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ravenThe book came today. I read a little of it in the bookshop, like I always do, so I won't start from the very first page. I said I won't start - I haven't started yet. It's a new book, with a matte red finish, and it's so perfect as it sits there that I don't want to open it yet. I am reading it. Give me time.
The book is More, Now, Again by Elizabeth Wurtzel, and I may have said before just how much I would love to write like her. They say you can teach writing. I disagree. You can teach a person how to form the letters on the page, but you can't teach a love of reading and writing, a passionate love that never dies or fades away, simply manifests itself in an infinite variety of ways.
I'd love to write like that, and it's times like this when I come closest. My head aches so much that my mind is somewhat free - I'm trying not to talk and not to see, even trying to type with my eyes closed because I don't want to see. I can see beyond this with my eyes closed. I don't want to carry on; I want to keep the moment just as perfect as the book.
It's perfect. New and unread and red, and it's perfect.
The book is More, Now, Again by Elizabeth Wurtzel, and I may have said before just how much I would love to write like her. They say you can teach writing. I disagree. You can teach a person how to form the letters on the page, but you can't teach a love of reading and writing, a passionate love that never dies or fades away, simply manifests itself in an infinite variety of ways.
I'd love to write like that, and it's times like this when I come closest. My head aches so much that my mind is somewhat free - I'm trying not to talk and not to see, even trying to type with my eyes closed because I don't want to see. I can see beyond this with my eyes closed. I don't want to carry on; I want to keep the moment just as perfect as the book.
It's perfect. New and unread and red, and it's perfect.