Long time ago I read that the Sentence Cop died. But don’t tell the lone star reviewers who ride the net, because that’ll give them one less thing to grouse about. Can’t you hear them?—and in the beginning of the book there weren’t even complete sentences, so I had to stop reading.
Sometimes I write in long descriptive sinewy kinds of lines that snake around the page, and into the reader’s head, I hope, having come out that way from the curlicues in my mind, the words made flesh. Then I chop in a short one. Or two.
It’s a game I play in the morning when my fingers fly and it’s too early for the other voices in my head to be awake and snarking about. An exercise with words, not weights. Like the play of light on water.
Photo: Aeolian Islands, Sicily. Credit: giopuo (Flickr), Creative commons