 Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Oh I feel scandalously alive when I write fiction! When I’m onto something! oh beauty to wake up in the morning still pregnant with dreams and birth them in the journal. Maybe even figure out what they mean. (I'm tempted to buy that dream decoder book on booksforcatholics.com). Hope entitles one to the feeling that things can be glorious tomorrow, and what is a new day but a fresh chance, writ in the heavn's by the return of the sun? I hunger at odd times to read “Worthy is the Lamb” and at other times the idea leaves me flat. I want to write beautiful, holy things, like more of the story of Nuala. Oh the joy of Ireland, of unknown lands! I see a glimmer of the refreshment Tolkien must’ve felt in writing of MiddleEarth. Vacation looms and I hope it isn’t dissipative. I want to be a holy rest, to write great stuff, to grow spiritually. Most of all I don’t want it to be a teenage lustland, a sort of “On the Road” only the road is the strip in front of our villa. Meanwhile Friday is our annual Memorial Day camp trip with the inlaws, which aught not nonplus me because it’s a 3-day weekend one week before a vacation week. There couldn’t be better timing. • • • • •
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