I keep notebooks. Sometimes I draw pictures in them. Sometimes they are more sketchbooks with notes in them. They are non-binary books, leaning this way and that.
Sketches are images made of lines. Sometimes they suggest forms, like animals, people, places, or things. Sometimes they suggest sounds, which in turn make words. Both types make stories in the mind of the line-looker. You know this already.
What will the graphite form, when pencil hits the paper? My experience varies. I’m happy that it does.
Following is a word sketch. It has a different shape. It got me through a blank page.
This explanation has likely been unnecessary ^^^
Just keep writing it.
That’s what she told me, and so I determined to try, right there and then.
Everything still felt flat and forced, but I had been told – if once, then a thousand times! – that stones don’t roll themselves.
Her words clung to my shirt and toque, where they had once again been patiently put.
She would never meet you in the eyes, but I always never-minded.
She left on Wednesday. I have no better idea of what to write, but her words are still warm.