Loving the series, Nina! I'm like a giddy schoolgirl, the bespectacled, bucktoothed nerd everyone snickers about behind her back, who got a second chance to attend all the Style in Fiction classes I missed <3
Having discovered it in a roundabout way, grasped it in hope, feared it, fought through it, tested my limits at it, invested in it, centered my life around it, become often obsessed with it and fervently faithful, Iād fitfully discovered my final commitment.
Having surrendered to it, purchased it, stashed it in a dark, unreachable corner at the back of the shelf; having regretted and loathed her lack of moral fortitude, and struggled to repress her desperate urge just to fondle it, to smell it, to imagine its rich smoothness, its comforting lush sweetness, she surrendered at last, and ate it. š
As a young, curious, avid reader, precocious and sneaky, once burning the sweater thrown over a lamp to hide secret midnight activities, I devoured every book available, reading above my age level, abetted by the school librarian, taught the secret entrance to an understairs room where teachers acquired pulp fiction, given permission to browse, take, and return on the honor system, encouraged by parents to collect Oz books with scant allowance, forgoing friendships for new bindings and enchanting covers, now, finally, fifty plus years later, I learn the language of a sentence. (Whew! I think thatās the hardest 92 words Iāve ever written.) Like the fifth grade boy who manages to go through school not learning to read, I was the English major who missed learning grammar and structure. I couldnāt be more appreciative of this newsletter with all its left- and right- branching jaunts.
Loving the series, Nina! I'm like a giddy schoolgirl, the bespectacled, bucktoothed nerd everyone snickers about behind her back, who got a second chance to attend all the Style in Fiction classes I missed <3
Having discovered it in a roundabout way, grasped it in hope, feared it, fought through it, tested my limits at it, invested in it, centered my life around it, become often obsessed with it and fervently faithful, Iād fitfully discovered my final commitment.
Playing around a bit with this one.
Having surrendered to it, purchased it, stashed it in a dark, unreachable corner at the back of the shelf; having regretted and loathed her lack of moral fortitude, and struggled to repress her desperate urge just to fondle it, to smell it, to imagine its rich smoothness, its comforting lush sweetness, she surrendered at last, and ate it. š
As a young, curious, avid reader, precocious and sneaky, once burning the sweater thrown over a lamp to hide secret midnight activities, I devoured every book available, reading above my age level, abetted by the school librarian, taught the secret entrance to an understairs room where teachers acquired pulp fiction, given permission to browse, take, and return on the honor system, encouraged by parents to collect Oz books with scant allowance, forgoing friendships for new bindings and enchanting covers, now, finally, fifty plus years later, I learn the language of a sentence. (Whew! I think thatās the hardest 92 words Iāve ever written.) Like the fifth grade boy who manages to go through school not learning to read, I was the English major who missed learning grammar and structure. I couldnāt be more appreciative of this newsletter with all its left- and right- branching jaunts.