From Elissa Altman’s entry, Quiet in the Storm:
The act of writing, like the act of cooking, forces you to come face to face with fluidity and change. You cede control to the work itself. You stand back and trust that the wormhole your narrative is dragging you down (try and fight it; good luck with that) is lit from within by a force you are acquainted with only in the dead of night, in your deepest dreams; you might not wind up where you planned to be and insofar as the physical process of writing is controlled by you, you very often will end up in another country entirely, as though a total stranger was driving your bus across borders you’ve only ever known to be forbidden.
I’m in the midst of Altman’s book, Poor Man’s Feast. It’s about food, writing, life its ownself. It comes at an odd juncture for me – if you hadn’t noticed, I went missing about 3 months ago. Physical, emotional, and creative forces all fought for attention. I had no choice but to divvy up the meal and set some aside for later.
Altman’s book brought me back to home as our physical move did for me and The Brunette. We’ve gone from a house that we lived in for 27 years to an apartment in a wonderfully accepting community filled with all ages of kids and dogs. We’re also right near a bay and having moved during the early spring, were able to sit and catch the spirit of water and new growth.
I was also able to get deeper into imagery and playing with words and photography. And lately, I’ve been digging into my cookware, getting back to my baking, and learning how to move around a kitchen again. Altman’s book seemed to bring together all the loose strings of what was and what is.
Read Altman’s book…and if you get a chance, visit her over at her blog. A paragraph or two with a bit more light shining on…