-Anna Kamienska
I have been sick since last Thursday with some fucked up flu bug and it seems like everyone I come into contact with is snuffling about with it. I shudder to think of the amount of mucous I have produced in the past 5 days. As a result I have not written anything...bummer, because the goal is to write one piece a day. Ah well....
Recently, I signed up for a retreat and writing workshop entitled Composing Women's Lives. According to the facilitator there are no requirements other than a desire to wrap words around my inner thoughts. I am hoping to explore some form of expression there that will help me find I do have a voice. Also, I am just now learning about blogs, although what I know could fit on the head of a pin. One thing I do know is my passion has always been reading and appreciating the writing of other folk. My first addiction and means of hiding from real life is getting lost in a book.
There is one exception to the above though -memoirs. It seems to me that writing about your own life and expecting others to pay to read about it is indulgent. I mean are you really that special?
Hypocritical much? If I'm honest I'd like someone to read this blog. Yet I can't stand memoirs, especially when they always seem to be future Lifetime movies of the week. Pot, this is the kettle....you're black! Denial can be such a beautiful thing cause let's face it, how much more indulgent could I be? But at least you can read this for free!
