The Feathered Edge

A – Rhythmi (the rhythms of word lists)

Are you a list maker? Is it a compulsion? A passion? A way to keep track of all those pesky tasks that have to be done, sooner or later? Whatever the motivation, rows of words have a way of capturing information in a very compact way. A lineup of ingredients. An agenda of appointment times. Short-hand cataloging can be pragmatic and to the point. Compiling a table of pros and cons can be exhausting and yet weirdly revealing

The Language of Forts

The ink of memory As I write my way into Lou's world I revisit the rituals of fort building. Snow fortresses involved battle strategy. Any structure constructed in winter was short-lived, prone to cave-ins and conquest, subject to warming trends carried on the balmy currents of a Chinook. Most of our winter wars were half-hearted and never decisively concluded. No one won or lost entirely. We just all got very cold and gathered after wards for the very best of truces those made over hot chocolate.

An Exaltation of Books

A Portable Feast My parents were story tellers. And they both loved books. Stories are as portable as brains. I am reminded of Ernest Hemingway's A Moveable Feast. Whether you're camping in the high country or hunkered down for a long winter's night: a story is always available. And yet, no matter where we lived – Unalakleet, Yakutat, McGrath, Homer, Anchorage etc.: there were also books. Always.

Creatures of Habit

I struggle with pages. My goal is to align the dense symbolic icons of words with the vivid image of the story I need to tell. This is a deep revision. Deeper than I thought it would be. Parts of the story have transformed beneath my fingertips: tap tap tap enter. Some characters are cut. People I have come to think of in a certain light are altered by the sudden cast of shadows. Others appear, unexpectedly. Glimpsed from the corner of my eye.

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