A MOVEABLE FEAST is hemingway's memoir of 1920's paris including his time writing there. when struggling, he's say, "'do not worry. you have always written before and you will write now. all you have to do is write one true sentence. write the truest sentence that you know.' so finally, i would write one true sentence, and then go on from there."
true sentences can be found all around -- in something we know or observe or gather from others or the world at large. once found, we can go on from there.
well, off to find my one true sentence, from there, ah such possibilities.
Friday, August 27, 2004
Thursday, August 26, 2004
a year and a day
i ran away this week.
all my kids are back to school, my husband has been working like crazy, i've been working like crazy and have piles and piles more to work through. so after dropping off kids, having prearranged for them to be picked up by family (yes, it sometimes takes prearranging to run away), stopping by starbucks, off i went. "pacific ocean, here i come!" it's three hours one way, but the drive was as important as the destination (windows down, tunes blaring, the open road).
it had been a year and a day since i'd been to trinidad state beach. that time with one of my best friends (you know, the kind who could make millions selling your secrets to tabloids if ever you became rich and famous). it wasn't the best time in my life, a year and a day ago, but the two of us had a time that cemented a certain bond beyond breaking. we ran along the beach in the dark, stayed up late talking, went back to the beach the next day, and drove home in near silence as we contemplated what waited ahead.
this week i went alone. alone is good sometimes. needed even, i've come to believe. grownups, career people, married folk aren't often self-less enough to get away alone. yes, i said selfless, not selfish. another thing i've come to believe. before it seemed self-sacrificing to give my life to family, friends, readers, and the stories themselves. and it nearly did me in. it takes some kind of wisdom that i'm only now discovering (through the insights of others) to take care of myself, my inner self in particular, to such a height that i can give to those people and things i love and who love me. a martyr might be a good if you're going to die for others, but to live for others, it seems you need to be strong, not dying. and i'm stronger now. i want to stay strong (which has something to do with weakness, a weakness only god fills up with strength). maybe i'm not fully saying this, i'm still discovering it myself -- that balance between nurturing our own souls not only for ourselves, not only for others either, but for us, others and god, perhaps?
CULTIVATE SILENCE AND CAPTURE BEAUTY
wrote those words in my journal while on the beach (yep, one of those dorky journal people at the beach and what of it -- i've become a blogger after all).
i think often i've been a "user" of silence and beauty. i observe and breath it in for a purpose, be it a storyline or character or something to share with someone i love or for even a stranger with likeminded soul. communion got me thinking about this, about partaking of things and making them part of our own being. of really letting silence and beauty reside inside without agenda or ticking clocks. something like hearing the christ say, "look around, this is me. partake in remembrance of me."
the beach -- nothing so revitalizing as the eternal rhythm of the sea. i waded in the waves, watched a family swim and laugh as their dogs splashed around,
finished reading THE GOOD LIFE: BENEDICT'S GUIDE TO EVERYDAY JOY which i highly recommend along with all robert benson works. it was only some hours away, some hours that would've disappeared, and yet, now they haven't.
before turning toward home, i bought a coffee and sandwich, sat by the trinidad lighthouse, and just enjoyed the silence and beauty. it was good to be there, a year and a day later. some things get lost, others gained, but the silence and beauty can remain. love remains, don't you think?
and so, i've decided...i just need to run away more often.
all my kids are back to school, my husband has been working like crazy, i've been working like crazy and have piles and piles more to work through. so after dropping off kids, having prearranged for them to be picked up by family (yes, it sometimes takes prearranging to run away), stopping by starbucks, off i went. "pacific ocean, here i come!" it's three hours one way, but the drive was as important as the destination (windows down, tunes blaring, the open road).
it had been a year and a day since i'd been to trinidad state beach. that time with one of my best friends (you know, the kind who could make millions selling your secrets to tabloids if ever you became rich and famous). it wasn't the best time in my life, a year and a day ago, but the two of us had a time that cemented a certain bond beyond breaking. we ran along the beach in the dark, stayed up late talking, went back to the beach the next day, and drove home in near silence as we contemplated what waited ahead.
this week i went alone. alone is good sometimes. needed even, i've come to believe. grownups, career people, married folk aren't often self-less enough to get away alone. yes, i said selfless, not selfish. another thing i've come to believe. before it seemed self-sacrificing to give my life to family, friends, readers, and the stories themselves. and it nearly did me in. it takes some kind of wisdom that i'm only now discovering (through the insights of others) to take care of myself, my inner self in particular, to such a height that i can give to those people and things i love and who love me. a martyr might be a good if you're going to die for others, but to live for others, it seems you need to be strong, not dying. and i'm stronger now. i want to stay strong (which has something to do with weakness, a weakness only god fills up with strength). maybe i'm not fully saying this, i'm still discovering it myself -- that balance between nurturing our own souls not only for ourselves, not only for others either, but for us, others and god, perhaps?
