January 24th 2015
What happened? Where did all my words go?
Oh boy, I think I have forgotten to play. It is so very good, to open up this program, with a screen that shows a softly rendered image of a Lake Superior evening making it's grand entrance. The beach is Gargantua Harbour, and it is empty, and it is serene, the waves are long sloshing undulations, many meters across horizontal space with only inches in rise. Slop, sloop, silence, slosh.... Silence, splish, silence, silence, silence. slip, and on. Night is falling, sun peaks through a gap in a thick low ceiling of steel gray cloud, and tints all with pink, and peach and amber. Night is falling, and the chill settles down and firms it's grip, splish. The beach looks inviting, crystal clear water, countless litres of drinking water, there for the taking, silence, not even a fish to rise to the surface, not a buzz of insect wing in the air. It is September, and in Superior, September summer is abruptly over, and winter is just around a very sharp bend. Amazing what gazing at an image can bring to mind.
Remind me to continue taking photographs, remind me to take the time now and again to look at them.
About the image: this is a screenshot of my writing. I write on a tablet using something called Jota, a basic editing program. You can write novels (plural) on pocket sized devices. You can also waste alot of time if you have access to the internet. I have my wifi turned off right now. It would take a small but significant effort to turn it on again. This keeps me from distracting myself and surfing meaningless forum posts on the webs, or my 'etsy' stats, or my email, or my facebook, or did anyone heart my stuff on instagram. Destructive narcissism, that, like a corrossive acid eats creativity. So the wifi is off, and so my fingers keep typing. I have a keyboard too. I love the tippity tap the keyboard. I learned to touch type in Grade 9 highschool. I learned to touch type because I dreamed of being a writer, of novels and stories, sword and sorcery, and or, cutting, socially conscious hard hitting sci-fi. Touch typing seemed like a sensible stepping stone in that direction. No one had computers. I learned to touch type in the days when electric typewriters were a novelty. I learned to touchtype on a mechanical thing with sticky stubborn heavy steel keys. My pinky fingers where muscular and well-developed in those days. I still love to touch type. It feels good, and easy skill, and if the words are in my head, there is direct flow of them onto the screen, thought made tangible, instantaneous. Touch typing feels terrific.
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