We're sitting before the fire at 4:30 on a gray and chilly day, chasing away the chill with good reading and comfortable flames. Cia is reading Charles Dickens' humongous novel, Little Dorrit, and really loving it. She sometimes reads for hours, curled up in bed or on the couch beside the fire, listening to an audio recording of the book and swiping through the Kindle pages on her iPhone. She often enthusiastically relates to me something that happened in the story, her eyes sparkling with interest and understanding. I read the novel many years ago, and her excitement about it is bringing back good memories.
Today, I'm reading through some of my poems, making little changes here and there, sort of the way a visual artist might add a brushstroke now and then, almost in passing. As in any hobby, I guess, polishing and refining is one of the true joys in doing my writing. I think of a carpenter sanding down the arm of a new chair again and again, looking for some kind of perfection.
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| * a great place to read Dickens * |
Today, I'm reading through some of my poems, making little changes here and there, sort of the way a visual artist might add a brushstroke now and then, almost in passing. As in any hobby, I guess, polishing and refining is one of the true joys in doing my writing. I think of a carpenter sanding down the arm of a new chair again and again, looking for some kind of perfection.