CULTIVATE SILENCE AND CAPTURE BEAUTY
wrote those words in my journal while on the beach (yep, one of those dorky journal people at the beach and what of it -- i've become a blogger after all).
i think often i've been a "user" of silence and beauty. i observe and breath it in for a purpose, be it a storyline or character or something to share with someone i love or for even a stranger with likeminded soul. communion got me thinking about this, about partaking of things and making them part of our own being. of really letting silence and beauty reside inside without agenda or ticking clocks. something like hearing the christ say, "look around, this is me. partake in remembrance of me."
the beach -- nothing so revitalizing as the eternal rhythm of the sea. i waded in the waves, watched a family swim and laugh as their dogs splashed around,
finished reading THE GOOD LIFE: BENEDICT'S GUIDE TO EVERYDAY JOY which i highly recommend along with all robert benson works. it was only some hours away, some hours that would've disappeared, and yet, now they haven't.
before turning toward home, i bought a coffee and sandwich, sat by the trinidad lighthouse, and just enjoyed the silence and beauty. it was good to be there, a year and a day later. some things get lost, others gained, but the silence and beauty can remain. love remains, don't you think?
and so, i've decided...i just need to run away more often.
Sunday, August 22, 2004
keeping little cups
communion sunday today, and the first time i've been in church in longer than i'm going to publically admit. sad, but true, and could include my long explanation of struggles with church, finding a church, yearning for something...okay, i'm not going here.
so communion sunday today. my youngest son was in the service with us which means a decision of whether he should take communion or not.
i lean over and whisper, "do you remember what communion means? that by eating the bread and drinking the juice, it's remembering..." and the whole explanation because i'm worried he doesn't get it and feel some huge weight that he should.
"yes, i remember, mom." he's excited, and that worries me. should we be excited about it? sure reverent, holy, silent...but excited?
during the time for reflection and examination of our hearts, he puts his hands firmly together and starts praying with brows furrowed (he's serious about this), and i can't help wonder what words a seven year old is confessing to god almighty. even at his age, he seems to have the clearest, most untainted view of god -- maybe because he nearly died when he was two and has seen a glimpse of life beyond, and maybe that glimpse remains inside him somewhere.
as the gleaming brass tray holding tiny square "breads" comes toward us, i see that gleam reflected in my son's eyes. i know what he's thinking. i know he's so excited to hold the shiny plate, pick up that little square cracker-thing, and be part of this exciting grown-up -- yet somewhat child-like ritual. he's not thinking snack time, but it's still so new to him, all the charm is there, every part. it comes out in kid language that makes me cringe.
"mom, i can hold my own cup."
"do we get to keep the cup?"
he moves his cup over to do "cheers" with mine which receives my "look."
"can we eat the little bread now?"
he looks around, smiling widely at people.
"hmmm, sour!" he says after drinking, smacking his lips.
as a girl, i remember my mom's horrified expression when i said loudly, "hey mom, i really like grape juice now. i never liked it until today."
i've partaken (you need a word like "partaken" when talking about communion) in a great variety of places, different parts of the world, sometimes with wine, mostly with grape juice, sometimes bread that's like bread, other times ripped up tortillas and such.
at times, i've wanted a whole loaf of bread, a huge goblet of wine -- i needed more of god than the mini-sized portions.
whatever means or method, i love communion. it always makes me stop short, gaze inside, review what is always here but not always recognized. i'll still battle my church issues. and i'm not certain my son's pure glee is what we should be like during communion partaking or not. but the act, the remembering, the symbolic becoming physical -- all this i love. guess, it's rather exciting when you think about it.
later, i asked my son what he thought about communion today, "it puts this kind of joy inside." he says so easily, and i marvel at that. then he adds, "i just wish we could keep the little cups."
so communion sunday today. my youngest son was in the service with us which means a decision of whether he should take communion or not.
i lean over and whisper, "do you remember what communion means? that by eating the bread and drinking the juice, it's remembering..." and the whole explanation because i'm worried he doesn't get it and feel some huge weight that he should.
"yes, i remember, mom." he's excited, and that worries me. should we be excited about it? sure reverent, holy, silent...but excited?
during the time for reflection and examination of our hearts, he puts his hands firmly together and starts praying with brows furrowed (he's serious about this), and i can't help wonder what words a seven year old is confessing to god almighty. even at his age, he seems to have the clearest, most untainted view of god -- maybe because he nearly died when he was two and has seen a glimpse of life beyond, and maybe that glimpse remains inside him somewhere.
as the gleaming brass tray holding tiny square "breads" comes toward us, i see that gleam reflected in my son's eyes. i know what he's thinking. i know he's so excited to hold the shiny plate, pick up that little square cracker-thing, and be part of this exciting grown-up -- yet somewhat child-like ritual. he's not thinking snack time, but it's still so new to him, all the charm is there, every part. it comes out in kid language that makes me cringe.
"mom, i can hold my own cup."
"do we get to keep the cup?"
he moves his cup over to do "cheers" with mine which receives my "look."
"can we eat the little bread now?"
he looks around, smiling widely at people.
"hmmm, sour!" he says after drinking, smacking his lips.
as a girl, i remember my mom's horrified expression when i said loudly, "hey mom, i really like grape juice now. i never liked it until today."
i've partaken (you need a word like "partaken" when talking about communion) in a great variety of places, different parts of the world, sometimes with wine, mostly with grape juice, sometimes bread that's like bread, other times ripped up tortillas and such.
at times, i've wanted a whole loaf of bread, a huge goblet of wine -- i needed more of god than the mini-sized portions.
whatever means or method, i love communion. it always makes me stop short, gaze inside, review what is always here but not always recognized. i'll still battle my church issues. and i'm not certain my son's pure glee is what we should be like during communion partaking or not. but the act, the remembering, the symbolic becoming physical -- all this i love. guess, it's rather exciting when you think about it.
later, i asked my son what he thought about communion today, "it puts this kind of joy inside." he says so easily, and i marvel at that. then he adds, "i just wish we could keep the little cups."
Friday, August 20, 2004
shiny car update
writing chronicles return with a vengence -- i'm back to work, it's official. the excuses will no longer work from myself to myself. i need it. today, i wrote for the catalogue of my german publisher. yesterday, i tweaked the opening of a story and worked on a screenplay idea. also back to work-in-progress called "clockworks" or "3 AM" (any votes on which title is better?). it feels so good!
sorry to keep people waiting. back in june, i wrote a blog about shiny cars and my hunt for a new dependable ride (checkout archives if you so desire). at long last, i have a new shiny car, and i must confess it makes me happy.
truly. i drive and feel happy. in making the car decision, i found that driving a car that isn’t “you” is like wearing clothes that aren't your style. shallow yes, but is shallow always bad? i can give excuses like i got very low interest, the asking price was what we wanted. i can say that i’ve paid my dues -- have driven some of the worst cars on the planet. one caught on fire while i was driving, one was big enough to carry my entire senior class, one was named the “big banana” and could be spotted several miles away (it was THAT bright of a yellow), and one i bought for $1000 and drove for 4 years (and not too long ago either). i could give all the reasons, but they mean nothing.
the truth is, i like the color (charcoal), i like the stereo (matchbox twenty has already been inaugurated and next is bono and friends if i can find my cds), i like the smooth ride and smell of new car and that it had 12 miles on it (i’ve never had a new car before), and i like that it’s sort of me if a car can be (can do both 4X4 or dress up for the city).
a great portion of my life is spent in deep inner contemplation and in storyland. another part is joyful in the shiny new car. whooohooo, i feel like a kid getting her shiny new bike, with basket, chrome spokes, a horn, new tires...she's speeding down a hill with the wind against her face.
so for those on the edge of your seat wondering, i have a car...and if you want to see how it climbs hills, give me a ring.
