I’ve been doing quite a bit of helping other people sift through their writing, but not doing a lot of my own writing. It feels a bit strange to read the writing of other people and feel compelled to comment on what I see, but it feels even stranger to be asked to do so by some people who I consider to be way better writers than I am. I just string words together to tell about my experiences, and they hone and craft nouns, verbs, adjective, and adverbs into expressions that could hang next to Monet’s paintings in the gallery. In a cliché expression, they create art and I just put things on paper. I am like the Andy Warhol of writing, only not good or clever.
Don’t let that paragraph make you think I haven’t enjoyed the past couple of weeks. I have. I got to read essays about Mary, learn about Medieval disabilities, understand why a friend ended up in Zambia, and critique letters of recommendation. My skills are multi-faceted. I offer then for free, even when I am not asked. 🙂
I am still working on the SotM, but I didn’t get a chance to work on a passage for today and rather than rush it and pretend like I learned some more, I think I will simply stop here. I need to finish reading a book for class tomorrow night anyway.
I am thankful for the writing opportunities I have had recently.
Food: banana, juice, grape pop tart, chocolate milk, horrible decaf americano, grapefruit, apple, almonds and M&Ms, vegan lasagna, mac and cheese, porter, salad with two fake burgers
Exercise: walked with Abs for about half an hour, walked the dogs
read this this morning and found it intriguing: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/02/23/theater/23gaytheater.html?pagewanted=1&sudsredirect=true