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Monday, 2 November 2009

Loose Talk

Why is it that when I'm talking, I can muddle my words, forget the thread of what I'm saying and generally sound incoherent, especially when emotional or uncertain? But writing is different. It flows, ideas are woven in, threads are gathered and tied in beautiful bows and the finished piece is an achievement to treasure.

I suppose it's partly because I know I can change words, delete chunks, swap paragraphs around and cut out beginnings and turn them into endings or make page three into page six if I like. Every letter is malleable. And only by my hand. You can't take things back in conversation with others.

And it's also partly because I'm on my own. No one can chip in, disagree or talk over me. It is total control. The only boundary is my own imagination. And that is one of the few large things about me.

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