other shallow news: in the bourne supremacy (great flick, by the way), matt damon goes to an internet café. welllllll, i have been to that very internet café, it’s one of my favorite places, especially now (it’s really in prague)! i found that fun to discover, yes, i did indeed.
soon, i should write about dealing with a son starting high school, and my old school even, but it's just too painful right now. i'm too young to face these things.
went swimming across the lake today, it was beautiful.
lastly, i ordered screenwriting software this week. will it sit on the shelf?
this was a very random day.
sorry to keep people waiting. back in june, i wrote a blog about shiny cars and my hunt for a new dependable ride (checkout archives if you so desire). at long last, i have a new shiny car, and i must confess it makes me happy.
truly. i drive and feel happy. in making the car decision, i found that driving a car that isn’t “you” is like wearing clothes that aren't your style. shallow yes, but is shallow always bad? i can give excuses like i got very low interest, the asking price was what we wanted. i can say that i’ve paid my dues -- have driven some of the worst cars on the planet. one caught on fire while i was driving, one was big enough to carry my entire senior class, one was named the “big banana” and could be spotted several miles away (it was THAT bright of a yellow), and one i bought for $1000 and drove for 4 years (and not too long ago either). i could give all the reasons, but they mean nothing.
the truth is, i like the color (charcoal), i like the stereo (matchbox twenty has already been inaugurated and next is bono and friends if i can find my cds), i like the smooth ride and smell of new car and that it had 12 miles on it (i’ve never had a new car before), and i like that it’s sort of me if a car can be (can do both 4X4 or dress up for the city).
a great portion of my life is spent in deep inner contemplation and in storyland. another part is joyful in the shiny new car. whooohooo, i feel like a kid getting her shiny new bike, with basket, chrome spokes, a horn, new tires...she's speeding down a hill with the wind against her face.
so for those on the edge of your seat wondering, i have a car...and if you want to see how it climbs hills, give me a ring.
other shallow news: in the bourne supremacy (great flick, by the way), matt damon goes to an internet café. welllllll, i have been to that very internet café, it’s one of my favorite places, especially now (it’s really in prague)! i found that fun to discover, yes, i did indeed.
soon, i should write about dealing with a son starting high school, and my old school even, but it's just too painful right now. i'm too young to face these things.
went swimming across the lake today, it was beautiful.
lastly, i ordered screenwriting software this week. will it sit on the shelf?
this was a very random day.
Thursday, August 19, 2004
anniversaries
certain dates stay in our heads. i realized today was an odd anniversary, meaningful to me in its way.
in my author note of my first novel, winter passing, i talked about benchmark moments -- points of memory that change us, places we can recall quite vividly and remind us of something gained or something lost. there's a bench in austria mentioned, a bench above the alpine village of hallstatt. i've been granted five visits to that place, and one little bench has great significance to me. i have other places, and dates. and so today is one of those for me.
i'd love to hear of some of your benchmark moments, your anniversary dates. either comment here or email me.
in my author note of my first novel, winter passing, i talked about benchmark moments -- points of memory that change us, places we can recall quite vividly and remind us of something gained or something lost. there's a bench in austria mentioned, a bench above the alpine village of hallstatt. i've been granted five visits to that place, and one little bench has great significance to me. i have other places, and dates. and so today is one of those for me.
i'd love to hear of some of your benchmark moments, your anniversary dates. either comment here or email me.
to readers
i want to say this to you....
fictional architect howard roark, that noble soul in THE FOUNTAINHEAD (Ayn Rand), says to someone who understood perfectly what roark is doing with in his buildings, "i'm helpless against anyone who sees what you saw in my buildings."
(sidenote confession, i think i'm a little in love with howard roark.)
another scene of the book brings howard roark to meet with stephen mallory, a sculpture who is beaten and rundown by the world. when howard tells him what he sees in stephen's work, stephen replies,
"how did you know what's been killing me? slowly, for years, driving me to hate people when i don't want to hate them...have you felt it too? have you seen how your best friends love everything about you -- except the things that count? and your most important is nothing to them, nothing, not even a sound they can recognize. you mean, YOU want to hear?...it's not boring to you? it's important?"
howard does want to hear which unleashes a dam within stephen. he talks for hours "gluttonously, like a drowning man flung out to shore, getting drunk on huge, clean snatches of air."
