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Writing journal Oct 12 2015

Writing journal. Entry of October 12, 2015

This entry started yesterday, but I only managed to write the date… So here it goes, on October 13. The past few weeks were very difficult at work; lots of deadlines and I couldn’t manage my own time. [Here, try to imagine my very upset face; it’s really sad.] On top of that, summer is definitely gone and autumn pretended to be here for a few days, but it’s really winter sneaking in. You may think this does not matter or it’s an exaggeration, product of my busy days at work – try leaving in Canada and get back to me on that. It’s just like Vonnegut said; there’s locking season and unlocking season. We are now in locking mode; not fun.

Anyway, I didn’t write but I did read. I read Tornu and Cronica de una muerte anunciada, by Ana Lopez and Garcia Marquez, respectively, obviously. I read Cronica… probably more than ten times and it’s been, probably, more than 20 years since the last time. Really? Really? How can someone write such a novella? How can someone have the right words in every single sentence? Look at this: “[…] flotando en el remanso deslumbrante que encontraron del otro lado del miedo.”

Annoying. I’ll wait another 20 years before reading it again.

And yes, I also read Tornu. I think that reading is peaking into the soul of the writer; luckily, most of the time, we have no idea what we are seeing, being that we don’t know the writer at all. We cannot discern his thoughts, from his dreams, from his live experiences. That’s a good thing, at least to me; I don’t really want to know which of the fears, impulses, thoughts, dreams, nightmares, and so on are the character’s or the writer’s. What is a wish and what is the opposite of a wish… But with Tornu, I was stuck with the intimacy of looking into my friend’s soul. There are very few people in this world I know better than this writer – and Tornu was a window… no, more like a telescope to which my eye was glue, and on the other endpoint, was her soul, opened, displaying her past and future. Will she agree with me? Likely, not. It’s not what she wrote, but what I read. That’s final. The writer has no control over the reader, be it a complete stranger or her closest friend…

It should be noted that I read the book at a different time-continuum than the one in which she wrote it (if you are unsure of what I mean, you can read my brief text “Another life”). This probably messes things up… to a point I don’t’ dare to imagine.


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