Saturday, January 28, 2006

You Could Not Do a Worse Thing For Your Life

Why do I write?

That is an awful question.

This was a note outside of the office of a professor I knew in college (I didn't study with him, but he was a good guy and we talked about writing sometimes.)















The excerpt is from Alexander Pope's Immitation of Horace: The First Satire of the Second Book of Horace, written in 1733.

"The Consequence of Water" is my current obsession. I don't want to say too much about it because I'm still in the very early stages of working on it. This is a note for a section of the story about leaves.















So it turns out leaves don't "lose" their color. It just shifts. See, all through the spring and summer leaves and their chlorophyll make everything green and joyous. They feed the tree, all kinds of chemical shit is going on making the world go round, etc. etc. Then the cold weather moves in and the leaves stop making the food and the chlorophyll breaks down and the green just kind of fades away revealing what was there for months: reds and yellows and purples. All of that glory was there all along and it is revealed just before the leaves die. hmph.


I just gave my 2 weeks notice at work. This is the view from the top of the ladder in the back room:



















This song is just very nice, I think:

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