For a writer, I’ve written horrendously little on this blog in the past few months. Actually, ever since I finished NaNoWriMo on November 30th, I have written very little for myself at all, but have rather been working on 18,000 words worth of literary and historical criticism for my classes. Finally, all of that is behind me. This raises the question, though, of what is before me.
Since I last updated this blog, I have:
1) Moved house. (Love my lovely new roommates, although they have talents, abilities and mental faculties that I can only dream of, thus making me feel, or, a more apt word might be, realize, that I’m, as my mother puts it, “the slow kid on the playground” in this residence.)
2) Visited Denver. (Ah, so nice to be back in familiar surroundings with old friends.)
3) Had my first English Christmas. (My favorite component of an English Christmas are the crackers- NOT the kind you chew- and the Snowman, an extremely depressing and kind of creepy movie with no words.)
4) Been to Italy. (See below.)
5) Learned a new language- “real” English. (See below.)
It is last of these five major points that I would like to focus on. As I have become more acclimated to the “English” version of English (as opposed to the “American,” “Australian,” “Kiwi” and other versions), I’ve realized that some things just can’t be conveyed in words. This probably isn’t really an “Ah ha!” moment to most people, but as a writer, I guess I just refused to accept this fact for reasons attached to my professional credibility. Therefore, I’ve kind of had a crisis of faith in the writing enterprise or, to be more specific, my utility as a writer.
So, I’ve been working on discovering what mediums, if any, can truly and completely express intended meaning— and if losing a little meaning on the way is acceptable.
To that end, here are some pictures I took in Italy; maybe they’ll be able to express the experience better than any blog entry could: