Holy Smokes! It was actually busy in here this morning! But it seems to be over with now...at least for the next five minutes.
So, how are you guys? I'm doing well. It's so sunny outside and it smells like azaleas, which reminds me of Hawaii during the summer and riding my bike to the library to read and then to dance class when I was thirteen.
When was the last time you were truely inspired?
For me, it was when I was a sophomore in college and I was taking an intro to mix genre writing class. My professor, Diane Yahn, was the most remarkable woman ever. She was absolutely obessed with Yeats and Virginia Woolf. At that point, I was reading my first Woolf novel, To the Lighthouse, and she loved talking to me about it. After writing a few pieces for her, she took me into her office and told me that I reminded her of Lily Briscoe, the artist character in To the Lighthouse. I was flattered and shocked. Lily, to me, is an inspiration and something to aspire to be. It was during that class that I wrote some of the best poetry that has ever escaped my mind, and since then, I have not been able to find it again.
I was sad to find out that Diane ended up leaving the university and moving the next semester and never did come back.
Anyway, after that, I had minor burst of inspiration (like working on my thesis and whatnot) but nothing like I had experienced with her.
So today...
There is this woman I work with named Julia. We have great conversations about books, movies, travel and Portland all the time. Last week, we were talking about treasures we find in used books. A few days prior, she had found a letter from a woman to a man expressing her love and gratitude to him. The evelope was sealed and she didn't know who's book it was.
She brought the letter in today, and although it wasn't beautifully written, it still carried this aura. It made me want to write a story about it. And you know something, I think I'm going to.
If I were Lily Briscoe right now, I would be in the stage of contemplation over the tree. I would be at the dinner table, moving salt shakers, wondering where the exact area should be to make my final move.
So, how are you guys? I'm doing well. It's so sunny outside and it smells like azaleas, which reminds me of Hawaii during the summer and riding my bike to the library to read and then to dance class when I was thirteen.
When was the last time you were truely inspired?
For me, it was when I was a sophomore in college and I was taking an intro to mix genre writing class. My professor, Diane Yahn, was the most remarkable woman ever. She was absolutely obessed with Yeats and Virginia Woolf. At that point, I was reading my first Woolf novel, To the Lighthouse, and she loved talking to me about it. After writing a few pieces for her, she took me into her office and told me that I reminded her of Lily Briscoe, the artist character in To the Lighthouse. I was flattered and shocked. Lily, to me, is an inspiration and something to aspire to be. It was during that class that I wrote some of the best poetry that has ever escaped my mind, and since then, I have not been able to find it again.
I was sad to find out that Diane ended up leaving the university and moving the next semester and never did come back.
Anyway, after that, I had minor burst of inspiration (like working on my thesis and whatnot) but nothing like I had experienced with her.
So today...
There is this woman I work with named Julia. We have great conversations about books, movies, travel and Portland all the time. Last week, we were talking about treasures we find in used books. A few days prior, she had found a letter from a woman to a man expressing her love and gratitude to him. The evelope was sealed and she didn't know who's book it was.
She brought the letter in today, and although it wasn't beautifully written, it still carried this aura. It made me want to write a story about it. And you know something, I think I'm going to.
If I were Lily Briscoe right now, I would be in the stage of contemplation over the tree. I would be at the dinner table, moving salt shakers, wondering where the exact area should be to make my final move.
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If you've only read Lolita once, you MustMustMust read it again. So many things pop out on the second read. Keep your eye out for lightning and electrical disturbances.