Liquid

Liquid light, I feel. Happy that sunset has now moved far enough to the west that the glow creeps into the kitchen summoning me at sunset. I did go out earlier, got cold and wet for my trouble.

I've barely commented on any of your journals for a week or more. Can't even seem to find spare words for my own posts. I do visit my subscriptions most days and feel enriched by that. I hope to catch up one day or just to jump back into the flow.

Writing: there is nothing I don't like about the process of writing. Never met a blank page I didn't love. But I think my favourite bit is ruthlessly editing and crafting sentences, reconsidering words as the final draft draws near. Then words attach themselves to me like limpets, from conversations, overheard on the street, on the radio, from your journals. I jot them down as a scrappy list on post-its, knowing they'll find their place. The only bit I'm not fond of is when I misplace the post-it, like today.

Today I've been watching words emerge out of the ether by their own volition, and was going to put today's list on here. Then I lost the post-it. So here is one from a few days back.

transacting
illusory
spurious
emptiness
space
obscure
germane

Often they sound too grand for the piece and a simpler word ends up on the page. I like today's list better as it fits (created? reflects? coincides with?) my mood today but I can't remember them without the paper copy. One of today's words was 'limpid.' I think it morphed into the 'liquid' in the title.

Don't you just love the mystery and miracle of creation, expression, communication, ebb and flow, give and take? You must do or you wouldn't be on here.

Edit: so sad to hear of Philip Seymour Hoffman's death. He did such a good job in Magnolia, the song in the final scene is doubly poignant now.

#am writing