…the sunset in North Dakota.
…this time during a storm. I haven’t quite figured out why the sky was red/orange, as it was still cloudy, still raining, and still storming. I’m sure there is some logical explanation, and now I’m sure I really don’t need to know. All I know is that the view from my front door looked like some exotic place, the sky breathing out the last warmth of the day, and everything else far, far, away.
…deserves a new blog. I thought it might be a good idea to give my project a blog of its own. You can find my exercises in writing at The Plural Hoe.
The addition of a blog of its own should help to alleviate any confusion between regular posts and the project posts, as well as being cleaner and easier to read. I hope you follow along with the action as I explore blogging the voices of women that have inspired me, and many others, and hopefully they continue to inspire me.
…And this is based on something read on Lemon Hound here, and at Alone on a Boreal Stage here. Because of the excellent blogging I discover at both blogs, I decided to tackle a small project of my own, inspired in a way by all women writers. I’ve been thinking a bit about this line from Lemon Hound:
“What if Susan Sontag had blogged? What if Gertrude Stein or Mina Loy had blogged?”
So, naturally I wondered, because I am most familiar with her work, what if Gertrude Stein had blogged?
So I decided to procrastinate renovating my computer room (usually the opposite happens where I procrastinate writing and renovate) and attempt to do some small writing exercises based on the works of these writers, and other writers that never had the opportunity to blog, to write some stuff in emulation, and hopefully create something of my own in return. I’m going to start small today (these will hopefully get more intricate as I think on them more, or not) and work my way up in the next few weeks to something bigger and better.
A well. An inked mountain. Inky swell. Hanging of the hat. Headspace; the rest coming. An opening. Daybreak sliced back in peelings. Sewing into what has been hidden. A needling in. The weeded container of what sprouts in rows. A garden. A rose hipped in the nose of morning. Line of dew. Dropped. The plural hoe, digging through. Dug. Dust. A spot underneath. Rubbed away. Running away. Carried on the backs of furrows.
…while finishing the last week of duty as colony coordinator at St. Peter’s Abbey is Fernando Pessoa’s The Book of Disquiet. I’ve really enjoyed meeting everyone and I’m quite pleased with the opportunity to visit the Abbey and Muenster area again for such an extended time. I’m not sure if I produced as much work as I wanted, but I’m happy with my outcome, so far. I still have just under a week to work, so work I will.
Also, one of the last sunset shots, this was taken on the #6 heading north last week from Regina. Yes, B, I was driving at the time. It couldn’t be helped. It’s an addiction: picturetaking and driving.