Friday, February 08, 2008

this end up (or: writing makes a fragile state of mind)

Let us have the luxury of silence. --Jane Austen, Mansfield Park
If you prick us, do we not bleed? --William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

THE SCENE: a bedroom/study, at a large black (altogether lovely) desk, computer humming, cursor blinking. A page of text, also blinking, at--

THE CAST: the writer. Who is four hours into her work day. Her jaw aches because she has a habit of clenching it as she writes. This explains her headaches. As does the glaring screen.

The screen also arches an eyebrow (is this common among computers?), because the writer has begun to doodle on scraps of paper. Curlicues turn into storm clouds, into a mountain range, into a chateau, into an abstract drawing of a person scowling.

At which point, she tosses the paper and begins to snip off the ends of her hair.

READ MORE...

Posted by Jenn Langefeld on 02/08 at 06:56 PM
(0) Trackbacks • Permalink
Page 1 of 1 pages