scribblings from another lifetime

Monday, September 17, 2007

Never underestimate the powers of coffee and a good book.

Indeed, a certain part of me romanticises about the bourgeoise writer, sitting in a cgfe, on my own, pouring my most profound thoughts onto and into a moleskin journal, with the most effortless eloquent prose.

But this is all a farce I say.

Anyone with any amount of love for language, hides (?) an inner desire or aspiration to be a writer. A writer whose succinct and concise words, she imagines, pierces right into the heart of every reader and strikes a chord with the heartstrings.

I will not deny it.

I gush at my own work.
Sometimes.

But is that wrong? Is that foolish pride and arrogance?

For there are reasons and meanings behind my words, ones which you will never know.

-September 10, 2007-

posted @ 23:54

1 Comments:

At 12:55, Blogger sneexe said...

hmmm. And I thought I was all alone in that.

:) *hugs*

 

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