true artists don't work for the acknowledgement. they work because they must. they work because a story or song or building is burning inside of them and that creator within will not be silent (just as our creator had to say "let there be..."). artists don't wait to see who will see them, but there is something deep and affirming when one does. and on the other side, the viewer, perceiver gains acknowledgement by seeing. when i discover great art, i feel a deep, affirming acknowlegement that i too am alive and for me, it then becomes something of a divine gift through the artist. and sometimes great art comes in the strangest places -- in the smooth lines of a boat, the complexities of a machine, in the work of a spider, know what i mean?
yet, an artist standing there naked and bare discovers the worst kind of pain is not ridicule, disgust, or confusion -- the worst comes in the turning away, the apathetic glance, the yawn. the worst is that a life isn't worth acknowledgement. howard roark could live with it; his work uncompromised. stephen mallory let the yawns nearly destroy him.
my random thoughts today are twofold. partially, my response to reading a beautiful book. i don't believe in all of ayn rand's philosophy, but that doesn't matter. i feel better for the reading and will read it again and again (you should see the pages and pages of underlined passages).
the other part, is thanks to readers. the emails of late from readers all over –Australia, Texas, Rhode Island, Tennessee -- amazing. also the phone calls -- m. thompson and also t.roe in colorado (i wish to say how much it meant that you'd underlined passages), and to those who put reviews on amazon.com and have commented about this blog.
sometimes i don't get back right away to you. other authors are so much better. but it's never truly neglect. i want the energy and voice to respond and make you understand what your words mean to me. it's difficult to express in a short note. it feels generic, those words of thanks. but it's not generic -- every email and letter is truly a gift, and i wish to tell you that.
as with howard roark and stephen mallory, i wish to say that i'm a little helpless when i get your notes, and that it means much that you would hear me and want to listen.
fictional architect howard roark, that noble soul in THE FOUNTAINHEAD (Ayn Rand), says to someone who understood perfectly what roark is doing with in his buildings, "i'm helpless against anyone who sees what you saw in my buildings."
(sidenote confession, i think i'm a little in love with howard roark.)
another scene of the book brings howard roark to meet with stephen mallory, a sculpture who is beaten and rundown by the world. when howard tells him what he sees in stephen's work, stephen replies,
"how did you know what's been killing me? slowly, for years, driving me to hate people when i don't want to hate them...have you felt it too? have you seen how your best friends love everything about you -- except the things that count? and your most important is nothing to them, nothing, not even a sound they can recognize. you mean, YOU want to hear?...it's not boring to you? it's important?"
howard does want to hear which unleashes a dam within stephen. he talks for hours "gluttonously, like a drowning man flung out to shore, getting drunk on huge, clean snatches of air."
true artists don't work for the acknowledgement. they work because they must. they work because a story or song or building is burning inside of them and that creator within will not be silent (just as our creator had to say "let there be..."). artists don't wait to see who will see them, but there is something deep and affirming when one does. and on the other side, the viewer, perceiver gains acknowledgement by seeing. when i discover great art, i feel a deep, affirming acknowlegement that i too am alive and for me, it then becomes something of a divine gift through the artist. and sometimes great art comes in the strangest places -- in the smooth lines of a boat, the complexities of a machine, in the work of a spider, know what i mean?
yet, an artist standing there naked and bare discovers the worst kind of pain is not ridicule, disgust, or confusion -- the worst comes in the turning away, the apathetic glance, the yawn. the worst is that a life isn't worth acknowledgement. howard roark could live with it; his work uncompromised. stephen mallory let the yawns nearly destroy him.
my random thoughts today are twofold. partially, my response to reading a beautiful book. i don't believe in all of ayn rand's philosophy, but that doesn't matter. i feel better for the reading and will read it again and again (you should see the pages and pages of underlined passages).
the other part, is thanks to readers. the emails of late from readers all over –Australia, Texas, Rhode Island, Tennessee -- amazing. also the phone calls -- m. thompson and also t.roe in colorado (i wish to say how much it meant that you'd underlined passages), and to those who put reviews on amazon.com and have commented about this blog.
sometimes i don't get back right away to you. other authors are so much better. but it's never truly neglect. i want the energy and voice to respond and make you understand what your words mean to me. it's difficult to express in a short note. it feels generic, those words of thanks. but it's not generic -- every email and letter is truly a gift, and i wish to tell you that.
as with howard roark and stephen mallory, i wish to say that i'm a little helpless when i get your notes, and that it means much that you would hear me and want to listen.
