Was trying to write a short biography of myself, as a blurb to a piece of poetry I had submitted for consideration. And it was difficult. I must have spent a good half-hour agonizing over it, trying to find the right words, and only managed a meager three sentences.
And then it occurred to me, creating a piece of art takes time. I mean, I am an impatient person in general. So I tend to end up “forcing” pieces of art to take shape within a day or half a day. I cannot imagine having to work on something for months, years even. Would not the essence of the work be diluted over so much time? Just like how I am always amazed at autobiographies that are filled with speech. How can one remember conversations held a lifetime ago?
“Tell me your story,” he said.
“Where do I start?” I asked.
“Begin at the beginning.”
I took a deep breath…