In the last eight days, I have been to six lectures, four craft classes, three workshops, and thirteen readings. I have walked to my house and back–which is .32 miles or about 600 steps each way–twelve times. I have eaten 19 meals, sent 37 emails, posted ten blogs–this will be number eleven–and cried once. Not a bad, I think.
There is a woman here who looks exactly like my chiropractor, if my chiropractor were to dye her hair black and start dressing like a hipster. I think by now she knows I’ve been staring at her, and I should probably tell her why sometime soon.
There is a a slowness to time here that I cannot describe in words, no matter how many writing classes I attend. Anyone able to capture it, in poetry or prose, should be rewarded a permanent fellowship. The pace of the day speeds and slows, speeds and slows, like the voices of the writers in the little theatre as they read their stories and verse. This is a bad example, really, because it contains a simile, and similes are the figurative language of the masses. Rewording famous quotes is also frowned upon. So, I believe, is listing. Particularly numerical lists.
Using sentence fragments, however, is acceptable. Encouraged, even.