Jon tells me all my recent posts are about food. He’s right, and it’s probably because when I cook it’s the only time feel creatively engaged at the moment. Not that I don’t have stuff to do – I’m trying my hand at film editing, for example – but when I cook I often feel sense of satisfaction, of skill. Not so to dtae for the flick, and I really have no idea how the celebrated bourgeois writers of the ast century madfe time or desire for writing in the face of leaky windows and moldy walls.
In ameliatory fashion, all four flowering fruit trees on our proppity have burst forth. The lord of them, a tall cherry in the back yard, has a distinct and lovely fragrance.
Mike, I’m not sure how anybody ever wrote anything before computers. I suppose the old movie stereotype of the writer sitting in the middle of a pile of balled up and thrown away first pages must have been true. I have a friend who wrote several books with a typewriter. She said that it was cut and paste hell. You always ended up with a big pile of drafts, and then you would cut them apart and paste all of the best parts together. Writing was about half of it and then the mechanics of assembling the text was the other half. Now, try and imagine writing an entire book with a pen. I had a friend who had to address a group of people once. She started out by saying, ” I’m only going to speak to the creative people in the room.” She then went on to list all of the types of creativity we were capable of. She mentioned cooks and parents. I have often found enormous satisfaction in doing some small domestic thing. I once broke the back of a bad depression by cooking a pot of green chili. It was delicious.