Yesterday mizkit and I chatted briefly about performing miracles, alluding to the book Illusions — which, if you haven’t read, you really ought. It’ll fill your need for fuzzy-headed saccharine for the month, but the book is wonderful, and many of the things it offers up are usefulusefuluseful. Anyway.
I pointed Catie’s entry to Bridgette & Othello. Othello noted that two years ago, it seems that she was working as a computer geek and writing books in her free time, implying that the correspondences were there, as well as the footsteps I might follow in. And we chatted a bit about Illusions, a fave of Othello’s, too, and I talked about how my treatment of my self-imposed obstacles & crutches comes largely from the discussion of cloud vaporizing in Illusions.
Then Othello turned to the computer and I sat back down to write some more.
A few minutes later he presented me with a lovely printed image of bowl of clouds crowded around a magnificent open field of empty sky, as if someone had taken an enormous ice cream scoop and dished themselves an Olympian bowl of cumulo-nimbus. Across the cloud-free expanse is a paraphrasal of the messiah in Illusions when asked to vaporize the biggest, baddest cloud in the sky with a thought – which he does before he has it pointed out to him, by removing it from his universe.
“Okay…which cloud was it?”
Good kid. It has become my bookmark/companion at the writing desk.
Quote for the day: A professional writer is an amateur who didn’t quit.
Crossposted from Epinepherine & Sophistry