Sunday, August 08, 2004
missing and missing
i miss europe. last night, i felt like a portal opened, and i was both here and there. vivid. the smells, the feeling so clear. and then it was gone. i want to go back, but there are so many choices of where. back to austria, prague, paris, netherlands, germany, or italy? what of ireland, greece, croatia...
i miss several of my friends. two i talked to yesterday (one the phone and in person), another i'll see today, one i've meant to call for months (sorry wee), one i need to email back and have mentally composed the email several times, and another i think of often and hold conversations with even though we're very far away.
school is soon to start and i get grouchy thinking of it. the kids gone and i'll want to do so many things. that's when i'll miss homeschooling and our ski days and such. but it's better this way, the way it needs to be. i'll miss them though.
oh yeah, i decided "no" on the reality tv show. it just wouldn't have been a good idea,i think.
my writer friend, laura walker, is coming for four days. it's her writing escape, and i'm thrilled to have her work here. i get to bring her tea and discuss plots and my new wacky idea i'm working on -- we're even strong about not talking too long so she should get lots done (maybe i'll get a decent amount too?). laura, my inaugural author to stay in my office with new comfy futon bed i bought for guests. even have some pictures up for her -- hemingway, van gogh, dali, matchbox twenty, buechner, enger (inspiration all around).
writing: reading the fountainhead is invigorating the writing mind. last night, as i drove and felt europe around me, i discovered two major solutions on two different projects. can't wait to work on them. and the wacky idea, my writing experiment titled either 3am or clockworks -- i've set a goal to finish the first draft. have a friends who will ask about it, right? we need that, you know. another goal to finish revision on a novel i wrote two years ago, my trusty agent will ask about that.
i guess i like missing things. it fine tunes the senses, even with its element of aching and longing. maybe missing things makes us all a little more than we'd be without it. know what i mean?
i miss several of my friends. two i talked to yesterday (one the phone and in person), another i'll see today, one i've meant to call for months (sorry wee), one i need to email back and have mentally composed the email several times, and another i think of often and hold conversations with even though we're very far away.
school is soon to start and i get grouchy thinking of it. the kids gone and i'll want to do so many things. that's when i'll miss homeschooling and our ski days and such. but it's better this way, the way it needs to be. i'll miss them though.
oh yeah, i decided "no" on the reality tv show. it just wouldn't have been a good idea,i think.
my writer friend, laura walker, is coming for four days. it's her writing escape, and i'm thrilled to have her work here. i get to bring her tea and discuss plots and my new wacky idea i'm working on -- we're even strong about not talking too long so she should get lots done (maybe i'll get a decent amount too?). laura, my inaugural author to stay in my office with new comfy futon bed i bought for guests. even have some pictures up for her -- hemingway, van gogh, dali, matchbox twenty, buechner, enger (inspiration all around).
writing: reading the fountainhead is invigorating the writing mind. last night, as i drove and felt europe around me, i discovered two major solutions on two different projects. can't wait to work on them. and the wacky idea, my writing experiment titled either 3am or clockworks -- i've set a goal to finish the first draft. have a friends who will ask about it, right? we need that, you know. another goal to finish revision on a novel i wrote two years ago, my trusty agent will ask about that.
i guess i like missing things. it fine tunes the senses, even with its element of aching and longing. maybe missing things makes us all a little more than we'd be without it. know what i mean?
Tuesday, August 03, 2004
fountainhead
A creative few nights away from home, I’m staying in a house with a view of Mt. Shasta – a house that feels nearly like home for the time I’ve spent here alone and working. I’m not alone this time, my sister-in-law is here to read and relax too. Today, an unexpected rain storm with violent sheets of water from the sky – so beautiful and invigorating, and what fragrant air still remains from the open window even at this late hour.
So golly, I’m loving The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. Few books have had this affect on me – I can name a few like works by Graham Greene, Lewis, John Irving and such. It’s a behemoth of a novel with over 700 pages of tiny print. I’ve only reached over 200. Only 200 pages and I just can’t express clearly all that's it's meant.
