I am writing this story. See, boyfriend is a writer, and a good one. I am a reader and don't tend to think of myself as a writer at all, but in reading Jam's great stuff, and even his stuff that I don't love, I realized that writing can be fun, so probably 8 months ago or so, I started to write snippets of things, pieces of a story. Of course, they're short really intense paragraphs, because I was messing around a writing for sheer impact, not a cohesive multi-paged work. I come back to the story every so often and tweak. Add some stuff. Research some stuff. Today I was trying to figure out how long it takes to get to Nanyuki from Nairobi, the distance, the approximate location of Nanyuki in comparison the the equator, Mt. Kenya, etc, and I stumbled upon this wonderful site:
http://www.cyclingaroundtheworld.nl/misc/destinations.html
It's basically a website maintained by a guy who bikes. A lot. He's been all over the world and has been kind enough to post his pictures for everyone to see. I enjoyed looking at it particularly for his Kenya shots, especially for this
one I think it may be because I have stood exactly,
exactly in that place and look out over the Great Rift Valley, the Cradle of Life, the place which proves that we are all inexorably connected as human beings on this planet.
3 comments:
That's gorgeous.
So when do we get to read the story?
Love,
E
P.S. I have got to get back to writing myself. It's so fun! And soothing. And challenging. And it helps me work things out, things that get all muddled up in my head, like when did I get roller skates for Christmas, was it 1992 or really 1993? Because there's this confusing photograph of me in skates in 1991...And did Mom ever bake a Butterscotch pie better than my Grandmother? Because my Grandmother's pies are really very good...And why is it that growing things is so freaking satisfying, and so suddenly, when I killed my Smith Ivy within 2 weeks of acquisition? Because it really is, satisfying. To grow things. Out of dirt. And to muck up your hands all up in that dirt, on the third floor of your new apartment, in buckets.
Such kind words. Al you are a storyteller if I've ever heard one. I certainly think you'll be successful with whatever you put your mind to. GFI!
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