended up with only one good quatrain. That is pretty much how I feel: a third of the way towards appreciating life enough to say anything about it.