Do you ever feel at the end of something, at the threshold of something new, yet you’re patient, expectant and feeling strong in your forward walk? It often begins with things coming round again first. The whole full circle thing. And yet, there is no going back really or coming around to the beginning because we also move onward, changed, scarred, more beautiful perhaps, weaker and stronger too.
Parts of this book are bringing into view what I’ve been catching glimpses of. And I feel an energy to walk forward even while fear must be stomped with hard steps.
From the backcover summary, “This instant classic is the story of an intransigent young architect, his violent battle against conventional standards, and his explosive love affair with a beautiful woman who struggles to defeat him.” That my fellow book lovers is a glimpse into a book of incredible layers, character studies, views into why people do what they do or don’t do even when they want to…on and on.
And now for some random quotes, and I truly mean random. My book is filled with underlined passages and notes all over those 200 pages, and I just pulled these out for no purpose at all.
QUOTE-ARAMA TIME:
"He thought of his days going by, of buildings he could have been doing, should have been doing and, perhaps, never would be doing again. He watched the pain’s unsummoned appearance with a cold, detached curiosity; he said to himself: Well, here it is again. He waited to see how long it would last. It gave him a strange, hard pleasure to watch his fight against it, and he could forget that it was his own suffering; he could smile in contempt, not realizing that he smiled at his own agony. Such moments were rare. But when they came, he felt as he did in the quarry: that he had to drill through granite, that he had to drive a wedge and blast that thing within him which persisted in calling to his pity.”
(this by Roarke, the young architect talking to a potential client)
“Don’t you know that most people take most things because that’s what’s given them, and they have no opinion whatever? Do you wish to be guided by what they expect you to think they think or by your own judgment?”
“You can’t force it down their throats.”
“You don’t have to. You must only be patient. Because on your side you have reason – oh, I know, it’s something no one really wants to have on his side – and against you, you have just a vague, fat, blind inertia.”
well that's all for now from the mountain. nighteo or rather guten morgan from ceecee-senorita
So golly, I’m loving The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. Few books have had this affect on me – I can name a few like works by Graham Greene, Lewis, John Irving and such. It’s a behemoth of a novel with over 700 pages of tiny print. I’ve only reached over 200. Only 200 pages and I just can’t express clearly all that's it's meant.
Do you ever feel at the end of something, at the threshold of something new, yet you’re patient, expectant and feeling strong in your forward walk? It often begins with things coming round again first. The whole full circle thing. And yet, there is no going back really or coming around to the beginning because we also move onward, changed, scarred, more beautiful perhaps, weaker and stronger too.
Parts of this book are bringing into view what I’ve been catching glimpses of. And I feel an energy to walk forward even while fear must be stomped with hard steps.
From the backcover summary, “This instant classic is the story of an intransigent young architect, his violent battle against conventional standards, and his explosive love affair with a beautiful woman who struggles to defeat him.” That my fellow book lovers is a glimpse into a book of incredible layers, character studies, views into why people do what they do or don’t do even when they want to…on and on.
And now for some random quotes, and I truly mean random. My book is filled with underlined passages and notes all over those 200 pages, and I just pulled these out for no purpose at all.
QUOTE-ARAMA TIME:
"He thought of his days going by, of buildings he could have been doing, should have been doing and, perhaps, never would be doing again. He watched the pain’s unsummoned appearance with a cold, detached curiosity; he said to himself: Well, here it is again. He waited to see how long it would last. It gave him a strange, hard pleasure to watch his fight against it, and he could forget that it was his own suffering; he could smile in contempt, not realizing that he smiled at his own agony. Such moments were rare. But when they came, he felt as he did in the quarry: that he had to drill through granite, that he had to drive a wedge and blast that thing within him which persisted in calling to his pity.”
(this by Roarke, the young architect talking to a potential client)
“Don’t you know that most people take most things because that’s what’s given them, and they have no opinion whatever? Do you wish to be guided by what they expect you to think they think or by your own judgment?”
“You can’t force it down their throats.”
“You don’t have to. You must only be patient. Because on your side you have reason – oh, I know, it’s something no one really wants to have on his side – and against you, you have just a vague, fat, blind inertia.”
well that's all for now from the mountain. nighteo or rather guten morgan from ceecee-senorita
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