Very good day yesterday; spent at the Tunxis Community College Writers Festival. Listened to authors speak of the process of publishing, to poets and writers reading their work, viewed short films, the "draft" of a documentary that hopefully will see television presentation soon, a multimedia narrative of hyperfiction, and slides of story within visual art.
Listened with both head and heart to a poet/writer’s feeling that creative spirit should not be a saleable commodity but given freely. I understood this truly, felt this for the first time without a doubt in mind, and yet too many spirits lay silent because of time that’s portioned out to realistic needs instead. Must art then become a rich man’s game?
Am excited for otto, the college literary journal that is growing to include the visual form of narrative by taking advantage of the talent and creativity on display within that room and beyond its borders.
On a break, I wandered into the library and came out with my next novel reading: Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five. On another break I decided that, while more of a homebody than a traveler, death could be a journey filled with adventure. Though no itinerary could be planned, and flight is based on standby status, there is the excitement of visiting a foreign place that only speculation has offered intrigue and allure. If it were not an ultimate milk and honey place to settle, then why have none returned? And, you don’t have to pack.
A good day then. Obviously, creative wonder breeds creative wonder.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology