women-writers-on-writing

It had been communicated to me through the odd, secret whispers of women that a female__ nose must never shine. In war, in famine, in fire, it had to be matte, and no one got a lipstick without the requisite face powder. _ I was taunted by the problem: how could someone write something like the __ymposium_ and make sure her nose did not shine at the same time? It didn__ matter to me that I was reading a translation. I__ read Plato__ brilliant, dense prose and not be able to tear myself away. Even as a reader my nose shined. It was clearly either/or. You had to concentrate on either one or the other. In a New York minute, the oil from Saudi Arabia could infiltrate your house and end up on your nose. It didn__ hurt, it didn__ make noise, it didn__ incapacitate in any way except for the fact that no girl worth her salt took enough time away from vigilance to read a book let alone write one.

If I ask you to think about something, you can decide not to. But if I make you feel something? Now I have your attention.

Before there were books, we read each other.

Can you be inside and outside at the same time?I think this is where I live.I think this is where most women live.I know this is where writers live.Inside to write. Outside to glean.

Elegant writers depict intricacy with simplicity.

Stories not only give us a much needed practice on figuring out what makes people tick, they give us insight into how we tick.