-
Action! Inaction!
Every sentence begins with a stressed syllable, mostly alternating stressed and unstressed: DUH duh. DUH duh. (Yep, trochaic rhythm.) I’m trying to make you feel how Painter receives a bit of input, then struggles to process it: Darkness. (Where?) Desperate coughing. (Huh?) Thunderous pounding. “What?”
-
Light Scatter
When I type up a chapter, comprehension becomes possible. The light-scatter coalesces into a focused beam, and I can see my book’s multitude of flaws and failures. And that’s okay: Imperfections are rocks that form a path across a river. I step on them, thank them, and leave them behind.
-
Unintended Consequences
No wonder we tell children that gifts are randomly carried down chimneys. It seems like a reasonably accurate fantasy story.
-
Out of Book Limbo and Into the Fire
I stubbornly filled a page…with crossed-out sentences. Then, exasperated, I turned back to my printout and physically crossed out the paragraphs I was trying to rewrite. That shouldn’t have worked, but it did.
Laurie J. Marks 