Reflections of a working writer and reader
Whatever is felt upon the page without being specifically named there-that, one might say, is created. It is the inexplicable presence of the thing not named, of the overtone divined by the ear but not heard by it, the verbal mood, the emotional aura of the fact or the thing or the deed, that gives high quality to the novel or the drama, as well as to poetry itself. Willa Cather
i’m on a stationary train in the middle of a field en route to London to see Jessica Lange in The Glass Menagerie. We hit a flock of sheep, which were on the track and one of the diesel tanks was damaged and is leaking. Fingers crossed . . .
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The train hit a flock of sheep?
That sounds messy.
jb says: I’m not gonna describe it.
We were having a nice pleasant day wandering about when a great big metal monster came out of nowhere and ploughed into us. Some of us are sadly no more but at least we managed to injure the monster.
I’m sorry that you were delayed but even sorrier to hear about about the poor sheep.
Nice blog, by the way
jb says: Thank you, sir.