As I write this blog entry, I'm aware of my words being potentially read by another, whereas usually I'm making notes to myself and logging my creative pieces with an audience far in the background.
Maybe I have a transition to look forward to?
I credit the possibility to a close re-reading of The History Of Love. Nicole Krauss crafted a literary experience for me, aiding in my search for the meaning of Story itself. (There's more to say about this, concerning Jung, recent research into personal narratives as psychologically important, sociological stuff -- but I'm too full of words right now.)
My grip: may it get ever looser until the words that happen to chatter across the keyboard are less and less mine and more and more . . . just there.
