There are several drafts of several different journal-ish posts sitting here on WordPress, waiting to be revisited and crafted into something worth sharing. But most of them won’t ever make it. Sometimes the moment passes, and even more often the thought escapes and I simply abandon that particular effort. Maybe I’m lazy, but I’d like to think that I will revisit any truly worthwhile idea in a more effective way at some point. I just can’t quite make myself force any of the current drafts into anything resembling something I can be proud of. Because rough is an understatement. These aren’t just unfinished and unpolished – they are, in many cases, emotional vomitous messes in written form. Doesn’t that sound like fun? Don’t you want to wallow in it for a few minutes…or hours? Nope, me either. But I can’t make myself trash them yet either. Because they are true to their moment in time and their time of fruition may yet come. And if not? I can always trash them later.
Which has nothing to do with draughts at all. But I love that word and all that it evokes. I’m reading Tolkien’s The Hobbit to Kid the Elder right now. Draught is a great hobbit-ish, Middle Earth-y word. Who doesn’t picture Bilbo taking long draughts of ale with supper? Or with second breakfast even? And doesn’t that make me want some sort of beverage that lends itself to long draughts with good friends and even better stories? I can forgo the smoke rings, though I don’t mind the smoke if I can see things in it…. (Thank you Robin McKinley for that image of Harry’s from The Blue Sword.) My favorite thing about words and ideas is the cascade of images that they evoke in my mind. I love the way unrelated phrases and experiences coalesce into an altogether new mental landscape that is my history…but re-imagined. And even with that flight of fancy I cannot manage to get “ruff” into the paragraph with any sort of integrity. But aren’t homophones fun?
lydiatisdale 