It cannot be a fool's day when you are in a company of Slecna Salmelova ;-) " I have been pregnant with it longer than an elephant: it must be born soon. But some children demand more, and I am a master of procrastination."
~ Another Alexandra named after Sasha Dubcek (of 1968 fame) (this girl is sharp and bright, like a button, well spitting brain of Malchkeon ;-)
Writing is ... The cold emptiness of infinity ... I wanted to write fun, but in the end I’m not quite sure about that. Writing is adventure and liberation and terribly hard work. Torture of the imagination and the pale copying of real events. Reading is a way to escape reality and at the same time a route to the sources of reality. By writing, you can shape reality in your own image: it’s your own character fault if the result is ugly and depressing.
If I were to write a pink world, it would be so sugary that it would make everyone sick, me and other people.
Perhaps I write because I can’t speak. I feel myself to be too slow-witted, awkward-worded and uncertain. Dull. Writing gives me the time to seek the right expressions at the right time,
sharp and incisive
or else drown the world in a flood of words. But sometimes a wall grows between me and my words and I am left pounding at its rough surface, banging my head against it without even hitting the spot that says STRESS RELIEF. BANG YOUR HEAD AGAINST THIS. Sometimes all my words go wrong, swarming here and there, making stupid, meaningless sentences. Behind the eyes that peer at the screen yawns emptiness.
