Inertia oozed like molasses through Elaine's limbs. That's what it must feel like to have malaria, she thought.
At any rate, I'd be lucky if I wrote a page a day.
Then I knew what the trouble was.
I needed experience.
How could I write about life when I'd never had a love affair or a baby or even seen anybody die? A girl I knew had just won a prize for a short story about her adventures amonth the pygmies in Africa. How could I compete with that sort of thing?
--from The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath
Friday, December 11, 2009
More of my own, soon, I promise, but today, weeks after I've been back here, I can only muster up this.