Chapter headings, French, late 1800's.

Dear Books,

I am thinking on chapters today.  Why & where the break?  How does a writer choose when to suggest, fairly strongly, that the reader stop there, for a half page of empty or a month of dust gathering?  

I know the rule for the paragraph; put is where you change topic.  But that, that is a matter for debate:  if I fret over it too long, I don't string sentences at all.  I start mulling and stop writing.  But, again, those are the same, or at least, writing and mulling don't call for a paragraph change.

Mostly, as I was educated on the feral side of civilization (yes! a true cave, with an actual dingo for a dad and wolf for a mother- should this go in a different paragraph?), mostly I try to keep the stripes of text and space looking nice- oh, and to have three of course is nice- having three, or five, makes my writing seem learned, proper.  One definitely wants something to seem proper, especially when it isn't, or there is doubt about it.

And so the chapter continues to mystify.  Maybe there is a class or course I never got to; a class beyond the paragraph rules, a course that defines the preferred form for chapter breaks?

PS  

Well, yes, I know, this PS could make the fifth, and I could look it up, and you know, I tried to; very feebly, in the way that a mountainous surfeit of a thing (information) makes a person not really want it.  I clicked on a link to an essay on the history of the chapter and it had a paywall, and well, there we go then, choosing to frugally stay in ignorance, but more than just that, also to in this case stay in wonder, to stay in further contemplation of the chapter instead of seek a Definitive Answer.  As Violette LeDuc's Lady and the Little Fox Fur says "...after all, ignorance was also a perpetual promise."  

anything

 

Dear E.,

Anything you want, you got it.

Love,

M.

in motion

 

too early

 

Dear Things Beloved,

Just this:

One should never look at what one loves too early in the morning - the things we love are too fragile so early in the day, as fragile as the thread a spider is spinning at the edge of the wood.

From The Lady and the Little Fox Fur, Violette LeDuc. 

a few lines

 

Dear Listener,

Pick up the line; follow the lines; get in line.  Or not.

center

 

wall

 

on hold

 

Dear Waiting on the Telephone, on the Email, on the Letter, on the DM,

My new question, hmm, no, my oldest question is:  What do you mean by that?  Please don't give me your tired lines about it just is & it has no meaning, because I am here, I am right here, every day, every hour, contemplating the feeling vs. the look in the kingdom of the mind.  

If you haven't heard from me, it's because I don't have anything nice to say.  The result of this hellscape is retreat & grieving.  If I get done with that (and I don't expect to finish up anytime soon), I'll get right back to you.

strange fruit

 

twenty-five hundred

 

Dear Day 2500,

This makes 6.84 years of it, now!  As for how long it has been just even trying on a less than daily schedule, well, I think it has been since 2008.  There were the years when I was a kid, too, but I guess that is now the smallest of the portions.  

You don't need to skate everyday; but, you know, you could skate on one of the 365 days we have here ahead of us!  How about you say:  I will skate once in the month of April?  Then you maybe say, I will skate 3 times this summer?  Once during the holidays?  The reason you might want to skate on more than one day, is that some days are tougher to skate on.  You don't feel brave, for example, or your balance is a trifle iffy, or you are tired, or irritable (and who isn't?).  You don't want your once a year skating to be a negative experience, so you really should consider scheduling at least two times to skate.  After you have done those two times, you can see how you feel about the next two times.

If you have already committed to a more than once in a lifetime skating schedule, then think about this destination as a possible pilgrimage: The Skate Ribbon!

For myself, I am contending with the troublesome concept of 'improvement,' of 'getting better' at this or that skating thing.  I cannot express to you how much un-fun the measurement of improving brings me- I want to be without this bug-a-boo, this albatross of 'progress.'  Not just in my skating, either- but, when you take that away, that striving, it's a strangely empty room.  What do you pursue, if you don't pursue improvement, success, more-ness?  Of course the daily effort is a kind of striving, or at least a 'counting up,' and what for, I wonder?  

Claire Dederer writes, on page 342 of her book Poser, "But here's the truth: the longer I do yoga, the worse I get at it.  I can't tell you what a relief it is."  Now, yes, yes, yoga has a baked in Zen-like acceptance of the moment, of the doing, but she wrote it about her thinking she would continue to improve; to get better and better, and this is a helpful balm for me and my thoughts.

PS  If you are not presently in the angst of these contradictions in your roller skating, I suggest you plan a little pilgrimage to this amazing thing: A Skate Ribbon!

April: Day One.

 

Dear April,

My dear sister April, I am sad to see you arrive, because it means you will leave, too, and as long as you are still coming, I never think about your end.  May, I'll spend being blue that you have gone, and then June, too; by July you will seem so far away that I will settle for the very unsatisfying 'next year.'