Is it a surprise to anyone that I am a classic Type A personality? Yes, the upholstered chair at my desk frays along the front, not the back. When I focus on a client, it’s intense, eyes in compassion, but still intense. I don’t meander; I storm. My actions reflect layers of quickly reasoned thoughts, not tending to linger on the single thought in great depth.
I don’t write short stories, but for assignments at the Univ. of IA summer program, I am forced into its tightly knit form. I learn a great deal as I organize my thoughts, reach for the concepts and writer craft skills I have and I’m learning. They give me a chance to see what I’ve accomplished on a few pages. One such work, I’m cultivating, revising, and eying for my annual contender for the Zoetrope: All-Short Story Contest. I do this without any thought or hope of recognition, but more of a final school exam, a statement of my growth.
This year, two writing projects intersected and gave me pause. One a nonsense, fun piece for an acquaintance about reviews and scotch whiskey—okay, you had to be there… The other was this short story, Eden.
After Eden’s time in the corner, in the drawer in writer's vernacular--that recommended writer’s rest and pause, this time rather than picking it up, attacking it with vigor, and devouring it, I read it through the eyes of that master brewer, deep in his caves, testing his kegs in the cold, bitter winter time, imagining the spring. The deep draw of breath from each glass, the first virgin taste on one, the middle-aged ripeness on another, and then heavenly, fully aged flavor of the cream—aged ten, fifteen, more years. Reminiscing on the smoky flavor, the subtle blend, the gentle timeless aging in a keg traveled with me into my revision of Eden—an incident unprecedented.
Being type A, these moments do not settle easily around me, but when they do, when I find that peace, when I find that time for being in the moment—it is a delicious and wondrous time, and the work does well for it.
About Me
Sunday, September 5, 2010
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