The great waiting played a part. Inside the vastness, plotting. All that, yes. Prolonged, weary, the exasperation. But at dawn the next day, like a slow ostrich straightening itself out, she was waking up. She awoke to the same intact mystery, opening her eyes she was the princess of the intact mystery. As if the factory whistle had already blown, she dressed in a hurry, downed her coffee in one gulp. Opened the front door.
~ Clarice Lispector, “Preciousness.” The Complete Stories
Credits: Image – Thank you Doug at eclecticitylight
just move. and sometimes that is all there is.
Is this possible in the age of selfies, FB and self-promotion?
We try. We try.
You know?
I’m going to walk to the library right now and check Clarice Lispector.
I’ve only read what you have shared here on your blog by her.
Her writing style sounds unique.
Thank you.
She is a mystic. Best taken in sips. Hope you enjoy Sawan.
“Like a slow ostrich stretching itself out, she was waking up”. Wow – love the writing style. And I’ll try to find that slow ostrich, quite literally in the next ten days.
LOVE that line. That’s what grabbed me too Helen.
I think writers do that all the time. Toot your own horn, clap for yourself, your writing, your dreams. All the rest comes and goes as it will.
Oh, now, that is the truth.