Wednesday, May 23, 2007



Yesterday I had to set up a little makeshift desk of two wooden planks and a suitcase rack next to my own desk. He wanted to be involved in whatever it was that brought me back to my dusty desk in my dusty office. (Not too dusty, mind you, as we used this room to house a guest not long ago, but a little dusty from lack of use. Not terribly unlike my mind.)

He gathered up a few of my personal artifacts--a resin armadillo, a Parisian gargoyle, and a Tyrolean hat to make his space seem more his own. I began to wonder, how did Jane Austen do this? She had kids, right? (Upon further clarification, no she didn't have kids. And she never even married. And she died at 41. Oh. So that's how she did it.) I've started out reading The Artist's Way on the recommendation of a friend, and it's been miraculous in getting my creative juices flowing. M., you should read this if you haven't yet...I think you would derive a lot from it. It's the first book since college that I've actully set my alarm for. (As a sidenote, I'm also reading Kafka on the Shore, which is a good fictional companion. It's the kind of novel that makes you think of the author as much as the characters, if only to wonder at the fact that this--these words, this plot, these people--actually came out of someones head.)

2 Things not left unsaid:

Keetha said...

Love, love, love The Artist's Way! Isn't it great? Yea you for reading it.

Searching for a pen... said...

I think it's just what the doctor ordered...